Blanche Jelly was my paternal great grandmother, but I never met her. Trying to conjure her, I instead viscerally recall glimpses of childhood visits to my grandmother’s home: the humidity of the kitchen and the shell on the mantle. It is these small, irregular details of a space, like its odd floor tiles or unique hardware, that contain thick potential to shape a sense of place and create worlds of memory.
Each piece of my hardware is different from the next. Cast of brass or bronze, it is cool, solid, and its carved surfaces are still soft to the touch. The work of crafting each piece is labor intensive; each piece reflects years of experimentation and a deep belief in the value of small objects, made with care, by hand.