Precious Metals
A conversation with artists Nico Corona, Georgina Treviño, and Phil Panza
Words by Apryl Fuentes
Photography by Molly Matalon
I keep having this recurring dream. Everything is the deepest velvety darkness. Amid this scene is a massive rock formation; its story has been etched layer upon layer, era upon era. I can’t figure out this imperfect mass. No person has ever truly been able to quite capture the magnitude of such an existence. Spinning and spinning its terrestrial donuts, it hides a center so soft it could melt — a heart like my very own. I can picture it, among the flickerings of light; this primordial, floating dance is the Earth’s rotation.
Dense and burning, shell upon shell encases a molten core. No living, breathing being will ever venture to the gooey center. Yet those precious metals are part of us. Whether you believe we are star stuff or we are nothing, undoubtedly we are everything that this weathered, spinning rock is made up of. It’s an amalgamation of patterns, those patterns recreating themselves into abstraction. This iron heart is a giving one, protecting human sentience with its magnetism.
Our inner star stuff tethers us to various purposes, realized through a series of individual experiences, celestial ribbons connecting us to one another. It is this very sense that has always drawn me to my meditative writing practice. I’m looking down at my hands as I type this, silver rings perfectly curated on each finger — arguably a familial quality passed down from my grandmother. Growing up, I would spend weekends at her house in Tijuana, looking through her curio collection, trying on different pieces of her jewelry, admiring the Taxco silver on her perfectly manicured hands. Each silver ring I wear has taken form in the hands of artists, molding the wax to be cast in the earth element, and worn to elicit a memory. I feel compelled to engage with the stories of terrene materials, as told by a group of artists whose work employs the ineffable qualities of nature.
Here’s how the story begins.
Nico Corona
Notoriously vast and somewhat liminal, the Inland Empire is a desert valley silhouetted by a stretch of San Bernardino mountains. A mere 50 miles east of Los Angeles, Fontana is home to the ghost of a once prominent steel mill. This pocket of low desert is home to Nico Corona, an artist and self-proclaimed shapeshifter based out of San Francisco. As we conversed, he realized how growing up in a steel town brought his creative practice full circle. His grandmother’s home neighbored the steel yard where his nino worked. It was a place that fascinated young Nico, who would later incorporate steel welding into his work
”As I grow older and I think I’m going further out, I’m having this full circle moment and I’m going further in.”
Corona and I first met sometime last year at a friend’s birthday party, where we had an interesting conversation about the relationship between our ancestral lineages and the practice of adornment. Not uncommon but still surprising, we shared a connection to Durango, Mexico, a state that produces the most silver, embedded in its mountains, second to Zacatecas. This was just one synchronistic detail of many that felt significant to the telling of Corona’s story.
“Historically, being a craftsperson or an artist is a luxury. My dad is from Durango, Mexico. My mom's first-generation Bolivian. So it's not really a space for me. I've met a bunch of jewelers or metal workers who are multi-generational; they have tools and access. When I was practicing out of this machine shop, everyone was blue-collar. They kind of looked at me like I was crazy or not the most masculine person, like a weird gay skater. I wanted to have my place there and open up the space to people who are interested. People who are maybe not as comfortable in the space.”
While navigating hyper-masculine welding spaces, Corona has something different to offer. During a 10-hour day at his studio, he utilizes the unconventional when working with material. Consider the signet ring, a prime example of a classic form in the jewelry world. Before it became a common accessory, the signet ring displayed prestige and social status, mainly used for sealing documents with hot wax emblemed with a family crest. Corona’s signet pushes the familiar into the nontraditional with an imperfect form mimicking the earth’s textures. Dual Shrine is a cast aluminum sculpted butterfly that almost appears to be taking flight. Wings expanded, it is drippy and yet upright. This piece is an ode to the artist’s journey of existence in duality, where everything is nothing, and nothing is at war with the other.
“The core of the earth is molten, and there's different states of metal in it. I'm super fascinated by moving through these different states: liquid, solid, and gas. I think it’s bigger than me. I'm a fire sign, so I’m magnetically drawn to this material. Everything makes sense now. These themes echo in my work. That butterfly sculpture is about being in different states and forming, then dissolving, like oscillating between opposites.”
Our most recent conversation led us down a rabbit hole of sharing stories of our dreams and our connection to these night pictures. They’re signs from other realms, guiding us in our current timeline. I’ve had quite a few significant dreams in my life that have felt so real they couldn’t be explained away by REM sleep. As we exchanged stories, one profound dream stood out to me. Corona was walking the warm sands of a gorgeous desert landscape. This led him to a group of unrecognizable people who told him they were in his grandmother’s hometown, Durango. In the distance was a mirage of stairs leading underground. Their copper surface radiated warmth, bouncing glimmers of sunlight off each step. Unable to finish his descent down the steps, Corona woke up and ended the dream. As a result of my research of Durango’s silver economy, I learned that copper was amongst other natural resources layered in those mountains. I can’t help but think that Corona’s connection to these earthen materials is less a coincidence and more likely fate.
