[NOTE: This is a repeat of a post of mine from 2015. Why? Because I feel like it, that’s why.]
I’m not all that fond of precious jewels. That’s very fortunate, because I don’t own many.
Richard Burton would have gotten off easy with me. When I got married, I wore a plain gold wedding ring, one that had been in my family since the 1800s, and never missed or thought of a diamond engagement ring. It just wasn’t my thing.
I have plenty of non-precious pieces of jewelry, though, and I’m particularly keen on this guy’s work (if you’re interested in a gift for somebody—they look better in real life than in the photos, for some reason). On reading the maker’s bio [link broken], it occurs to me that the following may be the underlying reason I’m so fond of his jewelry:
I was inspired as a young boy by visiting the great art museums in New York City, and spent many hours in the Egyptian wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art looking at the gold jewelry.
Aha! Ancient jewelry was his inspiration. Now that, I’ve always liked. And the thing that has long fascinated and amazed me about very ancient jewelry is that the design of most of it could be easily worn today; it never dates. And what’s more, jewelry that is thousands of years old and displayed in museum collections looks, for the most part, practically new.
For example, please take a look at the stunning examples here and reflect on how very old most of them are.
Care to guess the age of this one?
Hint: it’s from Ur.
Which makes it about 4500 years old, give or take a few.
Here’s one that’s practically modern:

And to the inhabitants of Ur, it would be futuristic. But to us, it’s a bit old: it’s made of emeralds, garnets, and gold, and is a Helenistic piece from about 200 BC.
And of course, the whole thing also reminds me of poetry, in this case Yeats:
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
Although neither Grecian nor Byzantine (the latter being the site of where Constantinople and now Istanbul lies), and made in the late 1700s in India, this is something akin to the way I always pictured the artifact in the last verse of the poem:

Or this, also from India and the same period, which includes enamel and gold (as in the poem):

Of what is past, or passing, or to come.