I grew up on a farm in North Georgia.  Every spare moment was spent with my sister out at the barn with the horses, or "creating” things.  I made my first piece of jewelry when I was eight -- some ceramic thing.  My mother wore it all the time … way beyond the “clearly my child made this and I’m making her feel good” stage.  I remember thinking “I cannot believe she’s wearing that ugly thing again.” 


In college I continued my interest in “creating” as an art major.  But then Europe called… so off I went.  Two years later I returned with a French degree, and a total fascination with European style -- the seemingly effortless beauty of the French, the stately, equestrian elegance of the English, and the smart, “finished” quality of the Italians.
 
 I continued to study figure drawing and printmaking until I was introduced to sculpting wax.  I dropped everything and dove in.   I was consumed.  I could actually make all the things that I wanted to see in silver and gold.  Each piece I finished inspired me and spurred me on to create more.  I found I could easily translate everything that I knew and loved about other mediums into my jewelry style.  Plus, I could draw from all the places I had lived, the things I enjoyed -- the life I had led.
 
 Soon, my sweet friends wanted to buy my pieces, and then strangers were interested.  And the rest, as they say, is history.

To this day my mother will still pull out that old ceramic piece and wear it proudly.  And I still don’t get it -- I prefer to see her in my newer work.
 
But I’ve come to understand that jewelry is highly personal and it can be deeply emotional.  When a piece speaks to you, you feel something like a bond when you wear it.  It can connect you to a part of yourself or to another person, time or place -- or maybe it just reminds you of someone or something you love.  There’s nothing quite like it to make you feel beautiful.

Today, I work with my sister, Louisa Hurst, who is far more organized and responsible than I will ever be.  Without her I would be completely lost.
 
And we still try to sneak off to the barn…