Behind-the-scenes stories, creative inspiration, honest reflections, and the occasional brutally honest thought. This is where I share what's on my heart — and in my clay.
Nobody is coming over on Mondays. I work from home — coffee, emails, admin work. No reason to bother. And still, every single Monday morning, I put on a pair of earrings. Not for anyone else. Just because something feels off when I don't. This is the case for wearing the beautiful thing on the day that doesn't seem to warrant it.
Before I was a jewelry maker, I was a chef, a dance teacher, a summer camp arts director, a substitute teacher. In every single one of those lives, I was teaching. Having workshops as part of Anam Cara Clay Goods was never a question. It was just the next chapter of something I've always done — and something I love more than I can easily explain.
It didn't happen all at once. It was a gradual shift — a slow realization that on the days I got my earrings right, I felt comfortable in my own skin. Not dressed up for anyone else. Just like myself. This is the philosophy behind Earrings First. Always. — and why starting there changes everything about how you get dressed.
When I started building Anam Cara Clay Goods, I knew I wanted the business to give back to something meaningful. I just didn't know what yet — until I found the Endometriosis Foundation of America and it hit me like a ton of bricks. This is the story of that moment, and why giving back has been part of the DNA of this business from the very beginning.
Every month a new pair lands in a Statement Society subscriber's mailbox. What most people don't see is what happens before the pair exists — the leftover clay, the color combination that arrives almost by accident, the technique pulled out because the moment calls for it. This is what that process looked like for February, and how a pile of winter collection scraps became something worth wearing everywhere.
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.
Bold is relative. Before I started making my own jewelry, my style was ordinary — safe, typical, nothing that announced itself. I didn't know yet what I was capable of.