Custom Fourth-of-July Necklace: Vintage Pearls, Lapis, Coral

I designed this necklace in June of 2019, with the coming holiday and a specific, beloved client in mind. I knew that J—'s politics didn't jibe with mine but then as now, we're in perfect accord when it comes to jewelry and many personal matters, so it was easy to channel her sweet spirit while I worked.
I made this double-strand necklace using materials cannibalized from vintage pieces bought at auction. The lapis was a beautiful vivid blue, highly polished, and with little matrix. The cultured estate pearls, which had been costly, were highly lustrous, creamy off-white rounds; near Akoya-grade. I found the exquisitely deep-red oxblood corals in a secret cache of my favorite bead dealer, a fellow even more bananas than I about old beads, and who has wondrous things people bring for shop credit. All of these components were decades old when I bought them, heaven knows when. (Sometimes a string of, say, African carnelians will lie untouched in a studio drawer or box for years before shouting at me, "NOW! Make this: [into my head drops images of the necklace for which the shouting beads were made], and put it together... RIGHT...NOW!" I can't explain this and my husband doesn't try to understand, but he does call me The Bead Whisperer.)
Marked simply “SILVER,” the clasp here is the original sterling-with-marcasites job that came on the lustrous pearls; I up-cycled it since it fit the composition and was in good working order—sturdy and secure. At terminals I used sterling crimps and cemented the tag-ends of the beading wires into hollow, 3mm sterling rounds.
While red, white, and blue are iconically American (AND French), the color combination is also oft seen in Native American arts, and Asian; it is even predominant in Tekke Turkmen rugs. Why? Because red, white, and blue is a winning combination in any culture. The colors just WORK together—they pop.
When I'd finished making this necklace, I realized it required a respectably high price. Apart from designing, spirit, labor, and 55 years' experience, I'd invested in its material components alone almost $200. After adding in shop fees, postage, and etc. the necklace had become terribly expensive. I posted it in my shop, but was too embarrassed to even mention it to J.— lest she feel obliged because of my specualtion and deficit.
Two weeks later, J— phoned wanting to know more about a certain item. Being a southern belle, J— has an accent that's always a pleasing sound.
"You know, ah just CANnot get mah mahnd off of your luhvvly red, whaht, and blew necklace."
I didn't dare tell her that I'd made it for her. The hubris of my presumption... And yet, here she was, and not one other person had put forth an offer on that necklace. I ventured into the breach.: "You'll think this bananas, but I actually made it with you in mind."
She took it well, giving only the slightest sign of disbelief. "Oh, Really? Well, isn't that nice."
Okay, maybe a LOT of disbelief. But she did buy it. And that's the way this jeweler rolls. There's always a little bit of magic involved with old beads; if they seem to have a checkered past, I'll even sage the materials and my workbench. I have a funny story about what happened when I restrung what were Lady Cavendish's corals, but that will have to wait until I post the necklace I made for myself with them.