“I've always gravitated towards the underdog or the person that's not writing the history books — indigenous people, queer people, trans people, people that deserve to have their narrative explored or their story told. I gravitate towards the subterranean, underground people who move culture and don't do things that put them in the history books. We’re just existing.”
Georgina Treviño
Every trend has its origin, which sadly gets diluted with each mass manufacturing of originality. Thanks to my network of fashion-oriented friends, I haven’t encountered a scarcity of independent designers or artists to support. It was through some shared object obsession or art convo with a friend that I learned about multidisciplinary artist Georgina Treviño.
On the day we first met, Georgina walked into the coffee shop, ponytail swaying back and forth, wearing a perfect ensemble of oversized vintage denim and rings on every finger, paired with some giant gold hoops completing the look. She greeted me with a friendly smile and an eagerness that matched my own, diving right into conversation like we’d known each other before this moment.
Much like her shining personality, Treviño’s artwork has distinct qualities that I’ve seen duplicated but never replicated. In her studio, you’d find a hand-sculpted Hello Kitty ring next to a canvas covered in jeweler’s wax with the sparkle of a single jewel. Though these two works appear different, both hint at the artist’s origins as a young girl between two worlds. She recounts being “identity lost”, having been raised in Tijuana before eventually moving to the US, at a pivotal time in a teenager’s life. Her experience as a border artist seeking connection led Treviño to Mexico City during college. In this pre-gentrification era, the city was full of artists on similar paths of discovery, shaping an ecosystem that inspired Treviño to redirect her energy from painting full-time to pursuing her passion for metalwork.
“I feel like I don't limit myself as far as medium, but of course, I think everything that I do, in the end, does loop back to a jewelry language no matter what.”
Treviño is welcoming and exuberant; she admits to me that quite a lot of her work is infused with a bit of a humorous subtext and everything is not so serious. A classic nameplate reads the name of its wearer, with a horseshoe piercing threaded through the last letter. What once was a simple black handbag is almost unrecognizably covered in silver keychains and jewels, a style I first noticed on Treviño’s Instagram years back, only to be mimicked into oblivion by your favorite SSENSE brands. The charm of Treviño’s signature style is in her sourcing methods that connect back to local tianguis (swap meet) tents and donation piles at secondhand shops. These one-offs are like map markings of all the places Treviño has been, embellished with trinkets, gems, and objects — a collection of memories.
At the start of 2024, her first solo show, titled Sin Rodeos, debuted at Embajada in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Altogether, the body of work tells a coming-of-age story through ornate chrome displays and glimpses into Treviño’s memoria. For non-Spanish speakers, Sin Rodeos roughly translates to “bluntly” or “without giving a fuck.” It takes on a double entendre as the title of a body of work that explores equestrian themes, juxtaposed with sexuality and feminine motifs. One striking piece, Vestido de charra (2023), features dual canvases covered in pink jeweler’s wax, tethered together by a long ball chain, accented with a kid’s ring on one side and a belly button piercing on the other.
“The solo show was about my childhood and my connection to jewelry. I used to horse ride escaramuza, a Mexican style of horse riding with choreography. Until this past year, I didn’t know how impactful that was on who I am today. For my first show, I wanted it to be very personal. It was so interesting and beautiful because it was healing my inner child. I was six years old on a big horse. Six years old. This made me so empowered and fearless. All of the work was about that and my connection to ornament. My boots were engraved; I had to wear handmade earrings; someone made my hat and dress. That connects to my attention to detail now, but in another setting.”
A few months into the year and already Treviño has a calendar full of art engagements, another solo show, and long days spent preparing new bodies of work. She lights up when mentioning some surprises in the works for San Diego, a place that is home to her no matter where in the world she travels to. Having taken a chance on her creative practice, Treviño believes in pouring energy back into the places that made her the artist she is today, where her community still exists. Teaching jewelry-making classes is a direct way in which she engages with an array of artists interested in adornment and metalwork. These interactive workshops have impacted students more than she could have imagined. How she finds time to accomplish all of this while devoting herself to the very tactile process of creating jewelry is no mystery now that I’ve met her. Georgina is eager to pay homage to jewelry makers and artisans who have come before her, by spotlighting the importance of an art form that is often written off and misunderstood. She notes, “It's not all about me at the end of the day; I want to inspire other people.”
