To remove the mind from the making process is one thing; to remove the hands, though, is to risk removing an activity that has been vital and common to our species for the overwhelming majority of its existence. Robin Shelton interviewed by Klimt02
Interview
/
Artists
Published: 30.01.2025
- Author:
- klimt02
- Edited at:
- Barcelona
Brooch: MotherFunker of Invention, 1995
Gilded brass, spring steel, oxidised silver
7 x 5 x 1.5 cm
Photo by: Robin Shelton
From series: MotherFunkers of Invention
© By the author. Read Klimt02.net Copyright.

New Klimt02 member Robin Shelton shares his journey and the role of technology and networking in his practice.
Tell us about your background. What were your first influences to be creative and become an artist and what has drawn you to contemporary jewellery?
My first memories of making are at my father’s crooked, swollen knee. He was a keen DIYer but suffered terribly from rheumatoid arthritis so using tools was a painful experience for him – I guess I thought that anything that’s worth doing even if it hurts really is worth doing. My mother had an arts training, as did my older sister. Being an artist-maker, therefore, is in my blood.
My sister met the man who became her husband when she was just 17 years old and I was 13; he was a successful sculptor (now an exceptional painter) and taught me on my art foundation course. He suggested that I follow a discipline that fed my hunger for making – ceramics or jewellery were his casual recommendations; I didn’t fancy clay so I applied to Loughborough College of Art to study Silversmithing and Jewellery. I liked the progressive approach of the course but was also fascinated by the technique-heavy first year; I had never worked metal before so was intrigued by this arcane art! I graduated in 1995 with first class honours.
Whilst studying, I was introduced to the greats of the art jewellery avant-garde; Künzli, Broadhead, Schobinger, Degen, Derrez, Bakker and Van Leersum. The possibility of combining the traditional techniques I learned with these unusual materials and new philosophies of making truly excited me and continues to do to this day.
I also find working to the scale and consequent precision of jewellery a meditative process; after thirty years of making (and of thinking about making) many of the technical aspects have become muscle memory so in the studio my mind is occupied by the intellectual rigours of why – rather the logistical issues of how – I am making. Manifesting a small, ‘precious’ object – plucked from a myriad that could be made – after days, weeks, months or sometimes years of visualising, planning and executing is a concentrated distillation.
How important is networking for you in your professional practice and what are your preferred tools for this?
Making art of any kind, for me, is an isolating process. I hesitate to use the word ‘lonely’ as that has a somewhat mournful implication not suitable to an occupation that truly occupies me. Achieving a clarity of vision or a coherence of voice in the pieces I make necessitates me working alone; not only when I am physically making but also when I’m thinking, planning, refining, troubleshooting, drawing, writing, researching and disseminating.
I think that networking is essential for any artist as an antidote to this isolation. But not merely in the commonly understood – perhaps slightly cynical – sense of the word; the process by which one seeks some kind of monetary reward or commercial favour as a consequence of flesh-pressing and chin-wagging. Although this is important – making art is not viable or sustainable without the artist being able to afford to continue doing so – but it is not the primary purpose of ‘networking’ for me.
I love to meet people – makers, artists, gallerists, curators, thinkers, writers, musicians, film-makers – face-to-face; to physically interact with those who have similar values, mindsets and preferences to me, and with whom I can talk about our common passions and practices. Although virtual, digital technologies of course have their uses, I am not comfortable with using them any more than I need to for the documentation and dissemination of my work.
My preferred tools for networking, then? Depending on the time of day these would be a coffee or a beer, perhaps some comfortable furniture, a little low music and plenty of time to talk.
What are your general thoughts on the contemporary jewellery world, (education, market, development...), where do you see chances and where are dead ends?
The issues that affect the world of contemporary art of any kind (including jewellery) are also those that have an impact on the rest of the world. When the world sneezes, art catches a cold.
I am of a generation that grew up while the digital revolution was in its infancy. Computer Studies (as it was called then) involved a hard-drive that needed its own room. When I was a child, growing up in the middle of the countryside, mindfulness was something of a necessity, not an app on your phone. I simply had no choice but to be entertained by the small, seemingly insignificant things; often objects that I would pocket and take home.
Combined with the fact that to make things – to have agency with our physical world – was something my family took for granted, for as long as I remember I have wanted to modify materials with my hands through co-ordination of my eyes and brain. As I have grown older, I realise that to do this without purpose, intent or philosophy is nothing more than three-dimensional doodling.
To remove the mind (where is the line between the mindful and the mindless?) from the making process is one thing; to remove the hands, though, is to risk removing an activity that has been vital and common to our species for the overwhelming majority of its existence. Our ascendency has quite obviously had some environmentally destructive consequences, but surely a huge contributary factor to this potential mass-extinction event is the demise of people being able to fix things – to have agency with their possessions – in order that they can be maintained and respected rather than disposed of and conveniently forgotten about. In its broadest sense, waste of any kind – physical, intellectual, moral, temporal – is possibly the largest contributary factor to the predicament our planet finds itself in.
