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I live and work in New York City. I’m a writer, editor and jewelry maker. I first strung beads back in 1969, when I was barely a teenager and the coolest thing I could think of was tiny red and black beads in a one thin line around my neck. Then a couple of years later I had a roommate who made silver jewelry; she had a little case with her tools that she brought to school with her. I was fascinated. I wish I had pursued my interest. But I went on to live my life, getting married, writing novels, moving around the country, now and then wandering into bead stores.
A few years ago I started seriously buying the materials and making necklaces. Amethyst, onyx, lapis, turquoise. Those were stones I was familiar with. Even better were all the new ones. Reading the catalogue index of an online bead store, I marveled over the endless varieties of jasper…autumn, coffee bean, dragon, flower, imperial, leopardskin, ocean…not to mention spicy, sesame, turtle and wave. Okay, I love words. Beads are like words when you string them.
Being a writer is very luxurious: you never need to buy materials. I was spoiled by that: any word I wanted, there for the taking. So perhaps I bought too many beads. Maybe I thought they’d run out. Actually, some of them are running out— the vintage glass beads I use in a lot of my work. Venetian beads from the forties, hand made and hand painted, brilliantly colored with abstract or floral motifs, Japanese cotton pearls (a wartime necessity, they are tight and shiny and light as air), coolly elegant German givre beads from the fifties. (‘Givre’ refers to a process of injecting color into a clear glass bead, producing a frosted effect.) I began collecting the prettiest beads and despairing when some were no longer available. I watched the prices climb over a period of months. But it was very hard to resist them. Early on, my niece came over and looked at my burgeoning collection, more fascinated by the beads than any prospect of free jewelry. “They look like candy,” she said. Indeed. Hard sugar candy with its glossy colors, seductive shapes. My apartment is no place for 3 year olds.
If I weren’t so afraid of fire, I’d love to make glass beads myself. I’ve seen the process. My dream is to go to Venice and see it done there. But for the moment, the pleasure of making jewelry is enough. Creating designs, measuring, stringing, snipping, clamping, shipping them to you—all an excuse to play with beads.
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