Waiting to Emerge
On Creativity and the Quiet Work Beneath the Surface
There are pieces that begin with a clear idea.
This wasn't one of them.
This one began with curiosity.
For a couple of years, an antique-inspired cicada wax seal sat on my workbench. Every so often I would take it out, admire it, and then put it away again. I knew I wanted to create something from it, but every idea felt like it was forcing the design instead of listening to it.
So I waited.
I didn't know what I was waiting for.
Only that I wasn't ready yet.
Then, while looking through a small parcel of gemstones I had recently brought home from a gem show, I picked up an oval tsavorite garnet.
Almost absentmindedly, I laid it over the cicada.
It fit perfectly.
Not almost.
Perfectly.
The tiny round tsavorite nestled naturally into the little raised circle near the bottom of the design, becoming the final punctuation mark that the composition had been quietly waiting for.
In that moment, years of uncertainty disappeared.
The piece suddenly knew what it wanted to become.
Working with silver clay always feels a little mysterious to me.
Fine particles of precious silver mixed with an organic binder begin as something surprisingly soft and fragile. Every line is carved, refined, sanded, and coaxed into place before the piece enters the kiln. Fire burns away everything temporary, leaving only solid silver behind.
This pendant, however, wasn't quite finished teaching me patience.
After firing, I soldered the large ring that allows the pendant to move freely on the chain. The heat damaged the original tsavorite, and I had to carefully remove it, rebuild the setting using fresh silver clay, and fire the stone into place a second time.
It wasn't what I had planned.
But handmade work rarely follows a perfectly straight path.
Sometimes the piece itself insists on showing you another way forward.
While I was making the pendant, I thought I was simply creating a cicada.
As I lived with it—making it, finishing it, photographing it—I realized it was quietly becoming something else.
I've always been drawn to symbols of transformation.
Moths have appeared in my jewelry for years. So have hares, trees, spiderwebs, and tiny wildflowers growing where no one expects them.
Looking back, I realize they all share something.
They're less about becoming someone different...
and more about becoming more fully yourself.
The cicada carries that story in a way that feels different from any other creature.
Unlike a butterfly, whose transformation happens quickly, a cicada spends years beneath the earth.
Hidden.
Growing.
Changing where no one can see.
Only when the time is right does it emerge into the light.
As I worked on this piece, I found myself thinking about the seventeen-year cicadas.
I've always felt an inexplicable affection for them. They emerged during my first year of life, and then again when I graduated from high school at seventeen. I can't explain why they feel like "my" cicadas.
They simply do.
Sometimes we don't choose our symbols.
Sometimes they quietly choose us.
When it came time to photograph the finished pendant, I reached for a fossil shell I had recently found.
I hadn't planned that, either.
The shell once protected life.
The cicada spends years hidden before emerging.
Suddenly, the photograph felt complete.
Only afterward did I realize why.
This pendant had quietly become a meditation on emergence.
Not dramatic transformation.
Not instant change.
But the slow, unseen work that happens beneath the surface before anything beautiful reveals itself.
Perhaps that's why I became so attached to it while I was making it.
Perhaps that's why it feels different from anything I've made before.
Or perhaps some pieces arrive carrying meanings that reveal themselves only if we're willing to listen.
If this little cicada speaks to you, I hope it reminds you that unseen seasons are never wasted.
Sometimes the most important parts of our lives are happening underground.
And sometimes...
the world is simply waiting for us to emerge.
About this piece
This one-of-a-kind cicada pendant was handcrafted in my Silver Spring, Maryland studio from fine silver using precious metal clay and set with vibrant green tsavorite garnets. Every piece I create is made in small batches—or, like this one, as a true one-of-a-kind—and carries its own subtle character and story.
If you'd like to see the finished pendant or explore more handmade talismans inspired by nature, transformation, and everyday magic, you can find them here.