Tag: Vivienne Becker

Last November I was lucky enough to travel to Miami with Van Cleef & Arpels, for the spectacular unveiling of the Maison’s latest high jewellery collection, Treasure Island, inspired by Robert Louis Stevenson’s famous novel.

‘Treasure Island’, published in 1883, is an old-school adventure story, of buccaneers and buried gold, pirate ships and desert islands, and to see it rejuvenated, brought to life in this treasure-filled way brought a wave of nostalgia, escapism and swashbuckling romance.

The collection was launched at a theatrical gala, in the Vizcaya Museum, a mansion built in 1916 in Italianate mediterranean style, its gardens and terraces leading down to the waterfront of Biscayne Bay, in which looms a ghostly life-sized barge, adorned with Caribbean creatures, a breakwater sculpted by Alexander Calder. The courses of the lavish dinner were interspersed with a parade of models wearing the Treasure Island jewels and startlingly dramatic entertainment by supposedly (or perhaps actually) rum-swigging ‘drunken-sailor’ troupes, singing and dancing, barrel-bashing and rig-climbing, enacting derring-do on the high-seas, to enhance the piratical theme.

Earlier that day, the jewels had been presented elsewhere, in an iconic South Beach hotel, displayed within a thrilling mise-en-scène that recreated the shifting sand dunes and lush vegetation of a tropical desert island: there were luscious gem-encrusted shell brooches, a bracelet of diamonds and mystery-set sapphires, undulating like foaming ocean waves, a clip modelled on the Treasure Island ship, the Hispaniola, its sails paved in white diamonds, jewels composed of nautical rope knots and twists, vibrantly hued fish, a cute turtle, mystery-set emerald palm trees, a golden treasure map, tightly scrolled, tied with a rose gold rope chain and tassels in 1940s style, Van Cleef & Arpels’ signature figurative forms, including Pirate Jim and Pirate John, and finally the treasure trove they unearthed in the form of a series of rings, necklaces and sautoirs, of gold and sumptuously coloured gems.

The trip was an adventure in its own right – Miami, the ocean, Latino culture, the fabulous Art Deco buildings, and it all started me thinking about treasure. I love the whole idea of treasure: the romance of it, the treasure chest, the abundance of gold and gems slithering through fingers, the quest and the hunt, fraught with challenges, the thrill of discovery of untold riches; altogether an almost-forgotten brand of glamour, rugged, unrelenting and tinged with the darkness of danger.

The concept of treasure is universal, ancient and enduring, embedded in myth, fable and folklore across cultures and civilisations, a metaphor for riches both physical and metaphysical, worldly and otherworldly. Think of the fire- breathing dragon guarding its hoard, and the trials and tribulations facing the hero in overcoming the venomous creature in order to reach the treasure, overcoming treacherous difficulties in order to attain the riches, all that is most precious in life. There’s always a transformative power to such riches, the magical metamorphosis that is at the heart of the fairytale: rags to riches, pauper to princess, true love, self-realisation.

I remember well the time I spent interviewing Laurence Graff, in his home in Gstaad, for the book about legendary diamantaire and the House he built, in which he tells his life story. It was a captivating and illuminating experience, and an important milestone in my working life too. Mr Graff always understood the appeal of treasure across the world and this understanding clearly played a role in his own metamorphosis, from East End boy to billionaire businessman and renowned art collector.

He was reminiscing about his early days, travelling back and forth to Asia, with his bag of gems and jewels, learning local customs, understanding different cultures, meeting and nurturing new clients. One of whom was Imelda Marcos, an avid jewel (and shoe) lover, whom he met on her yacht, at her invitation, and then found himself marooned, for a week, on her private Bamboo Island. By contrast, he recounted his journeys into the jungles of Malaysia; he told how he had heard that tin miners there were rich, as were the timber traders in Borneo, so he set off to find them and sell them “treasure”. “People used to stare at me in the street, and I met some peculiar people, toothless types, but I always managed to trade with them. They understood and collected treasure, and they still do.”

I think, or perhaps it’s wishful thinking, that the idea of treasure is strong again at the moment, in terms of our appreciation of gemstones and minerals as rare and miraculous natural resources, and in terms of a re-evaluation of what is truly precious today; what is it about a jewel that makes it a treasure?

Which reminds me of a conversation I had some time ago with a diamantaire in Antwerp, who told me, slightly enigmatically, that for him the perfectly polished diamond represents the very best man can be. That’s treasure.

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I know this seems an odd way to begin a jewellery column, but I hope you’ll bear with me. A recent eye infection meant that for several days I wasn’t able to wear any eye make-up.