So, when we make things, it is contingent on us to do so with care, thought and an appreciation of where the materials we use come from and how we justify the existence of an object (and its consequent use of resources) through its intent or message. I do not label myself as an ‘environmental’ artist because ‘the environment’ isn’t my primary reason for using the objects and materials I employ, but I do think it is important to make things in a more mindful way. I think it's the only chance we have; to me, the over-reliance of society on virtual, digital, artificial technologies is the deadest end of all.
Thinking about your career, what role do technology and the digital play in your artistic development & communication?
Short answer? It cannot be argued that modern technologies are now the only sensible (if soulless) way to disseminate art, but - as stated above – I have no desire to use them in its making. Long-ish answer below.
In its truest sense, the word ‘technology’ can be taken to mean ‘any object, contrivance or phenomenon employed by humans (and other animals) in order to gain some improvement in, or advantage over, what they might otherwise be incapable of achieving or subjugating’. Fire, the wheel, knapped flint are some of the earliest examples; our current virtual and artificial digital technologies are simply part of their evolution.
All of us must decide on which part of that evolutionary continuum we comfortably sit. I am at my happiest and most engaged when I am using refined versions of ancient tools. Saws, hammers, abrasives, flames; this is when my hands, eyes and brain all harmonise – when I tap into that ancient part of myself that speaks wordlessly to the commonest part of all of us; of everyone who ever existed.
I see the use of digital technologies – photography, internet, email, social media – as a necessary professional evil. Modern technology is like any other tool; use it wisely, with respect and for the correct job and it shouldn’t hurt you. After spending the first two weeks of 2025 battling to gain access to my website in order to edit it, I’ve been reminded once again how crucial it is to have agency with our tools; to be able to empathise with them, to be able to cure them. It could be argued that, as a species, outsourcing has been our downfall.
A note on the semantics of technology here; it is worth remembering what the words that we use quite glibly actually mean. According to my Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (yes, an actual two-volume set of really quite heavy books) come the following:
"Virtual"’ – "computing: Not physically existing but made by software to appear to do so from the point of view of the program or the user".
"Artificial" – "Not real; imitation; substitute".
When we use virtual or artificial technologies, we should do so remembering that, by the very definitions of their inventors, they are not real; not, in fact, extant at all. As for the word ‘digital’, imagine my surprise as a middle-aged man concerned about the possibility of prostate cancer receiving a digital examination at the doctor’s.
How has your work changed over the past few years and what are you excited about these days?
In a career of making art that spans over three decades, I have the advantage of a little perspective and have watched as many of my answers change. In 1995, I made three pieces of work in response to a self-set brief as part of my final degree submission. A neckpiece, a brooch and a bracelet, all of whose form was dictated largely by the design problem each piece sought to overcome.
These pieces are still in my possession and are not, nor have they ever been, for sale. I was very happy with them then – they said everything I wanted to express about design, about jewellery, about art, about making. And I like them now – I still think they are well-made, interesting pieces of work that stand up to aesthetic, technical and philosophical scrutiny.

Robin Shelton. Bracelet: MotherFunker of Invention, 1995.
Monel metal, mild steel, spring steel, brass, hematite.
ø 10 x 5 cm.
Photo by: Robin Shelton
From series: MotherFunkers of Invention.
In fact, I was so pleased with them that they have – at times – hindered my making practice; once I’ve said something as eloquently as I can I see little point in repeating myself, so for many years I felt as if I was in competition with the version of myself that made those pieces. But I came to understand that to compete with him – and with all the physical, emotional, temporal and logistical luxuries he had – is futile.
This understanding has informed the evolution of my work from the purely mechanical, design-centred nature of my early pieces to today, when I try to be more receptive to the blessings and curses of the universe and be softer in my approach. To listen before speaking. And to continually strive to find the right means and materials to bring forth whatever it is that needs to find a way out.

Robin Shelton. Neckpiece: MotherFunker of Invention, 1995.
Chrome-plated mild steel, gilded brass, spring steel, oxidised silver.
23 x 21.5 x 5.5 cm.
Photo by: Robin Shelton
From series: MotherFunkers of Invention.
To be asked what I am excited about these days is perhaps the toughest question here. On a personal level, the last four years have been the most difficult of my life, culminating last year in an event that everyone says that nobody – no parent – should have to go through but many do; nature does not understand ‘should’ – it has no moral code.
