One of the questions I am asked most often is:
"How do you make the turquoise effect on the copper?"
That's verdigris. Verdigris isn't paint. It isn't printed, dyed or applied with a brush. It is the result of chemistry and artistry – a natural reaction between copper, my Secret Elixir and its environment.
Anyone who loves copper knows the problem. Left exposed to air, moisture, skin oils and the ordinary business of being worn, copper changes. It dulls. It darkens. It tarnishes. The bright warmth that made you fall in love with it on the day you bought it slowly disappears.
That is simply copper's quirky nature.
This is why The Copperologist was determined to create copper jewellery that doesn't tarnish. Instead of allowing those changes to happen after you own it, I encourage them to get it all out of their system here in the workshop. Verdigris is grown using my Secret Elixirs. Colour is coaxed out, or kissed by the flame. Chemistry is watched, nudged, then frozen at precisely the right moment. And then it stays that way.
Every pendant begins as a sheet of pure copper. It is carefully cleaned, prepared and introduced to one of my closely guarded Secret Elixirs. The recipe remains locked away in the workshop ledger, but its purpose is simple: to encourage the copper to begin its transformation.
Then... I wait. Usually weeks. Sometimes months.
Some specimens develop delicate feather-like crystals. Others spread like soft clouds or flowing rivers. Occasionally the copper ignores all expectations and invents something I could never have predicted. Those are often my favourites.
No two pieces of copper ever react in exactly the same way.
That unpredictability is precisely why all of my copper pendant necklaces are unique. I could prepare two identical sheets of copper, use the same Elixir, the same amount, place them side by side for the same length of time and they would still become entirely different pieces.
Copper, like the most interesting of women, has no interest in being a replica. She prefers originality, intrigue and the confidence to do her own thing. I've long since learned that you don't try to control copper's personality. You simply create the conditions for her to reveal what she was capable of all along.
Once the verdigris has reached just the right moment, the chemistry is halted. I seal it, then imprison it between a glass dome and a stainless steel setting to protect it from the air.
What you receive is a tiny chemical landscape, sandwiched between glass and stainless steel to protect it from the outside world.
It's one of the reasons Copperologist specimens seem to find their way into the hands of scientists, engineers, chemists and endlessly curious people. They aren't simply wearing a piece of jewellery; they're wearing a tiny chemical experiment, frozen at exactly the right moment. If you're searching for an unusual gift for the scientist in your life, what could be better than giving them a beautiful little piece of chemistry to wear?
Perhaps that's what fascinates me most about copper.
No matter how carefully I prepare the experiment, no matter what intentions I may have for the piece, there always comes a point where the chemistry takes over and the copper quietly decides its own future.
My job is simply to guide, encourage, and recognise the perfect moment to stop... then I seal its fate.
Yours, in copper and curiosity,
The Copperologist