Silversmithing
Many moons ago, when I was incubating babies, I had a hobby. I used to fiddle around with silver and make jewellery. I got quite good, well good enough to make our wedding rings, and I loved everything about it. The big, scary, noisy equipment in the workshop, visiting gold merchants in Hatton Gardens to ask for three ounces of something obscure, working with hand tools that have been used since Egyptian times, and taking my rings to the gloriously antiquated Assay Office to have them hallmarked. Skill, tradition and history all wrapped up in one lovely shiny package.
So when I finally gave it up because I was eight and a half months pregnant and the ground floor loo/third floor workshop/no lift combo, became a little challenging, I was sure that I’d start right back up again. Just as soon as the impending baby was a few months old.
Well of course not only are you clueless about what it’s like to have children before the event, you’re also clueless about the fact that you’re clueless.
So, ten years later, I booked myself back into the workshop. And it’s been going well. I still love it, and I’ve not forgotten the skills I learnt. I’ve even learnt a few new ones in the months that I’ve been silversmithing again. My regular Tuesday slot in the workshop is the highlight of my week.
When I picked up the reins again, I had a vague idea that some time in the future I might set up a business and sell a few pieces. Quite unexpectedly that’s happened sooner rather than later. I proudly showed off what I was making on Instagram, and people asked me if they could buy it. People, plural.
So this is me, saying that I’m a silversmith. If you would like a nosy at my Etsy shop, pop over. I’ll make you a cup of tea and we can have a chat about nubbins.
words and pictures 