Lizz Jardim's jewelry is meticulous. Each piece from her brand L.JARDIM shows careful attention to detail—industrial-inspired designs that merge edgy architectural elements with refined, wearable elegance. Her work draws from brutalist structures, mechanical forms, and raw materials, transformed through over a decade of honed craft into a distinct design language.

So it might surprise you to learn that her biggest creative breakthrough came from stopping all that careful planning.

"In the past year, I've had the most growth with myself and my work, and just not overthinking it," Lizz explains from her Brooklyn studio. "I feel like thinking about what I want to make, and analyzing it, only hindered my creative process. And if I feel like I want to do this, and I don't like it, then you just do another thing. If it doesn't work then, you move on. I think that you gotta start somewhere and just see where that takes you."

We spent a day with Lizz in Brooklyn to understand how a jeweler known for meticulous craftsmanship learned to relinquish control, embrace happy accidents, and let the metal guide the way.

Morning: Rise, Pump Iron, Coffee

Lizz's typical day starts with movement. On her best days, she's pumping iron or flowing through hot vinyasa yoga. Physical activity before creative work isn't just routine—it's clearing mental space.

"Rise, pump some iron or hot vinyasa (on my best days), coffee and a little admin work," she describes her morning rhythm. The gym or yoga mat is where she processes, where overthinking gets worked out of her system before she touches any tools.

After movement comes the simple rituals that ground her day. Shower. Skincare. Coffee. The essentials that prepare her for whatever the creative work brings.

Her approach to skincare mirrors her creative philosophy—no overthinking, just things that work. The COMUNE Hydra Shroom Cream has become part of that routine. "I like products that are straightforward," she explains. "You put it on, it does what it's supposed to do, you move on with your day."

It's the same principle she applies to her jewelry materials—quality ingredients, honest about what they are, no unnecessary complexity. The cream's adaptogenic mushrooms and botanical ingredients align with her aesthetic appreciation for natural, functional materials. Simple, effective, no pretense.

After skincare comes coffee and the administrative reality of running an independent jewelry label. Emails, orders, invoices—the business side that funds the creative side. It's the practical foundation that allows the creative chaos later.

But she doesn't linger here too long. The studio is calling.

The Studio: Where Metal Makes the Rules

Lizz's Brooklyn studio is where theory meets reality, where carefully considered plans often dissolve into something better. It's a space filled with raw materials, works in progress, tools that have shaped countless pieces, and the evidence of projects that didn't go as planned—which, as Lizz has learned, is often the best outcome.

"Relinquish control—that's the cool thing about working with metal," she says. "More often than not, projects don't quite go as planned, but I've learned to love that about the process. Lots of happy accidents or detours."

This philosophy wasn't always natural to her. Like many craftspeople, Lizz initially approached metalwork with careful planning and specific visions. She'd sketch designs, plan every element, try to control the outcome. But metal has its own properties, its own behavior under heat and pressure and manipulation. Fighting it only created frustration.

The breakthrough came when she stopped fighting.

"It really depends on the day," she explains about her process. "I enjoy fabrication more than other approaches in creating, so sometimes I will have an idea and see what materials I have around to work with that align with it, but usually there is a lot of play in there."

Play. Not execution. Not precise realization of predetermined vision. Play.

The Fabrication Process

Lizz's preferred method is fabrication—building jewelry from raw materials rather than casting or other techniques. It's hands-on, direct, physical. You're cutting, bending, soldering, shaping metal with tools and heat and force.

She might start with an idea. Maybe she's been thinking about a particular architectural detail—the way brutalist buildings use exposed concrete and steel, the geometry of mechanical forms, the raw honesty of industrial structures. Or maybe there's just a piece of metal sitting on her workbench that catches her eye.

Instead of sketching it out and planning every step, she picks up the material. Starts working. Sees what happens.

The metal might bend differently than expected. The solder might flow in an unexpected direction. The piece might want to become something other than what she initially imagined. And instead of correcting it back to the original plan, Lizz follows where the metal wants to go.

"If I feel like I want to do this, and I don't like it, then you just do another thing," she says simply. No attachment to the plan. No precious protection of the original vision. Just responsiveness to what's actually happening in front of her.

This is how her distinct design language emerged—not from rigid planning, but from years of paying attention to those happy accidents and learning to trust the detours.

