Four Decades of Breaking the Mold

Writer Stephen Webster

The smell of chemicals and the sound of hammering metal first drew me into the world of jewelry making. It was 1976, and I had just started at Medway College of Design in Rochester, Kent — the original Rochester, mind you. My high school career adviser had suggested I become a boilermaker at Chatham Dockyard, which appealed to me about as much as entering the undertaking business. Instead, I’d enrolled in fashion design, inspired by my musical hero David Bowie’s art school background.

But fate had other plans. After a lesson or two among the sewing machines and drama of fashion classes (quite a shock for someone fresh from an all-boys school), I found myself wandering the corridors. That’s when I discovered students crafting pieces that looked like treasure, and I was instantly hooked. Within a week, I had switched to jewelry and silversmithing, beginning a journey that would lead me from apprentice to “jeweler to the stars.”

Those early days were pure punk rock meets precious metals. While other pre-apprentices studied basic math and English, I had permission to bring in my Bowie and Roxy Music records, the soundtrack to my education in the power of a hammer, flame and piercing saw. This fusion of rebellion and craftsmanship would become my signature — though I didn’t know it yet.

The pre-apprenticeship course was almost purely practical, focusing on the fundamentals of metalworking. I learned to appreciate the nuanced techniques held within each tool — how a slight adjustment in hammer pressure could transform a piece, how the careful control of flame could mean the difference between perfection and disaster. These lessons would prove invaluable throughout my career, even as my designs pushed further into uncharted territory.

My formal apprenticeship took me to London’s historic Hatton Garden, where I learned the traditional art of chain-making at Saunders & Shepherd, a 150-year-old company. The area itself had a fascinating history, becoming “Hatton Garden” in the 16th century when Queen Elizabeth I bestowed the title and estate to one of her courtiers — apparently a very good dancer — much to the dismay of the bishop of Ely, the previous landlord.

But repetition breeds restlessness, and chain-making is exactly what it sounds like: repetitive. By that time, I was aware of jewelry being made that was more progressive than the traditional designs I was replicating day in and day out.

At 19, sporting a decidedly punk aesthetic, I plucked up the courage and knocked on the door of a really modern jewelry shop called John Donald on Cheapside (anything but cheap), a street leading up to St. Paul’s Cathedral. John himself answered and, confronted by a punky-looking 19-year-old, was a little taken aback. Right there on the doorstep, I asked if he had any jobs for a really good jeweler, halfway through his apprenticeship. To my utter surprise, he said yes and doubled my salary from 25 pounds to 50 pounds a week.

Each day meant a new design challenge, new materials, new possibilities. Donald was part of a revolutionary group of jewelry designers, including Andrew Grima, Gerda Flöckinger, and Wendy Ramshaw, who had broken free from the rigid constraints of post-Victorian fine jewelry. Their work, inspired by nature, architecture and space, showed me what was possible when tradition met innovation.

After leaving John Donald, I ventured out on my own, taking on work that often fell below my capabilities but paid the rent. A breakthrough came when DeBeers commissioned me to design and make a piece for the owner of the winning horse at the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes trophy race at Royal Ascot. The commission came with an invitation to race day, where my girlfriend and I reveled in the champagne and canapés — a glimpse of the luxury world I would later inhabit.

The real adventure began when a Canadian shop owner offered me a position in Banff, Alberta. Having never been on a plane, I found myself landing in minus 30 degrees Celsius weather, wondering where on Earth we’d sell jewelry in this snow-covered wilderness. My Aunt Peg had bought me my first winter coat for the trip, but nothing could have prepared me for that cold. The morning after my arrival, I woke to a bright blue sky and snow-covered mountains, convinced I’d been kidnapped. Instead, my new boss took me skiing — a smart move that sealed the deal.

Mike, my new boss and a geologist with a passion for minerals and gems, had moved from Ottawa to Banff to set up a rock and mineral store. He saw an opportunity to include jewelry for the Japanese and American tourists. As far as he was concerned, he would give me the rocks and the shop, and I would do the rest. Great, except I wasn’t really a designer. I could draw, though, so with a baptism by fire, I got stuck in.

Very quickly, confronted by gems I had never heard of — tanzanite, tourmaline, tsavorite, and best of all kunzite — I started to apply my making skills to the rocks in front of me and, with a wing and a prayer, came up with the goods. At least goods enough for the après-ski crowd. Soon, I had recruited three other British jewelers from my old art school, building a small empire in the Rockies. But when it snowed on my birthday — Aug. 13 — I knew it was time for a change.

After a brief, unsuccessful return to London, where my new style wasn’t well received, Mike called again. He’d sold the Banff business and was moving to Santa Barbara. Would I join him? California definitely wouldn’t snow on my birthday, so I agreed.

