I’m going to be real with you—my brain is a pretty noisy place to live most days.
Two weeks ago, I talked about finding a rhythm, but let’s talk about what happens when that rhythm gets completely hijacked. When I’m at my design table, it’s rarely that peaceful “flow” people like to talk about achieving. Most of the time, it’s just a lot of mental clanking and clashing.
Jewelry is small and precise, but the process of actually figuring it out often feels heavy. When a design has a lot of layers, I start feeling the weight of every single decision. It’s not just “where does this stone go?” It’s the technical side that’s nagging at me, and the constant worry that the original inspiration is getting buried under the mechanics of the piece.
I’ve had days lately where the complexity just feels like too much. I’m deep in the weeds of the layout and suddenly I realize I’ve been staring at the same pile of stones for thirty minutes because I’ve lost the connection. This is usually the moment where the “how” starts screaming way louder than the “why.”
When the work gets that layered, the focus doesn’t just slip—it shatters. I find myself fighting to stay grounded when the process wants to pull me in a thousand different directions. It’s hard to stay present when I’m worried about whether the physics of a piece will even work.
To get through it, I’ve had to start focusing on color and treating it like a language that only speaks when I’m actually quiet. When the noise in the studio (or my head) gets too loud, I just stop. I look at the stones and wait for things to settle. It’s the only way to make sure the energies of the piece don’t get cancelled out by the stress of making it.
It’s a daily battle, honestly. It isn’t about being a perfect “creative”—it’s just about learning how to work through the static without losing the spark that made me want to create the piece in the first place.