Champagne problems, I hear you, but it made me feel vulnerable, unmasked, unprotected and  as interesting as a boiled egg. It also made me think: I’m someone for whom make-up is part of my make-up, someone who, as a teenager wouldn’t leave the house without false eyelashes, top and bottom, even those pencilled in eyelashes on the lower lid (don’t forget the pencilled freckles – blame Twiggy.)  Make-up was, and is still – minus the false eyelashes and fake freckles – my armour, my way of interacting with the world. Just like jewellery.  

The jewel as armour is well known. From its earliest origins as magical, talismanic object, the jewel was prized as empowerment or protection, worn to repel evil forces or invoke good will. Or in the case of trophy animal teeth or claws, worn in the belief that the strength, cunning or prowess of the creature would be transferred to the wearer. 

The diamond’s miraculous hardness promised invincibility, and while extravagant armour itself could well intimidate the enemy, a diamond might be worn in the breastplate of a king or ruler leading troops into battle.

Sadly, however the Florentine diamond did not save the life of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy and famous diamond-fancier; according to legend, he was wearing the historic, Indian yellow diamond when he fell at the Battle of Nancy, 1477. And while the gems believed to have been sewn into the clothes of the young Romanovs deflected Bolsheviks’ bullets, they too didn’t save their owners from death. 

Then, fast forward, there’s the unforgettable, truly iconic image of Nancy Cunard wearing her ivory African fighting bangles, stacked from wrist to elbow and even along the upper arm (no, stacking isn’t new!). 

Famed for her rebellious style, and her flamboyant love affairs, she was photographed by Man Ray, painted by Oskar Kokoschka and depicted in a Brancusi sculpture. Yet perhaps more than anything, more than her kohl-rimmed eyes, her Jazz Age adventures, the fighting bangles have become an inextricable part of her legend. They signalled her activism, her battle for social justice and racial equality, far more fighting spirit than fear. They were jewels with a purpose –the bangles were both weapons and tribal identification – worn by a woman with a purpose, a woman on a mission.

I’m always reminded of them by the ethnic-inspired wood bangles designed by Julia Muggenburg for her brand, Belmacz; Julia is a strong woman, super-sophisticated, sure of her own style, for whom jewellery is the self-expression of a committed urban warrior, an art-activist, a woman with a mission, battling to bring the jewel out of poor-little-rich-girl isolationism into the realm of meaningful contemporary art. She is her own curated work of art, of which jewellery is a vital component. 

And of course, we can’t forget Hannah Martin, the ultimate rebel-goldsmith, who wears a full wardrobe, night and day, of her fearsomely fabulous, rebelliously punk-meets- rock ‘n roll gold jewels that have become inseparable from her persona; they are her identity, the face she shows to the world.  

I’ve been writing (a book) about Fabio Salini, who is one of the most innovative, quietly subversive and elegantly rebellious designer-jewellers of our time. Based in Rome, with ineffable Italian style, he is a master of modernism for whom the underlying concept, meaning or message is the crucial element that transforms a jewel from pure decorative ornament into a contemporary art work. I have learnt so much from him, from writing the book, digging deep into the role and purpose of the jewel, past and present, thinking about what makes a jewel relevant, part of the zeitgeist. 

Fabio is the creator of heart-stoppingly powerful carbon fibre cuffs, deep, tough, silky black wrist-clenching bangles outlined in diamonds, fastened with a peridot buckle or a huge coral button. It was particularly fascinating to hear from him how he works on instinct, and  had only realised after finishing the series of carbon fibre cuffs, when he asked an art curator to write a text compiling and unravelling his ideas, that there was a very good reason he had focused on the wrist: it is one of the strongest parts of the body, used to fight, shield and protect.

He chose carbon fibre for its strength and lightness, as well as for its provocatively un-jewel-like, industrial, mechanistic quality, as a way of celebrating the strength of women today. To throw some masculinity into modern femininity. To debunk unchanging jewellery conventions of narrative or naturalism. To create jewellery that expresses its moment in time. 

So my enforced freedom from make-up,  together with contemplation of Fabio Salini’s philosophy, his masterful, modernist cuff bangles,  focused my mind on the jewel as armour, or weapon, and mostly as  our way of reaching out to the world, communicating – persona, identity, values, individuality, activism, success. 

Through Covid, jewellery sold very well, online, for a whole panoply of reasons – sentiment, continuity, boredom, investment, reassurance amongst others – but mainly I believe for its atavistic role as amuletic protection from forces beyond our control. It’s a primitive impulse.

Today, however, it’s a different story:  we’re in fight back mode, and in a noticeable style shift towards the singular, substantial statement jewel, as an alternative to ubiquitous stacking, or as well as stacking, it seems to me that armour-like jewellery is more about signalling strength than fear, more about power than protection. 

My make-up’s back on, though less now perhaps, and by the way, I never leave home without my De Beers Talisman pendant.  

Like this? Vivienne Becker discusses jewellery reports company GemEdge

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