The Origin: Making Jewelry from Necessity

Lizz didn't start making jewelry with grand ambitions. She started because she was broke.

"As a broke college student without money for designer threads, being able to create pieces that felt unique to myself and wear them regularly made me feel put together regardless of the status of my clothing, which brought confidence where there was insecurity."

It's a relatable origin story. She took a jewelry class in college and fell in love with the craft. But the initial motivation wasn't artistic expression—it was practical problem-solving. She wanted to wear interesting jewelry but couldn't afford it. So she learned to make it.

Her mother's influence shaped this resourcefulness. "I grew up with a single mom who really knew how to make a lot out of a little with her wardrobe. That's always been a big part of my style mantra—it's not what you wear, it's how you wear it."

This philosophy—making a lot out of a little, creativity born from constraint—still influences her work. Limited resources didn't hinder her style. They facilitated it. Necessity pushed her to develop skills, explore materials, figure out how to create the aesthetic she wanted with whatever she could access.

What started as solving a personal problem slowly transformed into passion, then profession. The jewelry that once covered insecurity became a source of confidence. The craft that started from financial limitation became a distinct artistic voice.

Afternoon: Jewelry District Errands

Part of Lizz's typical day involves trips to New York's jewelry district. It's not glamorous—it's sourcing materials, comparing suppliers, hunting for specific metals or findings, building relationships with vendors who stock the raw materials she needs.

The jewelry district is where her industrial aesthetic meets practical reality. She's not ordering supplies from catalogs. She's physically going to shops, looking at materials, feeling different metals, understanding what's available and what properties different materials have.

These errands are research. Every trip teaches her something about materials she might incorporate, techniques she might explore, possibilities she hadn't considered. It's not just procurement—it's ongoing education in what metal can do.

And sometimes, it's where inspiration strikes. A particular finish on a piece of brass. An unusual patina on copper. A mechanical component that suggests a design direction she hadn't considered. The jewelry district errands feed back into the studio work, creating a loop between sourcing and creating.

Back to the Studio: Where Work Becomes Play

After errands, Lizz returns to the studio. This is where the bulk of her time goes—hours of fabrication work, building pieces by hand, one at a time.

Sometimes there's a glass of wine involved. Sometimes a friend stops by. Sometimes a game of pool breaks up the intense focus of metalwork. The studio isn't a sterile workspace where serious art happens in isolation. It's where work and life blend, where friends are part of the process, where play (that word again) is central to the creative practice.

"My bedroom, or my studio when no one else is there," she says about her favorite place to dance. The studio is a space for both focused craft and uninhibited movement. Dad moves and guilty pleasure jams. Creating jewelry and goofing off. The work doesn't require solemnity.

This looseness, this refusal to take herself too seriously, directly feeds the work. When you're not precious about outcomes, you're free to experiment. When you're not performing seriousness, you can actually play.

The Aesthetic: Industrial Elegance

Over the past decade, Lizz has developed what she calls a distinct design language. Her work is immediately recognizable—industrial-inspired but refined, edgy but wearable, raw but elegant.

She draws influence from sources that might seem unlikely for jewelry: architectural structures, mechanical forms, brutalist buildings. Henning Koppel's work from the Georg Jensen era. William Spratling's bold Mexican silver designs. Guy Vidal's sculptural Canadian modernism. Claude Lalanne's surrealist nature-inspired pieces.

What connects these disparate influences is an appreciation for form, structure, and honesty of materials. Brutalism doesn't hide its concrete and steel—it celebrates them. Mechanical forms don't apologize for their industrial function—they embrace it. Lizz's jewelry takes that same approach.

Her pieces often incorporate geometric shapes, clean lines, raw metal finishes. They reference industrial hardware, architectural details, mechanical components. But they're scaled and refined for the body—wearable without being conventional, statement-making without being unwearable.

It's a balance she's honed over years of making. Too industrial and it becomes costume. Too refined and it loses its edge. The sweet spot—where raw materials meet meticulous craft—that's where her work lives.

Beyond Jewelry: Objects, Repair, and New Directions

Recently, Lizz has been thinking beyond body adornment. "I'm really into objects right now," she explains. "I have been making a few small functional items, but I have a lot of other things I've collected that are in need of repair or mending."

This new direction excites her: "I've always appreciated the small details that make something unique or endearing—so I'm excited to play around with this concept of bringing new life to pieces that would otherwise be deemed broken or be discarded."

