When I had the chance to stay for a few days in Corsica, I spent my first jetlagged afternoon in Calvi ducking in and out amongst the jewellery stores and the artisan shops on Rue Clemenceau, the sort quite obviously targeted at the wayward-but-common tourist.
It’s always fascinating to know what is thought of “tourist-while” fare. Throughout my days in Corsica, it became obvious that the most jewellery sold featured “l’oeil de Sainte-Lucie“, the white shell with a mathematically perfect grey-brown spiral that comes from the opening of the Turban snail shell. Only once, I noted the use of particular stones I have never seen before. Though, when politely enquiring as to their origins with my passable but awkward French, I scored some bewildered looks. (Eventually, I realised it’s possible to find these stones on the beach.)
Unfortunately, such a gorgeous and natural element is often set in metal in rather conventional styles; I fancied that if I found my own “eyes”, it’d be interesting to experiment on what could be done. However, no one’s going to tell a tourist where les yeux can be easily found. The big shell you see in this photo is one I picked out from a shop in Calvi; the shell had been machine-smoothened and was hanging from a cheap piece of double-knotted string. Here, I’ve re-worked it with Japanese hemp (the best there is) in loose macramé and wooden beads dismantled from necklaces I’d previously picked up from South East Asia. The tiny shells are actually ones I managed to find while we stopped for lunch at a beach just outside of Cargese. It takes some beachcombing skill to spot these on a beach, I assure you!
The legends of Sainte-Lucie vary, but generally had to do with her being a miracle healer, a Christian whose eyes were gouged out — whether by soldiers or a jealous husband. In some versions of the myth, she threw her own eyes into the sea to keep her faith/virginity. What actually fascinates me is the notion of luck that’s associated with the shell. Aside from the traditional symbolism of the spiral, it’s also said to ward off the evil eye — which is an interesting topic all on its own.
While Corsica prided itself on these shells, it nagged me that I’ve seen these elsewhere on my travels, so it must not have been all that local to the Mediterranean. I skeptically wondered if many of the pieces I saw in shops were perhaps imported.
As it turns out, these shells have numerous names:
The most popular name of this stone is “Shiva Eye”. Also in other areas of the world this lucky stone is well known, but with different names. In Asia people call it “Shiva Eye” or “Buddha Eye”. In Australia and New Zealand it is known as “Cat’s Eye”, in South Africa as “Money of Mermaids”, in Greece “Naxos Eye”, in Italy “L’ocio di Santa Lucia” or generally “Sea Eye”.
The “cat’s eye” referred here is not to be confused with the other “cat’s eye”, which usually refers to chrysoberyl.
The prized l’oeil de Sainte-Lucie is also found in the Philippines and many pieces of these shell jewellery are made in Indonesia.
While I’m no longer the wary traveller who cares much about being “cheated” of a local experience (I prefer to think that if I’d chosen something it was because it mattered at the time), it’s yet another challenge for someone who has a love of making things. How, as an artisan, do we survive the thirst of the world that expects us to make what they think is beautiful and desirable enough to take home as a souvenir, as opposed to what may be unique and special?