A Jewelry Studio Is a Language I Understand

My decision to become a digital nomad was based on finding ways to live the kind of life I desire—visiting as many countries and experiencing as many cultures as possible. I don’t believe I will have the type of retirement my grandparents experienced, so this lifestyle is my hack for experiencing the world within my means and in a way that I could not afford if I had the overhead of a permanent residence.

I tested this lifestyle in 2023 on a month-long solo trip to Thailand. When I returned home and looked at my finances and possessions, I began considering what I would have to give up to make living this way possible. Naturally, I felt hesitant about letting go of my apartment and car. However, what scared me most was the thought of giving up my jewelry studio. My identity had become entangled with my studio and the tools, materials, and equipment within it that I’d spent my adulthood acquiring. In truth, holding on to these things had felt like a burden for some time, but letting them go felt like I’d be giving up an important part of who I am. Without a physical studio and object-based practice, would my creative community still accept me?


Bench pins from LAJOIA jewelry school (left), the studio of Ana María Jiménez (middle), and the studio of Nicholas Estrada (right). Photos by Sarah Rachel Brown.


This question was not just a hypothetical. In early 2020, I gave a talk about my podcast Perceived Value to a group of college students. I talked about how my creative practice had shifted away from making jewelry toward producing the podcast, which I hoped would encourage the students to consider what other roles within their creative communities suit their strengths. Afterward, someone asked, “Can you still call yourself a jeweler if you’re no longer making jewelry?” I immediately felt defensive. I responded by saying, “Yes. Regardless of if I am making jewelry, I will always be a jeweler because I have dedicated my time to honing this craft.” However, the question echoed in my mind as I considered my travel plans. It fueled my internal (irrational) fear that I needed my studio space to solidify my identity as a jeweler and my place within the jewelry community.


Ana María Jiménez: Agujas y discos (hair combs), 2025. Bronze hammered with stone tools. Various dimensions. Photo: Alfonso Posada.


It took seven months to untether myself from nearly all my possessions. And, like with everything else in my career, I shared about the process on the podcast and on social media. Encouraging messages trickled in from my peers, listeners, and mentors. When I shared that my first destination was Medellín, Colombia, I learned that my connections stretched further than I imagined. Dubai-based Colombian jeweler Ana Escobar, whom I had met months prior at Munich Jewellery Week, reached out with names of artists to contact and sites to see. Manuela Jiménez, a previous podcast guest who grew up in Bogotá, offered guidance on which neighborhoods to stay in. Metalsmith editor Adriane Dalton sent an email connecting me to jeweler Ana María Jiménez.


Ana María Jiménez greets me outside of her studio in Medellín, Colombia. Photo: Sarah Rachel Brown.


Ana María Jiménez: Cuenco vivo, 2025; Copper, water, natural plant. ~15 cm diameter. Photo: Alfonso Posada.



“Soy Joyera” / “I am a Jeweler”

On January 7, 2025, I left the United States with one suitcase full of essentials and a backpack containing a laptop, a camera, two microphones, and an audio recorder.

After I arrived in Colombia, I spent most of my first month in a Spanish-language immersion program. I spent weekdays in the classroom and on weekends I booked guided tours to learn about the history of the area. Two weeks into my stay, I traveled to the nearby town of Guatapé, which is known for a giant granite rock called Piedra del Peñol. While I was exploring, I noticed a jewelry shop and stepped in for a closer look. There was a spiral staircase in the middle of the room; looking up it, I could see an anvil. With my limited Spanish, I attempted to express my interest in seeing the workspace to the shop owner, who did not speak English. “Soy Joyera,” I said, I’m a jeweler, and pointed to the many rings and earrings I was wearing. After a bit of confusion, he gestured up the stairs and welcomed me to explore.


The studio was familiar in many ways; pliers and hammers hung on the wall above a jeweler’s bench scattered with sheets of sandpaper, files, and small glass jars containing tiny things. The first thing I noticed was the bench pin, shaped by use and patinated by many years of filing, sanding, and polishing. I took a few photos and expressed my gratitude to the owner for letting me see his workshop. As I continued exploring Guatapé, I felt myself beaming. I was still mourning my own studio space, and this unexpected encounter in an artist’s workspace in a small town in the Colombian countryside was a comfort I didn’t know I needed. I felt a sense of home.

