Stories from
the studio.

I didn't want quiet. I didn't want neutral or muted or hushed. When I sat down to design the Winter Mini Collection, I was craving bold, unapologetic color — the kind that cuts through gray days and long nights. Magenta. Royal purple. Cobalt blue. Emerald green. This is the story behind the first collection in the Seasons of You series.

I'm a True Summer. The BFF collection — all warm coral and bright Valentine's pink — is not my palette. I kept two pairs anyway. And when someone gifted me a fuchsia dress, those earrings became one of my favorite combinations to wear. This is the post where I play devil's advocate with the color analysis series I just built — because the framework is useful, but it is not a law.

Winter is the season that makes people stop. Not in a subtle way — in a who is that way. There is a clarity to Winter coloring that is genuinely striking. High contrast, cool tones, deep or bold color. A Winter woman does not blend in. She was not built for it. Here is the jewelry that was built for her.

You know an Autumn woman when you see her. She is the one who looks absolutely extraordinary in October — like the whole world shifted its palette to match her. Rust and her hair are having a moment. Olive and her eyes are in full conversation. If Autumn is your season, your jewelry collection should know it.

Before my very first market, I made myself a pair of earrings. Rosy pink. Soft blue. A little blush. I did not know then what I know now about color analysis — I just knew those colors felt like me. It was not until I learned I was a True Summer that I understood why my instincts already knew my palette.

There is a specific kind of woman I think of when I'm reaching for coral and warm aqua at my worktable. She's the one who lights up a room without trying. Her coloring has this natural warmth and freshness to it — like she just came in from somewhere sunny. Everything about her reads alive. That's Spring. And if it's your season, your jewelry should feel exactly the same way.

I didn't really know what seasonal color analysis was when I started Anam Cara Clay Goods. I'd seen things online and filed it away. Then it kept showing up everywhere — in conversations, in communities, in the way people talked about finally feeling like themselves. So I did what I always do: I went into full research mode. What I found changed the way I make jewelry. And personally? It changed everything.

The Self-Love Club has no membership requirements, no minimum purchase, and absolutely no wellness aesthetic required. It's just a group of women trying to show up for themselves — imperfectly, inconsistently, and with a lot more grace than we usually think we deserve. I've been practicing this for a while now, and I'm still terrible at it some days. Here's what I've figured out anyway.

A college retreat leader once told me: don't anticipate, participate. I wrote it down and forgot about it for fifteen years. Then I got sick, and making things with my hands became the only place I could actually be. That's when I finally understood what she meant.

Buying jewelry for someone else is genuinely hard, and I say that as someone who makes it for a living. There are a few things I've learned — from customers, from markets, from watching people light up and watching people politely smile — that make all the difference. Here's what actually works.

I'm just going to say it upfront: Anam Cara Clay Goods is not my primary income. My dad was a full-time artist his whole life, and I watched what that cost him. I made a different choice — and I want to talk about why that choice doesn't make this business any less real. If anything, it makes it more honest.

In the rush of market prep and growing to-do lists, it’s easy to fall into a constant cycle of planning ahead and hustling harder. But this season, I’m feeling a quiet call to do something different—to slow down, to breathe, and to be fully present. Inspired by a simple phrase from my college retreat days—“Don’t anticipate. Participate.”—I’m learning (again) that the most meaningful moments in both life and art don’t come from control or planning… but from presence.

My Aunt Lynn wore jewelry like it was part of her vocabulary. After she passed, I understood for the first time that the pieces we choose to wear say something true about us — something words don't always get to. This post is about what it means to wear yourself out loud.

My husband has this habit of saying "what if" about everything. It used to drive me a little crazy. Then I realized it's exactly how I approach every piece I make — what if this color, what if this shape, what if someone wears this and feels like a different version of themselves. That's what I'm making jewelry for.

I was a chef before I was a jewelry maker. Before that I was someone who thought her life was mostly figured out. Then everything changed — a move, a community I didn't expect to love, a diagnosis, a surgery, a pandemic, a piece of clay. This is how Anam Cara Clay Goods actually started.

I'm left-handed, and for years I kept bumping my elbow into the person next to me at the dinner table. Eventually someone told me I was allowed to just move over. I think about that a lot. This post is about six things I'm slowly, imperfectly learning — about taking up space, failing, asking for help, and showing up for the people I love.