The art of the craftsman
Jeweller Tony Williams’ magic is charted in words and pictures, writes Dionne Christian
As with any well-photographed and designed art book, it is tempting to lose oneself in striking illustrations; here, the distinctive jewellery by Dunedin-based master craftsman Tony Williams who, for nearly 50 years, has made some of the finest jewellery produced in New Zealand.
But to skim writer Emma Neale’s opening essay An Interview with Tony Williams ,orA Lifetime in the Making, by art critic Rigel Sorzano, would be to miss valuable insights into what makes Williams the craftsman he is and what it means to be a creative entrepreneur in New Zealand.
And Williams, now nearing 70, wouldn’t have wanted a book about his work to go ahead without this.
“I wanted it to be more than a pretty picture book of nice jewellery; I wanted it to be a book that showed the process of making with stories about the pieces,” he says. “There’s a perception that you make a lot of money, probably because you work in precious metals, but hand-making is always one of the worst-paid professions. You build a business by being dependent on the previous sale, which earns you the money to make the next piece.”
Talking to Williams shortly after its launch, he is quietly satisfied with the book which tells his story, includes drawings and photographs — about 200 — that document the making of individual pieces and also place his creative journey in the context of our art and craft history.
As he says himself, New Zealand isn’t a “jewellery country” but there’s huge depth in our jewellery that isn’t always seen — and that extends to the meanings people bring to the rings, brooches, necklaces, bracelets and earrings they choose to wear.
“Being involved in the book made me think quite a lot about not just where I’m at but where jewellery itself is at,” Williams says. “I suppose I have an evangelical feeling that jewellery says an awful lot about a person; it’s more than costume and there’s so much more to it than picking a piece of plastic to put in your ears. A woman can bring in a ring that has almost worn out but it is hugely important to her to get it fixed.”
He believes there can be magic attached to jewellery. “And I’ve always wanted to bring through some of that magic.”
In Neale’s opening essay, Williams acknowledges he felt lost for much of his childhood and teenage years. Clearly creative, and from a family that valued visual and performing arts for their social and aesthetic benefits, he struggled at school to find an outlet for his own inventiveness and, indeed, a path forward.
Walking past Watson’s Jewellery shop in Colombo St, Christchurch, Williams saw pieces by Kobi Bosshard, a Swiss-born and European-trained silversmith who had arrived in NZ in the 1960s and set about transforming ideas on contemporary jewellery. “In the 1960s, most jewellery was extremely conventional but this made me see how it could be so much more,” Williams says.
He crashed out of art school, depressed. He found solace in making things with his hands and was encouraged to do so, notably by his cousin Bernard Thorpe, who introduced him to Nelson craftworker Mike Ward. Later to become a Green list MP, Ward was making and selling copper jewellery. Watching him work, Williams knew he’d found what he wanted to do.
“I suppose what lit the spark was realising, ‘I can make a living from of this’,” he says. “In those days, there were a huge number of craft stores and I could bring in a bag of pieces I’d made, tip them on to the counter and the shop owner would go through, choose the ones they wanted and pay in advance.”
Even so, he couldn’t afford a camera, which means that whereas the book features drawings of his earliest work, not a lot was photographed.
After doing various jobs, Williams successfully applied to study at the Birmingham School of Jewellery and followed his graduation with time in London working for leading makers.
Always there seems to have been a rich vein of pragmatism running through Williams, who was determined to learn as much as he could in order to return home and be self-reliant.
Since that return in the late 1970s, he has established workshops and galleries producing a hugely varied range of pieces, trained apprentices, taught jewellery-making classes, contributed to Dunedin Fashion Week and taken part in numerous exhibitions.
So, if he were starting out now would Williams do it all over again?
“I think it would be vastly more difficult, but you don’t see the difficulties when you’re young,” he muses, saying that the appreciation of individuality has been diluted by large companies who want to produce a product-line and keep pushing it. The idea of ‘brands’ has been pushed on us for some 30 years or more with some of the best psychologists telling us — persuading us — what to buy. I’m not a brand.”