Until the experience in Guatapé, I had felt unsure about continuing my work on Perceived Value during my travels. I had had every intention of reaching out to fellow artists and jewelers to set up meetings before my arrival in Colombia, but I had held off, intimidated by my still-limited Spanish. Communicating is my superpower. For years, I’ve put myself out there to connect with artists on the podcast, but I questioned if I could express myself adequately. But then I realized my fear of an awkward encounter was keeping me from connecting with the jewelry community in Medellín. That evening, I put my insecurities aside and texted Ana María Jiménez to arrange a studio visit.


Scenes from inside Ana María Jiménez’s studio. Photos: Sarah Rachel Brown.



Pasión Compartida / Shared Passion

In my opinion, asking for a studio visit is the best way to get to know an artist, especially if there may be a language barrier. It’s like asking your crush out for coffee instead of committing to a dinner date—if it’s awkward you can keep it short. This approach might seem counterintuitive given that an artist’s studio is often a very personal space. However, it’s also a place where artists usually feel the most comfortable and capable of talking about themselves, because it’s not really about them—it’s about their work. And, in asking for a studio visit, I’m not putting a lot of pressure on us to connect as friends; we’re just two artists in the same community who might have a lot in common (and could potentially become friends).

Feeling anxious, I arrived at Ana María Jiménez’s studio prepared with a few sentences of Spanish memorized for the occasion. Ana María welcomed me into her studio space filled with familiar tools. As we began to talk—Ana María asking about my Spanish studies and confessing her own insecurities with English—I felt immediately at ease. I loved hearing about her research and seeing her handmade tools, so I cautiously asked if I could interview her for the podcast, offering to speak the little Spanish I knew on the recording. Afterward, I felt a renewed sense of confidence and began to envision recording a podcast series in Colombia. I knew I next needed to meet as many artists as possible, regardless of whether we spoke the same language.

After a month in Medellín, I left for a two-week stay in Bogotá. My visit to the capital city of Colombia was a whirlwind of studio visits, research, and museums. My first studio visit was with Simón Mazuera, an instructor and art jeweler I connected with through Ana Escobar. Over text, Simón had asked, “English or Spanish?” so I arrived relaxed, trusting our communication would be easy. Simón welcomed me into his multi-studio-space building located in the neighborhood of Barrios Unidos. The breadth and variety of his work demonstrated his extensive knowledge of jewelry techniques, and I was taken with his mokume-gane rings and his approach for casting stones in place. He urged me to visit the school where he teaches: Materia Prima Escuela de Joyería.
Simón Mazuera: Dull Sex (brooch), 2020. Glass, copper, steel. 7 x 5.5 x 3.5 cm. Photo by the artist.


Days later, I met with the school’s cofounders, Tatiana Apráez and Linda Margarita Sánchez. Since Linda studied at the Cranbrook Academy of Arts, her facility in English helped me communicate with Tatiana, who understands only a little English. From when the pair founded the school in 2015, it has grown from a jewelry-focused teaching studio to include rental studio spaces for other mediums (such as ceramics), a robust workshop schedule, and a growing art jewelry community.
My short trip to Bogotá resulted in a newfound community and circle of friends. Within weeks, I recorded four podcast interviews.


Visiting Simón Mazuera in his studio. Photos: Sarah Rachel Brown.


Scenes from inside and outside of Materia Prima in Bogotá, Colombia. Photos: Sarah Rachel Brown.



“Me encanta tu trabajo” / “I love your work”

As I learned more about the contemporary jewelry communities in South America, I decided to next travel to Chile, and I was grateful that Colombian jeweler Nicolas Estrada, whom I met during my first visit to Munich Jewellery Week in 2016, reached out to a handful of jewelers in Santiago on my behalf. Just days after arriving I made arrangements to visit jeweler Rita Soto Ventura. And this time, though I knew there would be a language barrier, I was less anxious, encouraged by our shared language of jewelry.

