Earlier this spring, I headed to Philadelphia to show my work at the Rittenhouse Square Fine Art Show — a long-standing outdoor fair nestled among blooming trees, and historic buildings. While the weekend was packed with sharing my jewelry with new faces and reconnecting with some loyal collectors, I carved out a bit of personal artist time too.
Here’s the thing — before I was cutting stones, I was mixing paint. I studied painting long before lapidary ever entered the picture, and stepping into a museum still flips the switch in my creative brain. Color, texture, composition — it’s all there. It just shows up differently in oil and canvas than it does in agate and gold.
So before setting up my tent, I carved out time for two heavy-hitters: the Philadelphia Museum of Art and The Barnes Foundation.
Let’s start with the PMA. And yes — I tried to run up the Rocky steps, but let’s be honest: it was a sunny 70º, and I’m a Washington girl built for 50º and fog. I was sweating by the third stair.
Once inside (and air-conditioned), I wandered into the European painting galleries, where I was pulled in by works that celebrated surface. From the precision of pointillism to those thick, unapologetic brushstrokes you want to touch with your fingertips — You see the artist’s hand. It invites you in.
But the real surprise of the trip was the Barnes Foundation.
If you haven’t been — stop what you’re doing and book a trip. This isn’t your typical museum. It’s basically a time capsule of one man’s vision: Dr. Albert Barnes, an early 20th-century collector who arranged the works exactly how he wanted to see them — salon-style, floor to ceiling, with paintings hung alongside antique hinges, African sculpture, early American furniture, and the occasional ladle. (Seriously.)
Barnes believed art should be experienced through visual relationships, not through academic labels. So instead of a Picasso with a big wall text explaining its movements, you’re looking at it next to a hand-wrought door hinge, comparing forms and rhythms across completely different mediums. It's eccentric. It’s chaotic. It’s deeply intentional. And it completely changed how I thought about curating and storytelling.
One artist who captivated me again and again in the Barnes was Modigliani. His portraits have this elongated stillness — almost weightless — but his color palette? Creamy peaches, dusty blues, soft plums... it felt incredibly aligned with the tones I gravitate toward in my jewelry. That unexpected harmony of muted and bold. Subtle, but with bite.
I left feeling recharged — not just as a visitor, but as a maker. Seeing that kind of devotion to form and feeling reminded me why I do what I do. It’s all connected: paint to pigment to stone. Color speaks, surface tells a story. Whether it’s a portrait in oil or a piece of agate with a whisper of lilac, we’re all trying to hold onto something beautiful — even if just for a moment.
If you’re in Philly for any reason, make time for the Barnes.
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