Making these earrings so long ago, I was struck by an interesting story that seemed to find the romance in the bohemian style, sensing characters and an unrequited love that would have come with it. I just caught it and ran away with it. Here's the story:
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With her flowing, full skirt, she dances around the bonfire to the hollow cedar guitar played by the young man sitting on a piece of driftwood. He watches her; his music, her dance have become the same song and movement. The more intent his playing, the more fluid her body, and the energy was brought in full circle to him. They walk on the beach after his serenade to ‘the Sea Gypsy’, and as they held hands, he marveled at the beautiful creature Mother Nature and the Sea had created: such a beautiful spirit, within and without.
Having become a self-taught luthieur; having made a various number of musical instruments, he was a gifted person with his hands. As a child, he would amuse his mother by creating a number of adornments for her to wear. She was always so pleased, and sincerely impressed, and wore his creations for all to astonish and compliment. With the overwhelming desire to please her and present her with a gift, he began to gather the most perfect and colour-rich pieces of shell to use in his creation. He hunted by moon- and sunlight, overturning stone after stone, throwing away so many, until he had just enough for his creation in mind. He went home, and made a beautiful pair of earrings, with elements of his love and devotion to her. He had even managed to find a few beautiful pieces of shell, the exact green that matched her eyes; an enchanting, sparkling sea green, like in an island paradise. He cut and polished the shell pieces so perfect, in hopes to recreate the perfection she deserved. For a final touch, he included two special pearls, unlike none he had ever seen before, to boast the most original gem. He had finally finished his handiwork. He was ready to present his beautiful gift to her.
Alas, night after night, she would not return. The young man sat on the driftwood log, where he had gazed upon her that fateful night, dancing around the bonfire, and started to wonder if that night he had conjured a mischevious spirit with his music. Nevertheless, she had never returned, but he still waits with his guitar. You will still find him, waiting there, playing his serenade to The Sea Gypsy in hopes it will bring her back to him.
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