Rhode Island Jeweler Darrien Segal
My name is Darrien, and I am a jeweler.
However, if you knew me as a young girl, you might not have predicted that. When my parents met in San Francisco in the 1960s, they attended a Grateful Dead concert, bought a boat, and sailed off into the glittering horizon. They took a pitstop in Hawaii for my birth, and I spent my childhood playing with our German Shepherd in the hull of our old wooden sailboat. I had not yet been exposed to art, but I was also sheltered from the normalized, corporate nine-to-five lifestyle—unlike other children, I never had those expectations placed upon me.
Soon, it became obvious that I needed more social and academic structure than the free life at sea provided. Every new seaport we visited became a fresh heartbreak upon departure. At the age of ten, I enrolled in a small boarding school in Switzerland, where I enjoyed newfound stability, skied the Alps, and learned how to speak French. At the end of my five years there, I attended high school in New York, where I took my first art classes. I realized that I enjoyed photography, ceramics, and jewelry-making much more than math and science classes, and I resisted the pressure from my academic counselors to pursue STEM majors in college. Finally, one counselor suggested applying to art school—a path I had not even known existed.
Thanks to the counselor’s advise, I attended the Rhode Island Institute of Design (RISD) after graduating high school. There, my conservative private school upbringing was shaken by the vibrant and wild attitude of art students. I floated from major to major, convinced I had to study something practical like advertising, but never fully committing. Then, one summer, I worked as an activities coordinator in RISD’s pre-college program. I met a rising RISD senior who had a one-way ticket for Italy to fulfill his European honors program; he had no intentions to return to New England for his graduation. You gotta do what you love, or you’re not going to be good at it, he told me.
This was my moment of revelation—the push I needed to make the right choice. Previously, it had somehow seemed wrong that I could actually do what I loved to do in life. But now, it was obvious. I immediately gathered the necessary paperwork and signatures to change my major to jewelry, because it simply spoke to me more than everything else—that was the only justification I needed.
It was around that same time that I visited my estranged grandparents in San Francisco and discovered that my grandmother was a talented painter. Even more surprising was that my successful orthopedic surgeon grandfather made jewelry as a hobby. This discovery was yet another confirmation that I had made the right choice—that it was somehow meant to be. When my grandparents passed away, I inherited not only the jewelry my grandfather had made for my grandmother, but also his tools—including some medical tools that served just as well for jewelry making.
After graduating from RISD, I veered away from producing for large companies and instead started working part-time for independent jewelers so that I could make progress on my own art. This lifestyle proved exhausting, though. I spent so much energy on other people’s creations that, by the end of the day, I was too drained to even look at my tools. Once I managed to begin participating in wholesale shows and selling to galleries, the economy took a turn for the worse, and I needed to search for a more stable source of income.
Then, five years ago, I met the owners of Craftland, a beautiful little art store in downtown Providence. Eventually, I became the store manager and struck the right work-life balance. During my work hours, I spent time surrounded by gorgeous art that I could advocate for instead of spending my enthusiasm producing. At home, I still had the creative energy to work on my own creations, which I could sell through Craftland and commissions within my slowly-growing network of customers.
Now, I fabricate all forms of jewelry, from casting objects to upcycling family heirlooms. The overwhelming theme is that of nature; my dedication to the natural world evolved from an original necklace I made from silver-cast mangrove flowers I had collected from my mother’s dock in Florida. I love taking the shapes and textures around me—which coincidentally are often ocean imagery—and subtly immortalizing both them and their moments of discovery into rings, earrings, and necklaces: the rough shell of a sea urchin; a tooth from a six-foot barracuda my father caught in the Bahamas.
I love the perfect little things you can find on a beach and in nature. I want everyone to appreciate the beauty of simply being where they are.
Thank you,
Darrien