the wreckage of a plane crash in an undisclosed south-west
African country (Maria is deliberately non-specific about thework
she’s done due to the sensitive nature of the cases involved),wasa
transformative experience. “The temperatures were intenseandthe
mortuary was outside,” she says. “We were presented withliterally
hundreds and hundreds of individual body parts. I’ll never forgetthe
smell. It stays with you – in your clothes, in your hair.”
“It was a completely new world for me,” she continues. “I’dnever
been in a mortuary before. I’d never been in a disaster zone.I’d
never worked with the dead. It’s such an intense situationthatit
really triggers your fight-or-flight response. You either havetogo
in and suck it up, or else you let that emotional side get thebetter
of you.” She attributes some of her fortitude in the face ofdeathto
growing up on a diet of CSI and horror films. “Look, it’s aterrible
comparison to make, but when I was presented with someofthe
grislier aspects of the job – we’re talking body parts, blood,gore,
all the stuff you’d expect to be traumatising – I really didn’tfind
it as overwhelming as I’d expected.”
Much harder for Maria was the process of sifting throughthe
dead’s personal effects. “Perhaps it’s because, as a jeweller,I’m
so attuned to the stories people attach to inanimate objects,”she
says. “But when you see somebody’s life in front of you inlittle
boxes – their jewellery, their identity cards, the contentsoftheir
handbags, their handwriting and photographs, teddy bearsand
toys – that’s far more shocking and upsetting to me.” However,
rather than being put off by her “baptism of fire”, the experience
only doubled Maria’s determination to pursue the craft. “Iwas
totally naïve going into it,” she says, “but it really drove home
that there were very human stakes at play. It wasn’t just a research
project anymore. It was this fascinating and important newfield
to be explored.”Sincethen,Maria has worked on a number of other air crashes,
aswellasa couple of terrorist attacks. She’s discovered that her
workinthese “mass fatality incidents” is often less about identifying
victimsthan it is returning jewellery to their families. “Jewellery
takesonahuge degree of symbolism after death,” she says.
“What’sfascinating to me is that a lot of families want the items
backjustas they’re found: with the stones missing and the metal
melted.Asif this new state is representative of the trauma their
lovedonewent through.”
Maria,whocompleted her PhD in forensic jewellery last year, now
consultsregularly with the Scottish police and UK law enforcement
agencies,helping them out with homicides, missing persons cases
andcoldcases involving distinctive jewellery. “I’d love to talk about
someofthis stuff, but I can’t,” she laughs. “My PhD has a redacted
section.”She also has to deal with a lot of private investigators.
“Theyseem to think I’m some sort of jewellery psychic. I wish
Iwas,butthey usually arrive saying, ‘Here’s a piece of jewellery,
Maria.Canyou tell us who it belonged to?’ And I’m like, nope.”
Lestyouthink she’s some kind of globetrotting woman of mystery,
Maria’satpains to point out that, like any good self-employed
jeweller,she still has a day job. “I work on the forensic jewellery
stuffwhenI can, but a lot of it remains very much theoretical.
WhatI’mhoping to do is pull the research together and make
itmorepractical, useful and available to the authorities.” She
stillcallsherself a jeweller and a designer (but not a jewellery
designer!)and is animated by the same obsession that led her
tojewellery-making in the first place. “The meaning, the emotion,
thesentimentality is all still there, even after death,” she says.
“I’mnotnecessarily making the jewellery anymore, but I’m
doingsomething important with it that means something
topeople.”Photo
Neil Douglas
creative people