Title: The architecture of magic
There are places that do not announce themselves on maps, only in memory where land opens itself quietly, without spectacle, offering moment so complete that language feels like intrusion.  grove of sequoias standing improbably in middle of Victoria’s fields; cathedral of trunks and sioence, pillars of living wood rising from carpet of fallen needles soft as ash. I remember sitting there, on trunk older than every argument I have ever held, watching light descend in long golden shafts. Somewhere creek spoke in language older than speech. Monarch butterflies lifted from grasses like scattered pages from illuminated manuscript. Nothing miraculous occurred however ordinary revealed depth that bordered on  unbearable. For moment the past loosened its architecture, leaving only present, wide and unadorned.
This pendant was born from that quiet interval. labradorite holds colour  way water holds reflections, not fixed, but conditional. Blue opens like sky between branches; gold and orange arrive like late afternoon sun striking bark and dust in the same breath.  It withholds until movement invites it. One must  allow light to negotiate with surface. In this way it resembles experience itself: meaning appears not through force, but through attention.
Copper not pretend to permanence; it acknowledges time and the touch of skin. Each wire was drawn tight and then eased, exercise in restraint embracing structure without severity.  lines are symmetrical enough to suggest order, yet imperfect enough to remain human. Jewelry, to me, is not object but  conversation between material and hand, between the moment of making and the years of wearing. bail grows from  body of piece rather than being attached as an afterthought, as if the form had decided upon its own continuation.
We speak often of seeking magic, yet it is rarely hidden. It waits in bark textures, in drifting feathers, in sudden flight of butterflies, in discipline of looking long enough for colour to reveal itself. This piece is simply a reminder that world, when observed with patience, is already sufficient and that sometimes single stone can hold the memory of sky and sunlight.