Heritage, Connection, and the Story Behind The Bow Jewelry

Having been born to Turkish parents who immigrated to Canada in the early 70s, I grew up in a nuclear family of four who would visit our very large extended family in Türkiye every summer as a child.

I was born in Canada and grew up as an 80s child, when Toys “R” Us and RadioShack were at their prime. Music was becoming edgier, and many of the artists who would become icons were rising. Every technological advancement was considered exciting, from microwave ovens to home computers. We were the kids of Pac-Man, Cabbage Patch Dolls, and the screeching sound of internet connection.

My world in Canada was one that was evolving fast.

Technology was exciting.

Newness was the trend.

Summers in Türkiye were very different.

As soon as we arrived, we would head straight to our grandparents’ house, where the entire family would be waiting for us. Like many houses in Türkiye, my grandparents lived in an apartment where doors were left open and neighbours would come in and out throughout the day.

Our arrival was like a parade of sorts.

Going from a nuclear family nine months of the year to spending three months of summer surrounded by cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and neighbours was exciting and magical.

During those summers, I would watch women sit outside in gazebos knitting, embroidering, and taking wool out from hand-stuffed pillows and comforters to let it sit in the sun before they restuffed them for the next winter.

At the time, I did not think of this as slow craft, heritage, or handmade process.

It was simply life.

But now I understand how much I was absorbing.

Hands mattered.

Time mattered.

Materials mattered.

Care mattered.

Water did not flow all day from faucets, and when it was on, it was a family event to load buckets all over the house with water for the next time it got cut off.

Even daily life had a process.

Even the simplest things asked everyone to participate.

In the morning, there would be someone, usually a teenager, walking around the neighbourhood with a tray of Turkish sesame bread called simit stacked high on a tray balanced on his head, yelling in a call:

“Simitçi!”

Then people would call from their windows to tell him how many they wanted. Either a child from the household would be sent down to pick up the simit, or money would be sent down in a basket connected to a rope. The young boy would take the money, put the simit into the basket, and the basket would be pulled back up.

This form of exchange via basket was the norm.

And in many places, it still is.

The same familiar merchant faces would come around every week with fruits and vegetables they harvested in their own fields, often on donkey- or horse-pulled wagons with the vegetables open in the back. Milk would be brought to the door. I remember the milkman carrying this giant canister on his back, filled from his own freshly milked cows that morning.

Eggs came the same way.

I still remember the faces of many of the merchants from those days.

Every transaction had a connection.

It was beautiful, and I never realized how much these moments had impacted my own business choices until later.

The Duality That Built The Bow Jewelry

If I had not lived in both worlds, I might have thought this was simply how life was everywhere.

But by going back and forth between Canada and Türkiye, I could clearly see and feel the difference.

In Canada, life was fast, new, technological, and constantly moving toward what was next.

In Türkiye, life was slower, more communal, more connected to hands, faces, seasons, family, and daily ritual.

This is the duality of The Bow Jewelry.

The pieces are forward-thinking and innovative, pushing the boundaries of what jewelry can be. They carry ancient symbols, armor forms, serpents, gemstones, goddess power, and women who shaped history.

But the creation process is slow.

Human.

Connected.

Each person involved has a name, a story, and a connection to the work.

That is what slow jewelry making means to me.

It is not only about how long something takes.

It is about what enters the piece during that time.

From Wax to Metal in Montréal

When The Bow Jewelry began in 2017, I was wax carving every design by hand and bringing them to a local, family-run casting company here in Montréal to be transformed into brass or silver, depending on the piece.

To this day, I still work with that same family-run casting company.

And I still hand-carve each design.

The wax process is intimate.

This is where hand-sculpted jewelry begins.

Before the metal.

Before the plating.

Before the stone is set.

Before the finished piece is worn.

There is wax, pressure, instinct, correction, touch, and time.

Most of my gemstones come from a local gem shop owned by a husband-and-wife duo. The larger bronze pieces, like the Torn Bustier, are cast at a family-run sculpture foundry a few hours outside of Montréal. Some of the setting and laser soldering is done by another husband-and-wife metalsmithing shop.

These are people I have known for years.

A web of connection is woven into each piece.

Each step of the artisan process carries a name, a face, and an energy of friendship and camaraderie that becomes part of the story of the work.

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The People Inside the Process

That intimate connection is then passed on to the wearer.

Over the years, this has meant emails and DMs exchanged, photos sent of you adorned in the pieces, meetings over coffee, and even welcoming people who flew in from outside of Canada to be part of the creative process for their custom pieces and special-day commissions.

These moments mean everything to me.

They remind me that handmade jewelry is never only about the object.

It is about the relationship between the maker, the material, the people who help bring it to life, and the person who chooses to wear it.

That is what human-made jewelry holds.

A person.

A process.

A memory.

A connection.

The Wearer Completes the Piece

When you enter the world of The Bow Jewelry, you step into something I have never considered mine alone.

I have also never seen the wearer as simply a customer.

To me, the wearer becomes part of a shared story, a community, and a process.

The piece may begin with me, but it is completed by you.

You give it life.

You give it meaning.

You carry it into your world.

To me, the entire process is a beautiful story where we are all an integral part. I may be the writer of the first chapter, but the story continues with the woman who wears the piece.

That is the power of hand-sculpted jewelry.

It does not end when it is finished.

It begins again when it is worn.

Why I Wanted to Tell This Story

This is really the story I wanted to share, prompted by my 12-year-old son asking me to tell him a story about my childhood and remembering those days in Türkiye.

The open doors.

The women working with their hands.

The wool laid in the sun.

The buckets filled with water.

The simitçi calling through the street.

The basket lowered from the window.

The milkman, the eggs, the produce, the familiar faces.

The understanding that what we make and what we buy can connect us to one another.

Although we look ahead to innovate and create newness, we can still stay grounded in community, connection, and the threads that bind us to one another.

My hope is that each piece carries this energy.

From me.

From my allies in the crafting process.

To you.

A piece shaped by hand.

A piece shaped by heritage.

A piece shaped by human connection.

A piece shaped by story.

In a world that moves faster and faster, there is still something powerful about choosing what is made slowly.

Something powerful about choosing what is made by real hands.

Something powerful about choosing jewelry that carries a story.

Explore all hand-sculpted symbolic jewelry from The Bow.

You are the power.

Adorn Accordingly.