It is universal that art and creative practices are fundamental to the way in which we navigate the world. One must have an outlet to channel life's experiences and emotions; it is through this we create meaning and find fulfilment. Without it, individually and collectively we are lost. Creation is a testament to loss, hardship and prevailment. Creation is otherworldly; it combines what we can not see with our tangible reality. It is a divine revelation and is the core of our beings. I do not feel like I am myself if I am neglecting my creativity. In fact, my relationship with silversmithing makes me feel whole, and my journey to silversmithing shows just that.
When I look back to how I started my journey, I am reminded that it was unlike the beginning of any creative venture I had started before. I can only describe it as that I was thrust into the world of silver, seemingly out of no where. I hadn’t experienced any previous desire to try metal smithing and I didn’t even wear or have much interest in jewellery. Not until the one random day that it just called to me. It was as if suddenly I knew it was something I must do. I enrolled into a course that day and the classes happened to commence in two days. I had unknowingly just gotten into something that would do more for me than I could ever imagine. It was the start of an extremely pivotal shift in my life.
I quickly became hooked on metal. It excited me creatively in ways I hadn’t been before. I was constantly thinking about silver and the infinite ways I could manipulate it. I began creating as much as I could, always anticipating the next skill I would learn. Although, my practice would soon become way deeper than I had intended. Through quite literal blood, sweat and tears, it would go on to reveal to me many lessons. Silver would become an imperative teacher in the most unsuspecting ways.
The most inherent thing silver smithing become to represent to me very early on was perseverance; a word I don’t think I had truly understood until I started this journey. During my first few weeks of beginning classes, I experienced my first big loss. I became cloaked in a grief I found so incredibly unbearable. I was sure I wanted to put silver on the back burner, it had only been a few weeks, it wasn’t worth much anyway - I told myself. Giving-up on my new venture felt easy, I had woulds to tend to of course. Giving-up was such a familiar pattern to me, I should just succumb the abyss. Every past endeavour I had ever started I had given up. The slightest fear and I would let my foundations crumble. It always felt like the sudden need to shed myself of anything I was doing, trying or experiencing as I believed I simply couldn’t handle it; not with my temperament, not with my turmoil. I couldn’t prove to myself I was somehow strong enough, that my world wasn’t ending every time I felt uncomfortable or existential. All I knew to be true was that I had a long list of things I’d tried and essentially failed because I just couldn’t do it. An experience I know that is not singular to me but overly apparent to the human experience.
Unbeknownst to me, silver was different. Something about it kept calling me back. It was as if by the grace of something ‘other’, I had been firmly sat back down at the studio. This time I had to surrender. Something within me was trying to show me I could commit to this; that I had to show up. Showing up for silver meant showing up for myself. It quite literally became the silver lining when I thought it was the last thing I needed on my plate. For the first time in my life I felt as if I was starting to persevere. It was time to commit to something and reveal that I was capable through whatever adversity came my way. So I sat at the bench and I sawed, and filed and forged; strengthening myself each time I smithed.
During the next 6 months I would experience two more immense losses. Once more, the deaths shook me in ways I had never experienced. I felt as if grief was trying to drown me in its heavy cloak. My newfound perseverance in my practice was again, greatly tested. I can try this silver stuff later, I don’t need this right now, I would tell myself. I believed I would feel a lot better if I just gave up. But yet, somehow that ‘other’ came back and sternly pulled me back to the bench. Maybe it was autopilot, maybe it was spirit but one thing was clear: I had to return. This time with more fire burning inside me to prevail. I forged and strengthen myself and the silver and on the late night drives home from class I would grieve. I found a channel for my grief and a space for it too.
Not only did my practice become a symbol of perseverance for myself, it also became a way of honouring those who i’d lost. Like people are called to get tattoos to honour and grieve their loved ones, I become called to adorn myself with pieces to honour and help myself feel close to the ones I had lost. I could feel the silver and them strengthening me. My pieces gave me the reminders of their existence that I craved. My silver practice showed me the beauty in my grief and allowed me to transmute the pain.
Silver didn’t only just help me show up to myself, it made it easier for me to show up to the world. Suddenly, I felt like I had something I could offer. Something to strengthen me as I was emerging into this new found territory. I felt value in what I had to share for the first time. Creative practice had always been something I had involved myself in, but for some reason when it came to sharing it, I always felt ashamed. Silver somehow felt like the first thing I felt no shame in sharing. As I adorned myself with pieces that I created, the way I started to show up in the world was different. I had a new found sense of confidence and self belief. I knew I could persevere, and now I was grounded in my strength. My pieces strengthened me like armour. I felt as if they protected me.
Furthermore, silversmithing has taught me about patience like nothing else. It is not a process you can rush or skip through, it is long and meticulous. I learnt this very early on despite trying to test it over and over again. Silver shows if you are not patient, the sequence will become more arduous and your frustration will become imminent. There are no shortcuts, but if you take the time, you will be greatly rewarded. Silver in itself is a fickle thing. It does not forgive easily, one attempt at jumping the gate and you are back to the beginning. So patience, I have learnt, is its best friend and now mine.
I have only explored the tip of the iceberg with silver so I know more lessons are bound to reveal themselves. In the meantime I will solder, saw, file and polish some more and then some. I cannot be more thankful for my journey thus far.
To me silversmithing feels like magic. Like the tethering of earth and ether. It encompasses all elements; all feelings. It brings me closer to spirit and to my self.
By Kate Henry