Forget Me Not
A symbol of remembrance, hope, and everlasting love and devotion.
These sentiments inspired every step of creating my Forget Me Not range.
It all began on the Isle of Wight. As a child, I was lucky enough to spend holidays there with my grandparents. Summers meant days at the beach hut—playing on the shore, swimming in the warm water—but my favourite place was always Osborne House. Its opulence and grandeur were mesmerising, but for a peerie Shetland lass who had never seen trees taller than houses, the gardens felt utterly magical.
On a family trip there in 2012, my sister, my sisters-in-law, and I bought matching bracelets—tiny forget-me-nots encased in resin. A small, beautiful memento of a special family holiday there.
Fast forward to the summer of 2020—a year no one will forget. Normally a social butterfly, happiest surrounded by people, but now I found myself restricted to our home with my immediate family. I was bombarded with a constant stream of troubling news which wore me down, and I struggled to find joy. My sister found herself in a similar position, so she suggested a daily, socially distanced walks to help our mental and physical wellbeing. That summer was the best weather Shetland had ever seen. We wandered down a single-track road, admiring wildflowers on the verges and checking on tadpoles in the ditches. One day, she spotted a few different varieties of forget-me-nots and encouraged that I try making them in silver—or incorporating them into our resin work. We spoke of our family holiday, how we all still had our little forget me not bracelets, reminding me of a time when we were all together, something I thought we would never get back.
We picked and dried a few to experiment, but my creative mind wouldn’t rest. I wanted to see if I could capture their beauty in silver. After much thought and encouragement, I shaped and layered the first one—a small, shiny, perfectly imperfect silver flower. I adored it. But I also had a vision: colour. So, I made a new master, domed the petals, added enamel, and placed a dainty 9ct yellow gold centre. They were exactly as I had imagined.
I couldn’t wait to release them—but even more, I couldn’t wait to give the very first one to my sister. I thanked her for giving me hope in a dark time, for showing love and kindness when I was lost, for reminding me of one of the happiest family holidays of my life. She was delighted and humbled.
As the years passed and forget-me-nots continued to brighten the verges, I began wondering—how small could I possibly make them? These tiny, delicate flowers thrive in hidden places, bringing colour to the darkness. They deserved to be captured just as they are. After painstaking work with the smallest saw blades and files, I finally held in my hand a perfectly delicate miniature forget-me-not.
It’s been one of the most challenging and rewarding ranges I’ve ever made. Even now, when I see them at the enamelling station—in their many beautiful colours—I do a little happy dance inside. I love seeing how others mix and match them, creating their own sets. It’s inspiring, and I can’t wait to see what other designs will blossom from this range.
None of this range would have happened if it wasn't for covid, a time everyone came together but no one will ever forget.
