Before ever holding a torch, I was holding a toothbrush—cleaning wax out between chrome moldings of a freshly detailed vintage car. My dad was—is—a classic car purist and a walking encyclopedia of design history. He restored cars not just to working condition, but to their original state—factory paint, correct engine type, the works. He could tell a car's hubcaps weren't authentic from a single frame in The Godfather.

We spent my childhood at car shows—anywhere you could imagine. Every October, my parents took me out of school for our trip to the AACA Fall Meet in Hershey, PA. It was the highlight of my year. They called it an education, and it was. I learned about design long before realizing I was learning anything—absorbing the sweeping lines of 1950s fins, the glint of chrome, the hood ornaments that felt like jewelry for machines. I fell in love with craftsmanship, restoration, and metal. My dad also loved a good junkyard. He’d spend hours digging through parts, looking for something overlooked, something worth saving. That instinct—to restore, reuse, and reimagine—stuck with me.

Later, it showed up in other ways. My much cooler older sister, a student at Art and Design in Manhattan, would sneak me out of junior high to thrift at the original Unique Boutique of the 90s, dig through Antique Boutique, and marvel at the painted clothing at the legendary Pop Shop. I remember swooning over a pair of old plastic earrings at Patricia Field and getting them for my twelfth birthday. That mix of upcycling (as it’s now called), art, and style—those were the seeds of what would later become my work.

I’ve now spent over 20 years as a goldsmith, working at the bench making custom jewelry, sourcing antique pieces, and restoring heirlooms. I rework vintage metals, redesign jewelry with original components, and give old pieces new life—without erasing their past. The work I do is hands-on and detail-oriented. It’s shaped by years of experience, and by a long-standing appreciation for the way metal moves, how good craftsmanship holds up over time, and the quiet beauty in things that already exist.

This site is my way of sharing that with you. I’m used to meeting clients face to face, watching them try things on, hearing the stories behind their jewelry. An online, digital presence doesn't come naturally to me—but I hope what you see here feels personal, thoughtful, and real. What matters isn’t me or my face plastered over the internet—it’s the work that I do. But if you’ve read this far, you now know where it comes from.

As for the name ALLOYALIST—it’s a little play on words. I’m loyal to metal alloys, of course, and to those who love old (and new) things that are made well. It also turns out that when you wait too long to buy a domain name, you have get creative. So here we are.