The Lady of Shalott; A Beaded Ode to Tennyson and Monet by Caprilicious

Hello folks, how are you today? I've been kept busy ministering to hubbys hay fever - I can't wait till it rains. As I write this, we are forecast a good shower. In fact, I've heard it will be more than a shower as they are expecting a weeks rainfall in twenty four hours.
​I spent my time wisely, beading away between mopping his poor fevered brow. Is there something like 'man hay fever'? I'm sure hubby has that syndrome and I am now suffering from severe compassion fatigue!  
​I took the photograph of the garden from the TV nook through firmly closed French doors, with the Forsythia in full bloom in the garden. So near, yet so far!

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​Once upon a time (about three to four weeks ago, give or take a few coffee breaks), I embarked on an artistic journey – not with paint or pen, but with needle, thread, and a cornucopia of beads. The result? The Lady of Shalott, a statement necklace inspired by Tennyson’s evocative poem and Monet’s dreamy waterlilies – two masters of the romantic and the impressionistic, rolled into one wearable artwork.

​You could say this is what happens when poetry meets pointillism meets jewellery… and they all raid the same bead stash.
At school, while others were swooning over Romeo and giggling over limericks, I had eyes only for The Lady of Shalott. There was something about her beautiful, bewitched self, locked away in her lonely tower, forbidden to look directly out of the window, reduced to experiencing life second-hand through a mirror. And all because some wizard with a bad attitude had cursed her. (One assumes he hadn’t had his morning hit of caffeine.)
Then along came Sir Lancelot, singing "Tirra Lirra" – which, let's be honest, sounds more like a brand of herbal tea than a medieval banger – and it was all over. She cracked her mirror, broke the curse, and floated off in a boat to her doom. Our gallant knight noticed her only once she was dead, muttering something along the lines of "She has a lovely face" – which is basically medieval-speak for "Oops."

These are pictures I took in the Musee d Orangerie of the Monet waterlilies and in Giverny, of the real thing at Monet's house. 

This necklace, named in honour of that tragic heroine, is my beaded homage to the Lady of Shalott. It took me 3-4 weeks to complete, and is embroidered using a technique I like to call "painting with beads." Inspired by the impressionist swirls of Monet's Water Lilies, I used Czech and Japanese seed beads to mimic the play of light and shadow, water and flora, reality and illusion. The piece is rich with blues, greens and dusky pinks – all the colours I imagine she would have seen through her enchanted mirror.

At the centre hangs a bronze Vintaj pendant: a face not unlike the Lady herself, framed in cascading curls, surrounded by golden beadwork and finished with a single, dramatic pearl drop. She watches the world with an enigmatic smile – no doubt weighing up whether it’s worth risking another look. A dreamy woman with flowing hair and a gaze full of mystery (possibly wondering where her knight in shining armour went, or whether the Uber Eats order has arrived yet). 

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​And while this piece may look opulent, it’s actually surprisingly light and comfortable to wear. No shoulder dislocations required. The back is finished with beautiful glass and Chinese enamelled beads, because of course a lady should look just as good leaving the room as entering it. ​
​Wearing this piece won’t doom you to a watery grave, I promise. In fact, it may inspire poetic tendencies, or simply earn you admiring glances from passing knights (or their modern equivalents from Tinder – perhaps ones with better emotional availability).

A tribute to longing, art, and one woman's doomed but dazzling rebellion, this necklace is my way of saying: sometimes, it’s worth breaking the curse.

That's me for this week, folks. Have a fabulous Easter weekend and I'll catch up with you soon.
Until then
​xx