Rita Soto Ventura is the founder of the LAJOIA Jewelry School and the previous president of JOYABRAVA, Chile’s Guild of Contemporary Jewelers. Rita operated her studio and the jewelry school out of a converted house, working for thirteen years in what was most likely originally the living room. As I asked Rita about her life in Santiago, she filled the table with her work, which reimagines traditional horsehair microbasketry. Feeling the limits of my small Spanish vocabulary in the presence of Rita’s incredible work, I did my best to express my adoration of it.


That weekend, Rita invited me to a party at her studio. I felt nervous about making conversation but very quickly connected with glass artist Josefina Muñoz Torres over our shared experiences at US craft schools. Later, Rita introduced me to second-generation goldsmith and stone-setter Angel Aquiles Ramirez Fuentes and his partner Alejandra Moreno, a jeweler and previous student of the Escuela Joyería Pamela de la Fuente. Speaking through Google Translate, I was surprised to learn that there are only a few engastadores (stone-setters) in Chile, and most are located in Santiago. A week after the party, the couple invited me to their home for a studio visit, after which I tagged along for a night out in Santiago on one of my more memorable experiences from my travels.

As an artist who honed my craft and first found community through studying at craft schools, I kept looking for similar institutions in South America. Though I did not visit a school equivalent to Penland, Haystack, or Pilchuck, I did find schools similar to Baltimore Jewelry Center and Brooklyn Metal Works: Materia Prima in Bogotá, Colombia, and the Escuela Joyería Pamela de la Fuente in Santiago, Chile. 

In 2003 Pamela de la Fuente founded the independent jewelry school to prepare professionals with technical and expressive expertise. When I reached out to request a tour, Pamela suggested I come to an artist talk being given by Rome-based jeweler Olivia Monti Arduini. Olivia had just completed a three-month residency at the school, and graciously served as my translator during the visit. I was inspired by what Pamela had built: multiple studio spaces well equipped for fabrication, forming, casting, and lapidary—plus a second-floor gallery space and a catalogued library (where I spotted issues of Metalsmith magazine). Pamela later invited me to join Olivia’s farewell dinner the following night, and I again felt accepted into a vibrant community.


Visiting Rita Soto Ventura’s studio and LaJoia Jewelry School in Santiago, Chile. Photos: Sarah Rachel Brown.

Rita Soto Ventura: Illa Manka 04 – Amulet of the Andes, 2024. Horsehair, Tampico or Ixtle plant fiber, monofilament, photoluminescent threads, patinated silver, stainless steel, silicone and steel earring backs. Various dimensions. Photo by the artist.


During our studio visit, Josefina Muñoz Torres brought out some of her work to share. Photo: Sarah Rachel Brown.


Visiting with Angel Aquiles RamÍrez Fuentes at his studio in Santiago, Chile. Photos: Sarah Rachel Brown.



La joyería es un lenguaje / Jewelry is a language

So much more happened during my first five months in South America, including touring Centro Artensanal Los Dominicos, a Chilean artisan community, with artist Laura Mochales; getting to meet Angel Aquiles Ramírez Fuentes’s jeweler father and hanging out in his studio; and visiting Nicolas Estrada at his family home in the Colombian countryside.

My initial fear about losing my jewelry and craft communities evaporated once I leaned into my powers for communicating with people. Instead, my journeys expanded my connections and my jewelry community profoundly. I found friendships and had experiences that broke open my expectations of what my new travel lifestyle could bring. It’s comforting to know that, even if I don’t speak someone’s language, we can connect through our shared passion for jewelry-making.


Pamela de la Fuente in the studio at her eponymous jewelry school in Santiago, Chile, one of the school’s well-worn bench pins, and Pamela’s work space. Photos: Sarah Rachel Brown.


The author with Tatiana Apráez and Linda Sánchez (top left); Helena Aguilar (right) and Rita Soto (left). Photos: Sarah Rachel Brown.
 

About the author

Sarah Rachel Brown is an artist, journalist, and curator whose work bridges communities through storytelling, exhibition-making, and cross-cultural dialogue. She is co-curator of CONNECTOR, an international jewelry exhibition and podcast series fostering dialogue with Colombian artists. Since 2017 she has produced Perceived Value, a podcast acclaimed for its transparency regarding the financial realities of artists’ lives. In addition, she maintains a consulting business in marketing.

Instagram: @sarahrachelbrown