Meet the Makers
Hey there,
We are Robyn and Chantal, owners of The Rabbit Hole Jewelry. We met when our youngest sons were in whitewater kayaking camp together, about a million years ago. We stayed small town acquaintances over the years, but really connected about five years ago when we were both deep into metalsmithing, and working at the same studio. After commiserating at a pop up we did together about the hassle of lugging your wares around, we birthed the idea of this business. Our vision was to create a community for jewelry making and learning, and have a permanent home to sell these things we put so much love into. Here is a bit more about us individually:
Meet Robyn Johnsen: Figurative Painter & Silversmith in Hood River, Oregon
I've been making art for as long as I can remember. Originally from the Midwest, I studied art at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design and the University of Minnesota with a focus in painting and sculpture. In 2002, my family and I moved from Minneapolis to the beautiful Columbia River Gorge, looking for a small yet vibrant community to raise our two children. We found that and more in Hood River, Oregon, where the landscape continues to inspire my work as a figurative painter and metalsmith.
Two Creative Passions: Painting and Jewelry Making
Painting has always been my first love, as well as learning new skills, which led me to jewelry making several years ago. Both of these art forms offer something different to me. My figurative painting is a very emotional experience—a way to explore self and observation, to reflect on the subtle complexities within and around us. My paintings strive to leave viewers curious, offering narratives that often transcend words. My works and ideas are often fueled by something small—a photograph, a texture, a pattern—and then one thing leads to another and a story is built. Through my art, I aim to illuminate the unspoken and the guarded, revealing the intricate layers of our shared humanity.
Metalsmithing and handcrafted silver jewelry making, on the other hand, tickle the engineer side of my brain with precision, problem-solving, and the satisfaction of tangible transformation. I'm obsessed with tools (you can never have too many hammers!), and the craft feeds my constant hunger for learning new techniques. What began as curiosity has grown into a new adventure—I now own a jewelry making studio in the Columbia River Gorge, and I've discovered that creating the experience is just as important as creating the work itself.
Creating a Magical Studio Experience
When people step into our Hood River studio, I want them to feel like they've stepped into magic. Having fun with displays and the environment has become its own creative outlet—a way to make the experience of discovering handmade jewelry and original paintings as memorable as the pieces themselves.
Teaching and Creating
Being a high school art teacher for the past 22 years keeps my creative practice fresh and my perspective grounded. There's something incredibly energizing about working alongside young artists who are just discovering what's possible. They remind me to take risks, to embrace the unexpected, and that creativity thrives when we're willing to be vulnerable. My students have taught me as much as I've taught them, and sharing my love of art with young people continues to fuel my own artistic journey.
I get obsessed with learning new skills, which really turns life into an adventure—though there are never enough minutes in the day. Whether I'm in the classroom, at the easel, or at the jeweler's bench, I'm constantly exploring new techniques and pushing the boundaries of what I can create. I believe art should be both an exploration and a conversation, and I'm excited to share that journey with you here.
You can check out more of my creative endeavors on insta @rmjohnsen.
Meet Chantal Morrison: Silversmith in Hood River, Oregon
The Accidental Metalsmith
Nobody asks to fall in love with metal. It just happens—slowly at first, then all at once.
My journey into jewelry making began the way most good things do: quietly, without fanfare. When my kids were in grade school, I bought a few pairs of pliers and wandered into a local bead shop with the modest goal of making small charms for friends and family. That initial spark didn't catch. Life moved on. But something had shifted, even if I didn’t know it yet.
In 2017, I found myself at a local studio carving wax, casting two sterling silver rings. The feel of the metal in my hands felt special in a way I couldn't articulate. The process resonated somewhere deep, though I still didn't understand what it meant.
Then 2021 arrived and changed everything. I enrolled in another jewelry class and discovered hand-forging at a local metalsmithing studio. There, hunched over a bench with hammer in hand, I reconnected with Robyn—who would become not just my business partner but my creative compass. By 2023, we were hosting a pop-up market together in her studio. Somewhere between the chaos of setup and the energy of that day, we forged something more permanent than metal: The Rabbit Hole, our shared jewelry studio and metalsmithing workshop in Hood River, Oregon.
The Year of Seven Days a Week
New beginnings are rarely clean. For over a year, I lived in two worlds simultaneously—running The Rabbit Hole while clinging to my 31-year career as a triage nurse. Seven days a week. No breaks. The imposter syndrome was relentless.
Nursing felt. Safe. Real. When I told people I was a nurse, they nodded with recognition and respect. But jewelry artist? That felt like playing dress-up, even as I stood at my bench daily, creating work that made my heart race.
On October 7, 2025, I retired from nursing to become a full-time jewelry artist and entrepreneur.
Letting go wasn't easy. Nursing shaped who I am—the problem-solving instincts, the attention to detail, the ability to stay calm under pressure. These skills translate beautifully to metalwork, but holding onto nursing was holding me back from fully inhabiting my new identity. I realized I couldn't step completely into being an artist while keeping one foot planted in what felt safe.
So I let go. And now I'm claiming the truth without qualification: I am an artist. I am an entrepreneur. And 2026 is my year of chains and new beginnings.
Why Chains Found Me
Handmade chain jewelry captured me early in my metalsmithing journey and refuses to let go. Chains became my teacher—showing me how to solder, how to read heat and metal flow, how to coax stubborn materials into cooperation. I melted down my first several attempts. Instead of tossing them aside in frustration, I re-melted and re-formed them, refusing to let waste win.