“Jewelry is considered really separate from traditional mediums; it's craft, yet there's so much storytelling. The type of jewelry that I'm thinking of should be right next to a sculptor, it should be next to a painting. Why not give it the value of the object?”
Phil Panza
Much like silver, I have a fascination with moss. My obsession with the velvety plant grew when I stumbled across a picture of a green mound that appeared to be some kind of organic chair in the middle of a field. This piece is called Terra, a design by the Italian art collective Nucleo, made up of a cardboard frame overtaken by the earth forming this picturesque moss “lawn chair.” It looks like something straight out of Teletubbies. It was around this time when I wanted everything covered in grass (which Loewe has now caught onto), that I came across another mossy moment from a series of repurposed wood chairs and furnishings, unique forms covered in moss. Collective thought is pretty strong.
Multidisciplinary artist Phil Panza infuses practical design with the color of his environments both past and present, delivering one-of-a-kind artworks derived from natural material. His work is tactile and takes shape in the form of upcycled furniture pieces, silver-encased earthen materials, sculptural lamps, and etched wood slabs that serve many purposes. All of his creations recall a memory of growing up in upstate New York, where abundant nature is just a stone’s throw from where he now calls home.
“I'm coming from the two worlds of the city and upstate.”
A twig is bent in the shape of a “C,” forming a slingshot-like curve, attached to a delicate silver chain link. The sterling silver piece is a tiny symbol of youthfulness and a time when playing in the woods was a little joy. It was this playfulness that first drew me to Panza’s work. A further look at his inspirations goes way back into the muscle memory of being creative at a young age. Sewing with his grandmother led to an interest in cut and sew fashion, which ultimately proved to be different than he’d expected as a post-grad in NYC. It was then that he realized his interest in interiors was just another way of expressing costuming –– not on people, but in spaces.
“I have these passions that I'm trying to bring out, bring a bit of a youthful side to spaces. When you look at pieces, they have that kind of reflection and reminiscence of childhood — and then there’s obviously the combining of these natural materials so that if they're in the spaces, then you're thinking of the outdoors and bringing it indoors. So just playing with the mind a little bit in those ways.”
Panza’s high school summers were spent working for his grandfather’s building company alongside his architect uncle. This experience was a conduit into the artistry of design and craftsmanship. He would see blueprints become buildings like the bones of a house before it took on a facade. In retelling it, his fascination is clear with the way wood planks worked like puzzle pieces, forming spaces to be loved and lived in.
“I love the city. I love the metal. I love the concrete and all the buildings — the density, the metal. But at the same time, I love the woods, and I love the trees.”
Still, I was curious how he arrived at metalwork. There was this one photo of this light, beam-like charm that I could envision covering any surface of a garment or even completing a necklace stack. This featured silver work prompted me to include him in the conversation. It felt different from his previous tufting and woodwork, but somehow the same. Turns out, Panza found himself in Portugal for a period of time back in 2021, due to a series of synchronicities landing him with a room to stay, a job with a jeweler lined up, and a 50-euro studio.
Each era of his work stitches the next thread into another exploration of natural material and youthful nostalgia. He holds up a wooden mancala board to the Zoom screen, hand carved with beautifully emblazoned edges and nonuniform pockets where the marbles would sit. Instead of marbles, there are handfuls of silver pieces each resembling tiny stones, like one would collect as a kid just to be forgotten in a pant pocket.
When asked about the future, Panza goes full-speed into possibility. I tell him he seems like a go-getter. With his creative practice, if he wants something, it becomes reality. Everything he’s fabricated was once merely a sketch or a spark. He says a lot of his practice has felt very “me, me, me” — making something, selling it. More recently, Panza has shifted his focus to engaging in dialogue with other creatives around intention and artisanship within their respective mediums.
“The reason why I'm doing the things that I'm doing is encouragement from past counselors that I've had: teachers, my uncles. Mentors in those young stages allowed me to see the world in a different way and be able to have this kind of perception and be creative in different aspects. I want to be able to share that with other people. Because again, those things that I was saying — this kid self, this exploration, and these things that we hold so true when we were kids — I think we forget a lot about it, especially when we get into the corporate world, deal with bills and all these things. It's fun to get back to those bits.”
So much of what intrigues me about adornment is the hours spent crafting a single piece to be worn and self-expressed. The many hours I spent writing and researching for this piece unearthed a commonality amongst the artists I spoke to. Though none of them have previously met, they’re all creating works to further understand the past. Time travel continues to influence their art forms in the present. Each individual’s work took on new meanings, some even pivoting from medium to medium, all shaped by their subconscious inspiration from the environments in which they formed these memories. What a gift it is to work with earth’s materials and leave behind these precious relics of experiences past.