How Troon Shapes My Work: Life, Craft, and Creating by the Coast

I didn’t grow up in Troon. I arrived here because of a person — a spontaneous decision to visit the hometown of the man I’d just started dating. It felt reckless at the time, the sort of thing you do before you learn to worry. We’ve now been together for over a decade, married, settled… and I’m still living in the town that once felt borrowed but has slowly become my own.

What I didn’t expect was how deeply Troon would shape me as both a person and a jeweller.

A Coastline That Changed My Work

When I studied Silversmithing & Jewellery at The Glasgow School of Art, my work was sharpened by the city that surrounded me. I was drawn to strict lines, geometric forms, architectural references — shapes that felt clean, controlled, almost armoured. There was something protective about it. Brutalist influence made sense then: heavy, angular, unyielding.

I kept that sensibility for years. I thought it was who I was. It’s only been a recent consideration that I don’t need to hold onto that so tightly now.

In Troon, the light never behaves. The coastline is constantly rearranging itself. Even the greys come in different textures. And without realising it at first, those qualities began slipping into my hands while I worked.

What used to be rigid has become softer, and what was angular has grown more rounded. All while resisting a natural aesthetic, I’ve been slowly shaped by it — like dripping water on a stone.

The hammered textures I use today — they started as a technique, but they’ve become something else entirely. They echo dunes, weathering, tides smoothing edges over time. The forms I make now feel like they’ve always been part of my practice, but Troon is what made space for them.

Even my conceptual work has shifted.

The Cast Dout pendant came first: a subversive, sharp-edged piece rooted in cultural commentary, rebellion, and the remnants of habits we try to leave behind. It was realised first in my university days. It’s gritty. Urban. A relic of a different environment. It was a response to control — an answer for it.

Struck, the burnt matchstick necklace, came years later — gentler in tone, more reflective, and joyful.

Still conceptual, yes, but grounded in gratitude, fleeting moments, things that flare and soften and disappear, and a reminder to notice precious moments hurtling past us, outwith our control. It’s personal and speaks to me, or the wearer, not the audience who looks on it.

It belongs here in Troon in a way the Cast Dout never could. Like the sea and coastline, it reminds me of my smallness every day — in the most humbling, awe-inspiring way.

The Quiet Rhythm That Inspires Me

When you live beside the sea, you realise the coast is always doing something.
Even on the stillest days, there’s movement — light shifting, tide pulling, sand rearranging itself grain by grain.

The atmosphere at the water’s edge changes depending on the weather. Crisp, salt-sharp mornings. Winds that turn umbrellas inside out. Evenings where the whole sky becomes a slow-moving watercolour, and nights where the car is blown about while we look into the dark vastness and listen to the rain against the windows and roof. All of it seeps into the work, not literally but atmospherically — and it’s taken some time for my conscious brain to notice.

Texture comes from watching the land change and from walks along the Ballast Bank. Form comes from learning to soften, and meaning comes from the space Troon leaves for noticing.

Finding My Place Here (and Finding My People)

When I began Bianca O’Neill Jewellery in 2020, I made everything at home, unsure whether anyone would ever wear the things I cared about making. Troon changed that quickly, because it seems it’s the sort of place where creativity doesn’t stay hidden.

One of the first people to believe in my work was Milla, owner of COAST Gallery — a curated, welcoming space dedicated entirely to Scottish handmade art and gifts. Having my pieces stocked there changed the direction of my business, but more importantly, it made me feel rooted. COAST isn’t just a gallery; it’s part of the town’s creative pulse.

Beyond the gallery, the creative community here is genuinely generous. I take part in the Scottish Arts & Crafts Fair and Handmade in Ayr, both full of makers who anchor themselves in Ayrshire. These events aren’t just markets; they’re living proof that this small part of Scotland is full of people building things by hand, quietly and sincerely.

Why I Stay

Troon fits the kind of life I want to build: small, steady, creative, and connected.

It has shaped my practice quietly but profoundly, in ways I didn’t anticipate until I looked back and realised the change had already happened.

My jewellery is still evolving — but now it feels rooted in the landscape I live in rather than the one I left.

And if you ever find yourself here, walking along the beach or slipping into COAST Gallery on a windy day, you might see a bit of that shift too.