I entered the Claflin Jewelry Studio without any jewelry-making experience, knowledge or talent. After recovering from the intimidating presence of sharp tools, flame torches, safety goggles and an emergency eye wash, I surveyed the two rows of workbenches for a moment with shop director Jennifer Major, who freely praised the studio's "incredibly varied visitors."
Located in the quiet and brightly lit basement of the Hopkins Center for the Arts, the Claflin Jewelry Studio has provided Dartmouth students with access to jewelling materials and instruction since its inception by Erling Heistad in 1966. Founded as part of a program devised by Walker Weed '40 to promote interest in the arts at Dartmouth, the workshop originally consisted of little more than two workbenches.
Today, aided by student assistants and special instructor Jeff Georgantes, who was appointed this August, visitors fabricate and cast everything from pendants and belt buckles to engagement rings and candlesticks utilizing an impressive array of professional-quality equipment, including a soldering bench, an engraving machine, a vacuum casting machine, a hydraulic press and polishing wheels.
A welcoming atmosphere pervades the jewelry studio. According to Major, "It's an individual commitment. Anyone can come here whenever because this is a student workshop instead of a class offered by a department." As the studio's website proudly asserts, "Most first time studio users have no experience whatsoever working with metal or stones."
During my first visit, the soft sounds of Coldplay's "X & Y" and "A Rush of Blood to the Head" could be heard as an '08 carefully finished her fourth ring of the day and another upperclassman soldered a mass of copper fragments with the relish of a mad scientist. Other visitors sang along with the music, while still others passed the time reciting lines from "Napoleon Dynamite."
Major laughed, saying, "We get everyone from confirmed artsy types to math majors. It's interesting to see the pieces of jewelry that different people envision and create." Unusual past projects include a silver pendant cast from an Israeli pinecone, a bracelet of miniature silver playing cards, a stainless steel chess set, a cast-silver 1994 class ring and even a bronze pitchfork sculpture.
Although I anticipated a significantly less aesthetic result from my $2.25 purchase of silver, Major demonstrated different jewelling techniques patiently and thoroughly. Once the wire had been measured, cut, filed and shaped, she grinned and inquired, "How do you feel about fire?" Preceded by an explanation that harkened back to Bunsen burners and chemistry labs, the flame-intensive and rather exciting process of soldering was followed by extensive hammering, sanding and polishing. After an hour and a half -- and plenty more assistance -- I had completed the typical first project: a small, visibly "handmade" silver ring.
As my not-too-noteworthy creation attracted the attention of clusters of newcomers -- soon to experience for themselves the satisfaction of designing and constructing their own jewelry -- I finally understood the undeniable appeal of this underground workshop in the Hop. An oasis from homework and deadline-oriented responsibilities, the jewelry studio offers not only an opportunity to learn a new skill, a chance to meet other students and a sense of creative achievement, but also a uniquely constructive mode of procrastination. "This is like my home away from home," one regular visitor merrily confided.
Major smiled and insisted, "We have a great community here. Say that in your article. That's what people ought to know."
