The Saturday Conversation

A father came up to the table on Saturday and stood there for a long time without saying anything. He was looking for something for his daughter. She had just finished something hard — I won't tell you what; it isn't my story to tell — and he wanted to give her a small object that would say more than he could.

We talked for maybe twenty minutes. He didn't ask the price of anything. He asked what each piece was for. By "for" he meant: what kind of person, what kind of moment, what kind of weather. He left with a small ring set with a sliver of opal that had a green flash in the middle of it. He said: this one is the one. I said: I think so too.

This is the kind of conversation I started going to Paddington Markets to have. You don't get it in a showroom and you don't get it through a website. You get it across a small wooden table, on a Saturday morning, when a stranger is choosing something that is going to outlast the moment they're choosing it in.

There's the woman who comes every fortnight just to talk. She has bought one piece in the time I've known her. We have had ninety conversations. I am as fond of her as I am of anyone in my work.

There's the couple who came down looking for commitment rings, who tried on every silver band on the table, and went home to think about it, and came back two months later having decided. They wanted to make the choice slowly and in person. We sized both rings on the spot.

There's the woman from Sweden who comes whenever she's in Sydney and always buys a small enamel pendant to take home. She says the colour reminds her of the Australian sky in a way no European sky ever has.

There are the people who come up and pick a piece up and put it back and walk away, and that's a conversation too. I never mind. Some pieces wait years for their person.

I'm telling you this because I think a lot of jewellery is sold the wrong way — as decoration, on a screen, in a hurry. The Saturday conversation is what the work is actually for. A father standing quietly at a table, looking for something true.

We're at Paddington Markets every Saturday, six in the morning until two in the afternoon. The table is in the same place every week. I'll be the one with the small wooden tray and the slightly cold hands.