We hit Montecito running, and within months, something extraordinary happened: Elizabeth Taylor bought one of my cocktail rings. My mom back home didn’t believe me when I called to tell her — she had worshipped Liz as one of the original Hollywood icons. Throughout my four years in Santa Barbara, I created pieces for an impressive roster of clients: the Douglas family, Goldie Hawn, Oprah. It was the ‘80s, gold was king, and color reigned. I loved it.

Returning to London with my then-wife, I was determined to create pieces that reflected my roots and personal style rather than the California aesthetic I’d mastered. The transition wasn’t immediate—fine jewelry moves at a snail’s pace — but experimentation led to innovation. I developed Crystal Haze, a technique of layering clear faceted quartz over opaque colored stones like turquoise, agates or obsidian. The effect was spectacular.

After a while, I thought I was onto something. I was asked to give a talk at the prestigious Baselworld watch and jewelry show in Switzerland. Despite a long waiting list, I was offered a booth for the following year. There, I premiered Crystal Haze along with other designs that featured diamonds and gold but with the unlikely inspiration of tattoo imagery and thorns. It wasn’t exactly what the establishment of fine jewelry circles might naturally embrace — and they didn’t. I sold nothing.

Undeterred, because my wife, Assia, loved it, I took a booth at The Couture Show in Phoenix. To call it a booth is Realtor talk for what was a table in the cupboard under the stairs. Despite the lack of visibility, a certain David Yurman found me and asked who I was. I told him, and he said I had the best jewelry he’d seen in years. Very quickly, my table became the busiest spot at the show, and I won the Editor’s Choice for Best in Show. My brother David and I had to head straight back to London to start recruiting jewelers.

Shortly after that initial trade success, I got the opportunity of a lifetime — a chance to present my work to Madonna, then the most famous woman on the planet. After a couple of stiff gins, I knocked on her door. As I waited in the lobby, I smelled burning and saw wisps of smoke coming up the stairs. Madonna appeared through the smoke — a proper rock star entrance, I thought — only to announce, “I’m sorry, I just burned the toast.” That icebreaker led to a decade-long wave of success in the new designer jeweler movement.

The Crystal Haze collection became a phenomenon, redefining what fine jewelry could be. It wasn’t just about the innovative stone-cutting technique; it was about challenging the established norms of the industry. We were creating pieces that spoke to a new generation of jewelry lovers — those who wanted their accessories to make a statement beyond mere luxury.

Our determination to push boundaries while maintaining impeccable craftsmanship caught the attention of the fashion world. From making Madonna and Guy Ritchie’s wedding rings to designing for Pink, Christina Aguilera, Natalie Imbruglia and, most recently, Machine Gun Kelly and Megan Fox, we’ve maintained our position at the intersection of fine jewelry and rock ‘n’ roll. Each piece tells a story of rebellion and refinement, punk attitude and precise execution.

The journey hasn’t always been smooth. The fine jewelry industry can be notoriously resistant to change, and there were plenty of skeptics along the way. But that resistance only fueled our creativity. Together with my wife, Assia, and my brother, David, we’ve built something truly unique. Their unwavering support and business acumen have been as crucial to our success as my designs. We’ve weathered economic storms, changing tastes and industry upheavals by staying true to our core philosophy: exceptional craftsmanship with an edge.

Our determination, attitude, humor and rock aesthetic, combined with impeccable craftsmanship and passion, have shaped the brand that we’ve built over almost five decades. Seven years ago, Amy Webster joined Assia, David and me in the business as art director, bringing fresh perspectives while honoring our rebellious heritage. Nika, our youngest, has served an apprenticeship on the bench and just started her own jewelry repair and alteration business. The rebellion continues, but now it spans generations.

As I prepare for our 40-year retrospective at Grace Renee Gallery this January, I can’t help but smile at that punky 19-year-old who dared to knock on John Donald’s door. He had no idea where that courage would lead — but I’m grateful he took the risk. There are still a few chapters yet to be told in this story, and I’m excited to see where they lead.

About Stephen Webster

British jewelry designer Stephen Webster has been crafting fine jewelry for over four decades. Known as the “Rock ‘n’ Roll Jeweler,” Webster revolutionized the industry by combining traditional craftsmanship with edgy, contemporary design. His signature collections, including Crystal Haze and Thorn, have adorned celebrities from Elizabeth Taylor to Machine Gun Kelly. Webster’s pieces are distinguished by their bold use of colored gemstones, innovative techniques and unconventional motifs. He was awarded an MBE (Member of the Order of the British Empire) in 2013 for his services to training and skills in the British jewelry industry.