Add to this some very alarming recent (geo)political, humanitarian, technological and environmental developments which we seem powerless to do anything about, the result is that I am perhaps understandably cautious about professing too much excitement about anything. However, on brighter days the remembrance that I have the opportunity to spend time making in the studio (which is also my thinking time) in comfortable surroundings, with enough food, warmth and some excellent people around me helps me to at least feel grateful.
Perhaps being excited by that gratitude is all I can expect for now, and perhaps it is all I will ever need.
My first memories of making are at my father’s crooked, swollen knee. He was a keen DIYer but suffered terribly from rheumatoid arthritis so using tools was a painful experience for him – I guess I thought that anything that’s worth doing even if it hurts really is worth doing. My mother had an arts training, as did my older sister. Being an artist-maker, therefore, is in my blood.
My sister met the man who became her husband when she was just 17 years old and I was 13; he was a successful sculptor (now an exceptional painter) and taught me on my art foundation course. He suggested that I follow a discipline that fed my hunger for making – ceramics or jewellery were his casual recommendations; I didn’t fancy clay so I applied to Loughborough College of Art to study Silversmithing and Jewellery. I liked the progressive approach of the course but was also fascinated by the technique-heavy first year; I had never worked metal before so was intrigued by this arcane art! I graduated in 1995 with first class honours.
Whilst studying, I was introduced to the greats of the art jewellery avant-garde; Künzli, Broadhead, Schobinger, Degen, Derrez, Bakker and Van Leersum. The possibility of combining the traditional techniques I learned with these unusual materials and new philosophies of making truly excited me and continues to do to this day.
I also find working to the scale and consequent precision of jewellery a meditative process; after thirty years of making (and of thinking about making) many of the technical aspects have become muscle memory so in the studio my mind is occupied by the intellectual rigours of why – rather the logistical issues of how – I am making. Manifesting a small, ‘precious’ object – plucked from a myriad that could be made – after days, weeks, months or sometimes years of visualising, planning and executing is a concentrated distillation.
How important is networking for you in your professional practice and what are your preferred tools for this?
Making art of any kind, for me, is an isolating process. I hesitate to use the word ‘lonely’ as that has a somewhat mournful implication not suitable to an occupation that truly occupies me. Achieving a clarity of vision or a coherence of voice in the pieces I make necessitates me working alone; not only when I am physically making but also when I’m thinking, planning, refining, troubleshooting, drawing, writing, researching and disseminating.
I think that networking is essential for any artist as an antidote to this isolation. But not merely in the commonly understood – perhaps slightly cynical – sense of the word; the process by which one seeks some kind of monetary reward or commercial favour as a consequence of flesh-pressing and chin-wagging. Although this is important – making art is not viable or sustainable without the artist being able to afford to continue doing so – but it is not the primary purpose of ‘networking’ for me.
I love to meet people – makers, artists, gallerists, curators, thinkers, writers, musicians, film-makers – face-to-face; to physically interact with those who have similar values, mindsets and preferences to me, and with whom I can talk about our common passions and practices. Although virtual, digital technologies of course have their uses, I am not comfortable with using them any more than I need to for the documentation and dissemination of my work.
My preferred tools for networking, then? Depending on the time of day these would be a coffee or a beer, perhaps some comfortable furniture, a little low music and plenty of time to talk.
What are your general thoughts on the contemporary jewellery world, (education, market, development...), where do you see chances and where are dead ends?
The issues that affect the world of contemporary art of any kind (including jewellery) are also those that have an impact on the rest of the world. When the world sneezes, art catches a cold.
I am of a generation that grew up while the digital revolution was in its infancy. Computer Studies (as it was called then) involved a hard-drive that needed its own room. When I was a child, growing up in the middle of the countryside, mindfulness was something of a necessity, not an app on your phone. I simply had no choice but to be entertained by the small, seemingly insignificant things; often objects that I would pocket and take home.
Combined with the fact that to make things – to have agency with our physical world – was something my family took for granted, for as long as I remember I have wanted to modify materials with my hands through co-ordination of my eyes and brain. As I have grown older, I realise that to do this without purpose, intent or philosophy is nothing more than three-dimensional doodling.
To remove the mind (where is the line between the mindful and the mindless?) from the making process is one thing; to remove the hands, though, is to risk removing an activity that has been vital and common to our species for the overwhelming majority of its existence. Our ascendency has quite obviously had some environmentally destructive consequences, but surely a huge contributary factor to this potential mass-extinction event is the demise of people being able to fix things – to have agency with their possessions – in order that they can be maintained and respected rather than disposed of and conveniently forgotten about. In its broadest sense, waste of any kind – physical, intellectual, moral, temporal – is possibly the largest contributary factor to the predicament our planet finds itself in.
