Jane’s Fingerprints | We are never alone.

20 Nov Jane’s Fingerprints | We are never alone.

Unique to each of us is our fingerprint.

A soon-to-be married couple for whom I recently created wedding bands requested that their partner’s fingerprint be incorporated into the design of their rings. I welcomed the challenge. I knew it to be a relatively recent trend that came into vogue along with the metal clays on the market these days. My technical challenge was not so much the fact that I had not created “fingerprint jewelry” before but really the fact that there is no white gold metal clay available to metalsmiths just yet, and certainly not in the palladium white gold alloys that I prefer to use for wedding bands.

Finally, I achieved what my clients wanted with a little warmed wax and a silicone casting mold. They were happy, which meant that I was happy.

In the weeks that followed, I thought more about fingerprints, literal and figurative.

Just recently I was fortunate to be invited to explore the tools and equipment of a late metalsmith who passed away a couple of years ago. She wielded metal into her 70s. When I arrived at her home, I was immediately struck by the daring neckpiece being worn by her daughter, who was tasked with sorting through her mother’s things after her death. The neckpiece was made by Jane, and it featured bold sections of reticulated silver, a rich bezel-set gemstone, and a powerful presence on the body commanded by its bold shape and scale. There was nothing timid about it, and I appreciated it instantly.

I had invited my studio mates to join me since they are working to build their own tool arsenals. We spent an hour or two sorting through the variety of tools and equipment there, stored in boxes and spread out on folding tables in what was probably once a dining room. The late 18th century house was past its prime, with plaster falling in as the walls sagged and the critters attempted to invade through the chimneys. But an historical pulse resonated throughout the grand rooms, complete with soaring ceilings, regal electric turquoise drapes and a tightly tucked-in and leaning staircase that led to another layer of grand rooms, long windows and tiled fireplaces. What an amazing structure, including the second kitchen upstairs which Jane had converted to her studio as light poured in from the south and west.

I learned that Jane had completed art school in the 1960s, that she had established fully-equipped practices in a variety of art media, and that she had worked as a probation and parole officer. My kind of lady.

I took home with me Jane’s studio bag that she would carry to metalsmithing workshops, some forming dies she had made herself, and an exhaustive collection of books on metalsmithing, enameling and gemstones, among other topics. After flipping through the books, sorting through the contents of the bag and studying the shapes of her personal die-forming collection, I began to see her fingerprint. These things are intimate and personal, created by her in the course of her creative practice. Alone they are merely objects left behind. But collectively they are her trail – traces of the fact that she lived, she created, she simply was.

I consider it an honor to step into her creative space by adopting her tools and implementing them into my own creative practice. I think of my own daughters who will someday be trying to sort through my collection of tools and random whatevers, not sure what this thing does or how valuable that thing is. I trust that someone will come along for them to give a new home to my stuff and honor my fingerprint.