The Traveling Bead: A Tiny Adventure With Big Personality

Every artist has a few supplies that develop… let’s call it a robust sense of adventure. In my case, it’s beads. They escape constantly. I like to believe they’re living their best lives instead of simply slipping through my fingers. So today, allow me to tell you the story of one such explorer.

His name was Milo. (Yes, I named him. You spend enough hours in a studio, and you start naming your materials.)

Milo was a small, round, iridescent bead with the confidence of someone three times his size. One morning, as I opened my container of beads, he seized the moment, launched himself out like a tiny acrobat, and rolled across my table with undeniable purpose.

“Not again,” I muttered.

But Milo was already gone.

First stop: the paintbrush cup, where he ricocheted off the handle like a pinball. Then he zipped across the table and, with a dramatic leap, dropped to the floor, disappearing into the land of dust fairies and escaped art supplies.

I located him near the bookshelf, where he had apparently stopped to admire the spines. A bead with literary taste. How charming.

When I finally retrieved him (crawling on the floor, questioning my life choices), I placed him back into the tray. He glimmered smugly. Five minutes later, he made another escape attempt.

His wanderlust was unstoppable.

Eventually, Milo did settle down, right into the center of a finished piece, where he became the unexpected star of the design.

Every time I see that piece, I smile. Because sometimes even the smallest runaway bead has a big story to tell.