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2022 was, until now, the only year in which I participated with two different collections at two different fairs within the same season. It was intense, demanding, and deeply affirming.
At Romanian Jewelry Week, I presented Broken Traditions. City Glass — a collection that felt profoundly personal and vulnerable. It was not large. There were only a few pieces, and each one was entirely different from the others, carrying its own story, its own tension, its own fragment of memory. I wouldn’t know how to choose a favorite; they were all necessary, all intimate.
The collection was received with warmth and curiosity. Even though the event gathered a large number of artists, I felt seen again. Seen and understood. That feeling — of being recognized not just as a maker, but as a voice — is rare and precious.
Among the works, there was one object that was never meant to be sold. It was too personal, too charged with memory. It included a fragment of bed embroidery made by my great-grandmother — a small piece of textile history, of lineage, of inherited gesture. I wore that piece around my neck during the exhibition. You can see it in the photos. It was my quiet anchor, my bridge between generations.
Unfortunately, I lost all the photographs from that event when my phone broke, and I was never able to recover them. There is a particular kind of sadness in losing visual proof of a moment that mattered so much. But perhaps it is fitting. Some things are meant to remain internal — preserved not in archives, but in memory.
I carry that autumn with gratitude. It was a season of courage, of exposure, of honoring where I come from while redefining where I am going. Even without the images, it remains vivid in my heart.
