Our Story
About Me
I've been making things for as long as I can remember. Jewelry was a natural place to land — it's wearable art. Art you can show off every day without waiting for someone to come to you. Something simple that still means something, that can be understood at a glance and chosen to match your mood, your style, or the color you felt like wearing that morning.
Amader Alo is named for light. The name comes from Bengali — my husband's language — and it means "our light." I love what that means for a wedding: the moment she sees herself in the mirror. The way a piece catches the glow at the end of the aisle. The things we carry on our bodies that remind us of who we are and what we're beginning.
Every piece I make is built around a conversation. What matters to you. What your wedding looks like, feels like, is made of. The details that are yours and no one else's — and then a piece that holds all of that, to wear on a day you'll remember for the rest of your life.
I work with one or two brides at a time, by design. It is a personalized experience that takes time and genuine dedication to bring each bride's vision to life.
If that sounds like the ideal collaboration to make your wedding jewelry extra meaningful, I'd love to work together.
Ashley S Banerjee
Amader Alo
The Journey
About My Work
I started with a leather cord, a single coral bead, and a clasp. That was more than twenty-five years ago. I still have it.
Chain came in early and never left. Almost everything I make still uses it — as structure, as texture, as the thread that connects everything else. It's the constant underneath all of it.
Wire wrapping came next, and with it the first time I hit a wall. I had a snowflake in my head — a specific one, with a particular delicacy — and no existing technique could get it out. Wire wrapping was the answer. I learned it because the idea demanded it. That pattern has repeated itself ever since.
Polymer clay opened up surface and shape in a way nothing else had. Something I could press, texture, and form entirely by hand. Then resin — the ability to capture something inside a piece, to suspend a photo or a dried flower or a fragment of gold leaf in something clear and permanent. Each technique added a capability the last one didn't have.
Drawing and sketching had always been part of how I thought — mandalas especially, patterns that lived in notebooks and on the edges of pages. For a long time they stayed separate from the jewelry, two creative lives running alongside each other. When I started looking for a way to bring them together, the laser engraver and the 3D printer were the answer. Suddenly the drawings could become stamps, wooden earrings, textures pressed into clay. What had lived on paper for years finally made its way into my work.
Learning something new feels like a puzzle to me — a problem that wants solving, a challenge I can't quite leave alone. But once something is learned, the making of it becomes something else entirely. Meditative. Calming. The kind of work that clears your head while your hands stay busy.
I still have pieces from every stage. I'll be adding photos of that progression here — not as a portfolio, but as a record of what twenty-five years of never stopping looks like.
A progression of pieces from across twenty-five years.