As many of you already know, before starting silversmithing I was working with beads. I bought the beads and simple tools I needed from a local craft store as a birthday present to myself in 2019. It was a wonderful craft to practice at home alongside caring for my two little ones. I taught myself how to weave earrings and I intended to make jewelry as Christmas gifts for my family members. That never happened, but I began selling my earrings on Etsy instead. We were living in southern Arizona and I decided to name my shop after my favorite plant—the Apache Plume. This plant was in our yard and throughout our neighborhood. It has the most beautiful and whimsical plumes. I was captivated by the contrast between the appearance of its delicate flowers and its ability to persist through drought out there in the unforgiving desert. After a few months of selling earrings, becoming more in tune with the beading community, and eventually being asked by a few people if I was Indigenous (I am not)—I realized how extremely problematic my shop name was. For someone who was not aware of the Apache Plume plant or hadn’t read about how I came to name the shop, it could be assumed that I was native. I changed my shop name to Plume Handmades and took a deep look at my myself, my white privilege, and how I could move forward from my mistakes. Looking back now, I can so clearly see my ignorance in all of this—and I wish I would’ve seen it from the start. But I didn’t. I messed up, and now I’m trying to do much better.
After I changed my shop name, I remained busy beading, my family moved across the country, and we all tried to find a new normal through the pandemic. Some days beading felt good, and other days it didn’t. I couldn’t shake the weight of my previous mistakes. I felt like a bad person. I felt stupid, really stupid. These feelings, moving, and being in the midst of pandemic life brought everything to a head. I became burnt out and it no longer felt good to bead or to sell my beadwork. While beading is an art form practiced worldwide, I made my decision to stop selling my beadwork after giving more thought to my southwestern inspiration, my first encounter with beaded jewelry (it was Native American made), and the history and the meaning of beadwork here in North America. Beadwork has an important role within Indigenous culture & history—a history that includes oppression—oppression that prohibited Indigenous people from practicing their very own culture and artforms. There are many talented bead artists out there selling their work—many Indigenous who have a deep cultural connection to their craft. I knew that there were many Indigenous artists in the same space of selling beaded jewelry as me and I decided that I didn’t want to take up that space anymore after the mistake I made.
I stopped selling beadwork, I still regret my initial shop name, but I’m thankful for the lessons beading taught me and how that part of my story brought me to where I am today. Beading gave me an outlet that allowed me to connect to my creative mind. Creating art with my hands had become a valuable part of my life that I knew I didn’t want to give up. Before beads were even part of my story, I had dreamt to one day learn how to silversmith. But silversmithing always felt like a bucket list thing—maybe I’d get to it one day when my kids were older, when I had more time, and when I had more money to spend on things like that. After beading stopped feeling right, I knew that I wanted to continue making art and I knew that now was the time that I could buck up and invest in silversmithing. Beading gave me the courage to invest in myself as a maker. Beading has taught me important lessons about my white privilege and about creative inspiration. I know that turquoise jewelry also carries meaning within Indigenous culture and I’m more aware than ever of the significance that certain styles, designs, and symbolism may carry. I place great value in creating original jewelry that has been inspired by no one but me, my experiences, and my feelings. There are parts of my story that have been uncomfortable, but that discomfort has also brought great learning. It’s incredibly important to me to create jewelry that is genuine and heartfelt. Jewelry that does not pull inspiration from another artist or another culture, jewelry that is uniquely crafted by my hands and dreamt up in the roots of my heart.
So here I am today. Far from perfect, but I’m growing. I want to be a good example for my kids that sometimes our stories are messy and we fall. Sometimes we make stupid and hurtful mistakes, but what defines us is where we go from there. There’s always room to learn, grow, and do better.