Chain making speaks to multiple parts of me at once. Its meditative—link after link, the same motion cycling until it becomes muscle memory, freeing my mind to wander or settle into stillness. During creative droughts, chains give my hands something productive to do while my brain rests. When I'm fully present, they're endlessly fascinating: watching each link interlock with the next, finding rhythm in the open-close-solder-repeat pattern, witnessing wire's slow metamorphosis into wearable art.
I work hard to maintain consistency, but I've learned to embrace imperfection—the slightly irregular links, the happy accidents that make each handmade sterling silver chain unmistakably unique. Perfectly imperfect. That's the entire point.
My Backwards Creative Process
I don't follow a creative process . I can't draw my ideas—I'm genuinely terrible at sketching—so pre-planning through illustrations doesn't serve me. Instead, I hold concepts loosely in my imagination and figure them out through making. Some of my strongest work has emerged from grabbing scrap metal and simply starting. Give me clean sheet and wire with infinite possibilities, and I freeze. Give me constraints and challenges, and I feel free to create.
I work backwards. Problems arise mid-process—metal that won't cooperate, designs that collapse, techniques that fail spectacularly—and I problem-solve in real time. Often, I create something entirely different from my original vision, and that's where magic lives. The piece evolves. I evolve alongside it.
My bench is organized chaos. To any observer, it looks like disaster. To me, it's a highly functional system—I know where everything lives, even if that "everything" sprawls across surfaces in ways I'd never tolerate at home. In my house, I'm tidy. Everything has its designated place. But at the bench? The clutter fuels the process. When I clean up and put things away properly, I can never find anything.
What I Want You to Feel
When you wear my handmade jewelry, I hope you feel beautiful—but more importantly, I hope you feel comfortable. I design everyday pieces meant to be lived in, not reserved for special occasions. I keep my chains on constantly, and I want the same for you. Shower in them. Sleep in them. Forget you're wearing them until you catch your reflection and remember: oh right, I'm wearing something beautiful. (Though I don't recommend hot tubs or chlorinated pools.)
I'm drawn to texture, color, and mixed metals—the warmth of gold against sterling silver's coolness, the depth and shadow that oxidation adds to handcrafted chains. I create timeless heirloom pieces, jewelry you'll want to wear daily and eventually pass down. I design for longevity, for connection, for the quiet confidence that comes from wearing something made with intention.
The Difficult Parts
I'm conservative by nature and struggle deeply with waste. Ruining silver or gold while learning something new feels almost painful, so I practice with brass or copper first—though not everything translates across metals. I've learned slowly that sometimes you must sacrifice material to gain skill. If the goal is to learn then its not really ever a “fail” if things don’t go as planned. It’s a lesson I'm still absorbing, especially now that I'm working more with gold. My backwards-working method feels even more intense when stakes are higher. I'll work on a gold piece briefly, then set it aside for days, just thinking about what comes next. Slow is fast, I'm discovering. This is a journey, not a race.
What Fuels My Work
Nature. Organic shapes. Imperfection. I'm captivated by things that aren't overly polished, symmetrical, or perfect. I watch countless chain making videos—foxtails are my current obsession—and draw constant inspiration from other makers. Mattieu Cheinee's new book, Chainmaking for Jewelers, is filled with designs I'm eager to tackle.
When I'm not at the bench, I knit. I hike. I'm learning to wing foil (it's taking forever, but I'm stubborn like that). I've traveled to Italy three times and dream of returning soon. I live for moments when creativity and life overlap, when making something by hand—whether chain or scarf—becomes its own meditation.
Where This Is Heading
I retired from nursing to commit completely to creating small-batch artisan jewelry for people who love heirloom-quality, handmade chain necklaces and classic jewelry with soul. I'm most inspired when creating gifts—no expectations, pure creative freedom. Some of my finest work has come from pieces I made for my sons with complete freedom. When someone purchases a piece and loves it, I feel that same spark.
I'm beginning to understand what resonates with people, and I'm leaning into that discovery. When someone asks me to create something and gives me free rein? That's when I come alive.
In 2026, I'm focusing intensely on chains. I'm challenging myself to create at least one handmade chain monthly—something that pushes boundaries and teaches me something new.
The first pieces are foxtails I made for my sons. The first came with a steep learning curve. Ross didn't want it "too bulky," so I used smaller jump rings than recommended. When I pulled it through the draw plate, it broke in several places. Devastating. Foxtails don't have quick fixes, so I pieced it back together with jump rings, which created an entirely different aesthetic. We both loved it. That piece taught me that sometimes the "mistake" becomes the design. He's worn it every day since—exactly how I want my chains to be worn. The second was for my younger son Brett, who was gifted a gold lion pendant from his grandfather as a baby. He wanted to wear this pendant, so I made him a fully oxidized black foxtail chain with an 18k gold maker's mark to complement the gold lion.
The third piece evolved from that first one: two sections of double foxtail connected by chunky jump rings, the foxtail oxidized and the rings left shiny. It's bold, layered, textured—and recently sold to a client who now owns three of my chains and stacks them beautifully together. Seeing my work worn that way, layered and loved, is exactly the point.
Gratitude
I'm grateful daily to work alongside Robyn at The Rabbit Hole. She's an incredible artist across mediums—painting, jewelry, everything—and her creative energy pushes me to think bigger and bolder.
I live in the Columbia River Gorge because it's filled with beauty and recreation, small-town charm and city access. It's the perfect balance, fueling everything I create.
If there's one thing I want you to know, it's this: every chain I make is perfectly imperfect, just like the journey that brought me here. I'm still learning, still evolving, still figuring it out one link at a time.
Thank you for being here. Thank you for supporting small makers, slow craft, and jewelry made to last.
Here's to 2026—the year of chains.
Follow my 2026 journey on Instagram
C.M. Hardwear
Metalsmith
Hood River, Oregon