Tuesday, September 29, 2026
Sunday, September 27, 2026
تابع اسورة 27
نموذج "1915" اسورة model"1915" bracelet
اسورة من الكريستال الأبيض والأسود والعقيق الفوشيا
White , black crystal and pink agate bracelet
نموذج " 1910" اسورة model " 1910" bracelet
Agate and red crystal bracelet
اسورة من العقيق والكريستال الأحمر
Wednesday, September 23, 2026
مشغولات يدوية 29
نموذج"1920" صدف model "1920 " shell
Shell painting
صدف طبيعي مزخرف
شجرة من الخرز وخيوط النحاس
Beads and copper wires beads tree
Tuesday, September 22, 2026
The Necklace I Couldn’t Sell
When I was fourteen years old, I was in the first year of secondary school. We had an art teacher who taught us the traditional curriculum: drawing from nature, creative drawing such as designing advertising and promotional materials, and art history.
She
also added two jewelry-making projects to our lessons. The first was a necklace
made from tiny plastic pearl beads, which did not particularly appeal to me.
The second was a beaded necklace based on a unit of five beads. It strongly
resembled Nubian folk art. I made it as an experiment, and it was
square-shaped, with two rows of elongated beads along each side.
My
mother then suggested that I make a classic necklace that would sit around the
neck, using the same stitch we had learned from our teacher.
So
I created a new design of my own.
My
teacher was fascinated by it. The necklace was red, and she took it from me to
display at the school exhibition held for Mother's Day.
Later,
she told me that my necklace had attracted everyone's attention. One of the
students' mothers liked it so much that she decided to buy it for five Egyptian
pounds—a respectable amount of money at the time.
But
my eyes filled with tears.
It
felt as though I was about to sell one of my children.
Then
I saw the girl holding the necklace close to her heart. There was so much hope
in her eyes. She wanted it so badly because she wanted to make her mother
happy.
I
couldn't sell it.
The
pain of parting with my necklace was simply stronger.
Years
passed, and I completely forgot about making accessories for almost twenty
years.
Then,
suddenly, I returned to it. I don't even remember exactly why.
But
this time, I began creating new designs using that same old stitch I had
learned as a fourteen-year-old girl—the stitch based on five beads.
I
discovered something fascinating: every small change in the arrangement of the
beads, or even a change in their colors, could create an entirely different
design.
And
somehow, my creations began traveling around the world as gifts.
Today,
with all my heart, I hope to sell my artwork for prices that truly satisfy me
and reflect the love and work I put into creating it.
But
something else has changed inside me.
Whenever
I see one of my handmade pieces being worn by a woman or a girl—whether it was
sold or given as a gift—I feel an overwhelming sense of pride.
Even
when I discover that someone who received one of my pieces as a gift has passed
it on to someone else, I feel the same.
I
don't feel the pain of separation anymore.
I
feel proud.
It
reminds me of a feeling I saw in the film The Dressmaker, starring Kate
Winslet. The film made me think about the way a creator can look at something
she has made and feel that it has the power to transform the appearance and
mood of the woman wearing it.
She
looks at the piece, and then at the woman wearing it, with admiration—as if
saying:
“I
made this.”
And
that is exactly how I feel.
The
photograph accompanying this story is very similar to the first necklace I ever
made. The main difference is that, in my original necklace, the two ends were
made with two rows of beads, just as our teacher had taught us.
Everything
that came after that was my own experimentation.
My
own changes.
My
own journey.
And
perhaps, without realizing it at the time, that little red necklace was the
beginning of Mrs. Mango.
Sunday, September 20, 2026
Thursday, September 17, 2026
Tuesday, September 15, 2026
Monday, September 14, 2026
Sunday, September 13, 2026
Why AI? - When Beauty Needs the Right Context
This is the first time I am sharing an article with the
readers of my blog.
Although I have always written and composed articles, and
although I often find myself explaining to those who acquire my handmade pieces
the materials used in each creation and, when they are natural, where those
materials were discovered or originated, I have always approached the study of
materials from a place of curiosity, knowledge, and genuine appreciation for
what I hold in my hands. Most of my accessories and jewelry are made from
natural materials.
My fascination with gemstones and natural materials goes
back much further than my work as a jewelry artist. From the moment I became
aware of the world around me, I found my mother, father, and maternal
grandmother among those who loved collecting gemstones. It was, in many ways, a
part of the world I grew up in.
I have also always enjoyed explaining the cultural and
historical background behind a piece, especially when a design carries a
particular story or heritage. History is, after all, my field of study—and one
of my greatest passions.
Yet, despite having worked in this field for many years, I
realized that I was sometimes like the world-renowned violinist Joshua Bell in
2007.
That year, Bell stood in a Washington, D.C. metro station
and played for approximately 45 minutes, performing a remarkably complex piece
by Bach on a rare violin worth around $3.5 million. Only a handful of people
stopped to listen, and he collected just over $30.
Just two days earlier, he had performed to a sold-out
audience in Boston, where the average ticket price was around $100.
The experiment offered a striking lesson: value and beauty
are not always recognized when they are placed in the wrong context.
Two months ago, after attending a conference on the
importance of artificial intelligence at the Alexandria International Book
Fair, I decided to experiment with AI myself.
I wanted to improve the backgrounds and lighting of
photographs of my Mrs. Mango creations.
For years, I had experimented with ordinary cameras and
mobile phones—photographing not only my own work, but also helping my siblings
and friends with their photographs. Yet my resources did not allow me to work
with a professional studio.
So I decided to try something different.
I began revisiting photographs of my earlier creations, many
of which had already traveled, in one way or another, across different parts of
the world. I started changing their visual settings and placing them in
environments that could better reflect the character, craftsmanship, and spirit
of each piece.
It became a wonderful experiment.
I found myself seeing my own creations differently. Their
value, in my eyes, seemed to grow when they were presented in refined,
carefully considered settings—even when those settings had been created with
the help of artificial intelligence.
But there was one thing I wanted to preserve above all else:
the soul of the work.
I wanted every image to carry a sense of beauty, optimism,
warmth, and light. Brightness has always been important to me, not merely as a
photographic choice, but as a feeling I want my work to convey.
And perhaps that is what this new chapter of Mrs. Mango is
really about:
Not changing the pieces themselves, but finding the right
context in which their beauty can finally be seen.
This is the beginning of a different kind of journey for my
blog—one where I hope to share not only the finished pieces, but also the
stories, materials, discoveries, experiments, and experiences behind them.
Perhaps, along the way, we will discover together that
sometimes a beautiful creation does not need to become something else.
It simply needs the right place, the right light, and
someone willing to stop and look.
These are the differences
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Sunday, September 6, 2026
Saturday, September 5, 2026
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