It's a natural evolution of her practice. The same fabrication skills that create jewelry can repair furniture, mend household objects, transform broken items into something newly functional. And it aligns with her philosophy about making a lot out of a little—why discard something broken when you can give it new life?

"I love jewelry, and it's still the primary focus of my work and livelihood," she clarifies. But there's room to explore. Room to apply her skills to different scales and functions. Room to play in new territory.

She's been interested in larger scale work for a while—furniture, housewares, objects. As her skills have evolved, so have her ambitions for where to apply them. The metalworking techniques that create earrings can also create chair frames. The aesthetic sensibility that designs necklaces can inform lamp fixtures.

It's all fabrication. It's all working with materials and form. It's all that same process of starting with an idea (or just a material), playing with possibilities, letting the work reveal itself rather than forcing a predetermined outcome.

Evening: Wine, Pool, and Community

Lizz's days often end with a glass of wine, maybe a game of pool with friends, music playing in the studio or at home. The creative work doesn't exist in isolation—it's part of a life built around community, play, and not taking things too seriously.

"In a cozy casa with pals," she says about her favorite place to drink. Not fancy bars or trendy spots. Just comfortable spaces with people she enjoys. The same groundedness that informs her work shows up in how she lives.

Brooklyn provides the perfect ecosystem for this lifestyle. The neighborhood is full of other makers, artists, designers running independent practices. People who understand the balance between serious craft and not taking yourself too seriously. Who get that you can be meticulous about your work while remaining loose about your process.

Lizz splits her time between making jewelry and occasional bartending—the latter helps fund the former. It's practical. Honest about the financial reality of building an independent creative practice. Many artists romanticize the struggle or hide the side hustles. Lizz is straightforward about it: she makes things she loves, and she bartends to make it sustainable.

"I make jewelry, and work part time at a cocktail bar (to help fund said jewelry, hah)," she explains without apology or embarrassment. It's just the reality of building something from nothing.

The Evolution: From Sophomore to Established

When asked a few years ago whether she considered herself a freshman, sophomore, or senior in her field, Lizz said: "I feel like a sophomore in the aspect of personal growth in my field."

Since then, she's continued evolving. Her work has been worn by Zoe Kravitz. L.JARDIM has become an established independent brand. She's spent over a decade honing her craft and developing that distinct design language.

But she still approaches the work with sophomore energy—still learning, still experimenting, still discovering new directions. The metalworking never gets stale because she refuses to treat it as solved. Every piece is an opportunity to play, to see what happens, to follow unexpected detours.

That might be her biggest strength: maintaining curiosity and playfulness even as skill and recognition grow. Never getting so confident that she stops being open to accidents. Never getting so established that she stops relinquishing control.

What Lizz Represents

Lizz Jardim embodies what COMUNE Project celebrates: creatives who embrace the rawness and imperfections of everyday life and use it to push boundaries.

She didn't come from privilege or formal design training. She was a broke college student who wanted nice jewelry. She learned to make it out of necessity. She built confidence through creating. She developed a distinct voice through years of play and experimentation.

Her meticulous craft coexists with creative chaos. Her industrial aesthetic merges hard edges with wearable elegance. Her business acumen (bartending to fund her practice) grounds her artistic ambitions. Her philosophy about not overthinking allows her work to evolve organically.

She makes a lot out of a little. She doesn't take herself too seriously. She relinquishes control and trusts the process. She embraces happy accidents and loves when projects don't go as planned.

From her Brooklyn studio, Lizz continues building L.JARDIM one piece at a time—sometimes following a plan, usually following where the metal wants to go, always remaining open to detours.

Her mornings set the tone for everything that follows. Simple rituals that don't require overthinking. Movement to clear her mind. Coffee to fuel her focus. And skincare that just works—like the COMUNE Hydra Shroom Cream that's become part of her routine. "I don't want to think about it," she says. "I just want it to do what it's supposed to do so I can get to the work that actually matters."

It's the same approach she brings to everything: trust the essentials, don't overcomplicate, focus your energy where it counts.

Rise. Pump iron or hot vinyasa. Coffee and admin work. Studio. Jewelry district errands. More studio—with wine and pals and music peppered in. Creating pieces that merge industrial inspiration with refined craft. Not overthinking it. Just seeing where it takes her.

That's Lizz Jardim. That's L.JARDIM. That's what happens when you stop analyzing and just start making.