My Dream Jewellery Project

My Dream Jewellery Project (by Ordinary, Mundane, and Maybe Boring People)

For some time now, perhaps since the pandemic began, I’ve had a hard time describing what I do—or who I am—more than before 2019. When you’re a minority in this country, people often ask you questions like, “Where are you from? What is your occupation? Where are you going after this?”

If I say, “I am a nurse,” the usual response is, “Oh, good for you. We need more nurses,” implying that I am accepted here. If I say, “I am an artist, or I make jewellery art,” the conversation usually takes an unexpected turn. The next question might be, “How long are you staying here?” or “Why don’t you sell your stuff at a stall in the weekend market?”

I often feel the need to justify my existence and purpose to people, both living and deceased. When I ignore text messages from the hospital asking for extra weekend shifts—since we’re always short-staffed due to COVID—and colleagues ask why I didn’t come in, I can’t tell them that I needed to daydream all weekend to stay sane. Instead, I say I wasn’t feeling well, which isn’t entirely untrue.

Some days, I work alongside people fighting for their lives and the lives of others. The next day, I might be sketching random things on paper or on a beer mat, not knowing where these creations will end up. One afternoon, I might discuss how a UFO could become a jewellery piece, rather than discussing the efficacy of a chemotherapy drug like I did the other day.

I can’t say, “I am a jeweller,” when asked. I can’t repair rings or broken chains quickly or enjoyably. I sometimes feel too ashamed to say that I am a visual artist. While it’s illegal to falsely claim to be a medical practitioner, no such law prevents people from calling themselves artists. Many offers unsolicited advice on art, and I can’t usually counter their opinions.

Despite investing as much time and money in my art degree as in other fields, society doesn’t seem to value my artistic efforts as much. I’m often asked to do free art and design work, but no one asks me to provide free medical care.

When I feel lost, I stop writing and speaking. I couldn’t continue this blog or my art teaching job when the university repeatedly questioned my purpose.

SOS

I asked for help. I started asking people—ordinary people, if such a term can be defined—the following questions:

1. What do you do for a job?

2. May I ask how old you are?

3. If you could have any necklace or neckpiece of your choice, what would it look like?

4. What would it be made of?

5. If that neckpiece had a superpower, what would it be?

They might know the answers that I do not.