So, when we make things, it is contingent on us to do so with care, thought and an appreciation of where the materials we use come from and how we justify the existence of an object (and its consequent use of resources) through its intent or message. I do not label myself as an ‘environmental’ artist because ‘the environment’ isn’t my primary reason for using the objects and materials I employ, but I do think it is important to make things in a more mindful way. I think it's the only chance we have; to me, the over-reliance of society on virtual, digital, artificial technologies is the deadest end of all.
Thinking about your career, what role do technology and the digital play in your artistic development & communication?
Short answer? It cannot be argued that modern technologies are now the only sensible (if soulless) way to disseminate art, but - as stated above – I have no desire to use them in its making. Long-ish answer below.
In its truest sense, the word ‘technology’ can be taken to mean ‘any object, contrivance or phenomenon employed by humans (and other animals) in order to gain some improvement in, or advantage over, what they might otherwise be incapable of achieving or subjugating’. Fire, the wheel, knapped flint are some of the earliest examples; our current virtual and artificial digital technologies are simply part of their evolution.
All of us must decide on which part of that evolutionary continuum we comfortably sit. I am at my happiest and most engaged when I am using refined versions of ancient tools. Saws, hammers, abrasives, flames; this is when my hands, eyes and brain all harmonise – when I tap into that ancient part of myself that speaks wordlessly to the commonest part of all of us; of everyone who ever existed.
I see the use of digital technologies – photography, internet, email, social media – as a necessary professional evil. Modern technology is like any other tool; use it wisely, with respect and for the correct job and it shouldn’t hurt you. After spending the first two weeks of 2025 battling to gain access to my website in order to edit it, I’ve been reminded once again how crucial it is to have agency with our tools; to be able to empathise with them, to be able to cure them. It could be argued that, as a species, outsourcing has been our downfall.
A note on the semantics of technology here; it is worth remembering what the words that we use quite glibly actually mean. According to my Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (yes, an actual two-volume set of really quite heavy books) come the following:
"Virtual"’ – "computing: Not physically existing but made by software to appear to do so from the point of view of the program or the user".
"Artificial" – "Not real; imitation; substitute".
When we use virtual or artificial technologies, we should do so remembering that, by the very definitions of their inventors, they are not real; not, in fact, extant at all. As for the word ‘digital’, imagine my surprise as a middle-aged man concerned about the possibility of prostate cancer receiving a digital examination at the doctor’s.
How has your work changed over the past few years and what are you excited about these days?
In a career of making art that spans over three decades, I have the advantage of a little perspective and have watched as many of my answers change. In 1995, I made three pieces of work in response to a self-set brief as part of my final degree submission. A neckpiece, a brooch and a bracelet, all of whose form was dictated largely by the design problem each piece sought to overcome.
These pieces are still in my possession and are not, nor have they ever been, for sale. I was very happy with them then – they said everything I wanted to express about design, about jewellery, about art, about making. And I like them now – I still think they are well-made, interesting pieces of work that stand up to aesthetic, technical and philosophical scrutiny.
Robin Shelton. Bracelet: MotherFunker of Invention, 1995.
Monel metal, mild steel, spring steel, brass, hematite.
ø 10 x 5 cm.
Photo by: Robin Shelton
From series: MotherFunkers of Invention.
In fact, I was so pleased with them that they have – at times – hindered my making practice; once I’ve said something as eloquently as I can I see little point in repeating myself, so for many years I felt as if I was in competition with the version of myself that made those pieces. But I came to understand that to compete with him – and with all the physical, emotional, temporal and logistical luxuries he had – is futile.
This understanding has informed the evolution of my work from the purely mechanical, design-centred nature of my early pieces to today, when I try to be more receptive to the blessings and curses of the universe and be softer in my approach. To listen before speaking. And to continually strive to find the right means and materials to bring forth whatever it is that needs to find a way out.
Robin Shelton. Neckpiece: MotherFunker of Invention, 1995.
Chrome-plated mild steel, gilded brass, spring steel, oxidised silver.
23 x 21.5 x 5.5 cm.
Photo by: Robin Shelton
From series: MotherFunkers of Invention.
To be asked what I am excited about these days is perhaps the toughest question here. On a personal level, the last four years have been the most difficult of my life, culminating last year in an event that everyone says that nobody – no parent – should have to go through but many do; nature does not understand ‘should’ – it has no moral code.
Add to this some very alarming recent (geo)political, humanitarian, technological and environmental developments which we seem powerless to do anything about, the result is that I am perhaps understandably cautious about professing too much excitement about anything. However, on brighter days the remembrance that I have the opportunity to spend time making in the studio (which is also my thinking time) in comfortable surroundings, with enough food, warmth and some excellent people around me helps me to at least feel grateful.
Perhaps being excited by that gratitude is all I can expect for now, and perhaps it is all I will ever need.
- Author:
- klimt02
- Edited at:
- Barcelona
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