about

My first memory of jewellery reaches almost to my shoulders. 

It was a pair of my mother’s earrings, impossibly big and catching the light. She wore them for parties. That day, I wanted them for myself.

I insisted, and she let me.

I remember their weight, the pleasure of them swinging as I moved. My mother singing. Me dancing. My father behind one of those old video cameras, keeping a little of it for later.

There was nothing to get right. No one else to become. Only the music of her voice, the earrings brushing my shoulders, and all that room to be myself.

I didn’t have a name for the feeling. I only knew I wanted them to stay on.

As I grew older, I kept finding my way back to it. For years, it was through dance.

Ballroom gave that freedom a discipline. Hours spent perfecting the smallest things, until my body no longer had to ask. I loved the work, and it took me to a medal at the World Championships. But what I loved most was catching a glimpse of the person inside the steps. The same movement, a different feeling. Something only they could bring.