It comes as a surprise to most people when I tell them I’m Puerto Rican. And although Puerto Ricans aren't immigrants (we're the US citizens everyone forgets about) I fell into that stereotypical 2nd generation immigrant phenomenon: wanting to be more like the people I grew up around (white, middle-class suburbanites) than my parents (thick-accented, loud-laughing, unapologetic Puerto Ricans).
Why did it take so long for me to realize that trying to be like everyone else is dumb? In trying to fit in, I lost touch with the incredible foods and flavors distinct to Puerto Rican cuisine, I wore neutral colors and silhouettes because “that’s what chic NYC people do, right?," and I missed so many chances to get to know people better because of how little Spanish I could speak.
Hispanic Heritage Month Pop-Up
EventsCommentCome celebrate Hispanic Heritage Month with me at Hops Petunia in Kingston, NY! There will be local makers and food vendors, some complimentary snacks, and a giveaway.
Photo Magic with Rick Holbrook
Inspiration, ProjectsCommentOver the last 10 years of living in the Catskill Mountains, it’s been wonderful getting to know other artists, makers, and creatives in this area and brainstorming fun ways to play together.
A recent project with a local creative was with Rick Holbrook, a still-life and product photographer who I’d been Instagram-stalking for the last few years. He has a fantastic sense of light, composition, and styling, and I was too happy to get my jewelry in front of his camera when he suggested that we team up.
Hops Petunia Pop Up
EventsCommentStop by Hops Petunia in Hudson, NY to see Sara’s new jewelry collection, “Loves Me, Loves Me Not,” shop Hops Petunia’s gorgeously curated home goods, nibble on sweet treats from Potter’s Table, and sip on some light refreshments.
"Loves Me, Loves Me Not" Inspiration
Inspiration, ProcessCommentI have memories of being a little girl, playing outside in the yard and picking the wildflowers growing along the fence around my house. I’d always look for the ones with long, spindly stems that could be wrapped together to make flower crowns for myself and tiny bouquets for my mom.
As I grew up, those flowers suddenly took on new meaning — “Loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not…” until you landed on the last petal, which told you if your feelings were reciprocated.