I have a Masters degree in design I have been a making professionally for over a decade. After a career break to start a family I was inspired to turn my attention to jewellery making. I work from my home studio at the bottom of my leafy garden in not-so-sunny East Lothian, and every piece of jewellery is made with care and attention by my own fair (or actually quite dry and scarred) hands.
As a mother of two I understand the emotional and sentimental value of personalised jewellery, and I am happy to work with you to create the perfect gift for your own little cherished treasure.
I first became interested in the deeper meaning of comfort objects during my undergraduate degree, when I was examining the imaginary relationships children build with their toys. I discovered the term ‘transitional object’, which was coined by children’s psychologist DW Winnicott in the 1950s, which describes:
any material object (typically something soft—a piece of cloth, say, or part of a plush toy) to which an infant attributes a special value and by means of which the child is able to make the necessary shift from the earliest oral relationship with the mother to genuine object-relationships.
In other words, the transitional object, or comforter, is much more than just a favourite toy, it is a source of closeness and comfort that helps the child feel safe in exploring the world, which to them is all new, and possibly daunting. With its distinct smell and pleasant textures it acts as a constant point of stability, a little reminder of the safe sanctuary of home, or of mummy’s arms. It is a dependable ally which is always there and unchanged, accompanying the child as they bravely discover everything that is new in the world.
There is no possible replacement for a friend as special as the transitional object. Its individual character is accumulated through its proximity to and relationship with the child. And yes that does include the bunny ear that is crusty from being sucked, and the foot that is threadbare from being constantly rubbed, and even that oh-so-special aroma that it has accumulated from five years of bedtimes, car journeys, duvet days and holidays. But there comes a point where that stinky, greying, matted lump of faux fur and stuffing, just needs to start staying at home.
For Lily and Bubba the time came that it was a choice between leaving him at home, and losing him forever. He was lost and found too many times, if a cat has nine lives, I don’t know how many Bubba has! He’s spent an entire day by himself in the museum, over-nighted in a ditch at the side of a French road, been retrieved hours later from a rainy climbing frame long after a trip to the park. I made Lily’s Bubba necklace for her over a year ago, and while it is no replacement, it is a constant reminder to her of her special companion, and a source of reassurance as she grows up at such an astonishing rate and continues to conquer new things in the world every day.
And now we have Esme and her Dod-o, and are wishing that she’d had the good sense to choose a black bunny like her sister, rather than an ever greying white dog. But these decisions are not ours to make!