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A necklace named Paprika.
Photography by Claudine Boeglin
Tattoos are commitment,
de la vida a la muerte, inked deep in the skin. Pearls are more frivolous and transient. They sit on a neck, then, the second after, hide in a bed or roll under a chair. Playful toys, they are. Look at the way rings escape fingers in a lengthy meeting, as if willing to throw the dice. And bracelets can collapse on a wrist and soon slide backward along a forearm, as if on a toboggan.
Pearl necklaces are lovers. Some are authorized to spend the whole night; others are abandoned on a bedside table. And earrings, like gloves, can turn orphans, but we keep them anyway. Light in allure, jewelry is filled with meaning, symbolism, and ancestry. Grandmothers and mothers-in-law pass on their treasures for pearls to outline the curve of a neck beneath a mass of somber hair.
Green glass beads spiced with paprika and pearls are little beasts of black magic. They capture and reflect light, bring familiarity to the foreign, intrigue to the random, and they whisper the way words build poetry, and music dresses up silence.
Photography Claudine Boeglin @dandyvagabond
Photography and text Claudine Boeglin
