We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Martha Soto a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Martha, appreciate you joining us today. We’d love to hear about when you first realized that you wanted to pursue a creative path professionally.

I’ve never thought of anything else but being an artist–just like my father, but unlike him, I am a jeweler and metalsmith. When I think of how often I heard “why this field?”, it was because I felt at
home with art. It represented so much to me, whether it was the watery flowers of a Monet painting, the
part of earth called clay, the pungent smell of a horse barn, or a cloudless day. When I was around art it
was a time to unleash my imagination and use all the gifts nature put in front of me, and it ultimately
influenced my personal designs. As a youngster I often went to museums and art shows. My life was
saturated with it. Art was as essential to me as drinking water.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

I was constantly surrounded by art. My father, Ishmael Soto, was a ceramics professor at the University of Texas at Austin, and my mom, Helen, a paralegal, was dad’s promoter and acted as
culinary whiz for our large faculty parties, festooned with appropriate seasonal decorations and the
most delicious food from around the world. People arrived in their best, and wore the latest art jewelry
on their arms. They came with their latest exotic travel stories and plenty of wine. Dancing lasted far
into the evening. As a kid not necessarily invited to these gatherings, I often would eavesdrop,
unnoticed, on their conversations about art.
My brother Bud (Ishmael Jr.), the older of my two brothers, and I spent many hours in Dad’s
ceramics studio on Eanes School Road. It was nearly three times the size of our home and twice the
height. There was so much to accomplish in a day as a potter. We helped make and wedge the clay, load
and clean the kiln and its shelves, and do whatever was needed to help our dad complete his tasks. In
the summer, our days’ reward was to rest under the cedar trees with a tall, ice-cold drink. During the
winter when the studio was closed, the cold clay numbed our hands, but the pottery-filled kiln, large
enough to fit a full-grown man, radiated enough heat to warm up if you stood next to it. Mom would fix
our lunch and bring it to us in the studio on a tray. I made my first bronze ring in dad’s shop. The
studio was later sold and converted by the owner into a two-story home.
Our family lived on a three-acre plot in what is now called Westlake, alongside horses, chickens
and at one time, two pigs. The Loop 360 was not there. Bee Caves Road was two lanes, and it was a
mile by foot to the closest convenience store, Mr. Baird’s. Bud and I would sit on a bench outside,
enjoying our soda pop and candy, and count cars. Only one or two would pass every five minutes—
unimaginable today. When we were not in school Bud and I hung out in Dad’s studio helping him with
whatever he needed, and making our own clay objects. At the age of ten Bud learned to “throw pots”—
the term for forming pottery on a potter’s wheel–and within a week could throw pottery with ease.
Austin’s Hill Country holds some of my most treasured memories. As a jeweler, this is often
reflected in my metal work. I was about ten years old, experienced in drawing and working with clay,
when I learned to operate my dad’s acetylene and oxygen tanks, small kiln, and centrifugal casting
machine. I transferred these three items to a cabin below his studio, thus establishing my first
workshop. I started by brazing copper wire and tubing, then moved onto casting waxes, using this
equipment. I made my own casting flasks by attaching my wax model to a wood block base, encasing
the model with a peach can that was open at both ends. I sealed the can to the base with firing clay,
which perfectly held the liquid investment.
A big highlight for us kids was the annual family pottery show and sale, held in dad’s studio.
Preparing for the event meant seeing a lot of people we knew, including dad’s students, relatives, and
close friends, all at once in one place. The guests were our respite from all the work preparing for the
event. It took almost four months to fire enough pottery for the show. Some of the kiln fires were
managed by former students, who themselves turned into successful potters. They helped stoke the
fires, in effect babysitting the kiln to watch for temperature changes. They patched between the bricks
of the kiln’s outer walls with clay to optimize the heat inside. They made clay “gods” and placed them
on top of the kiln to solidify. Some were quite fancy! The firing process often took two full days, so we
had shifts. Around the kiln were supplies to support the volunteers: cots, chairs, jugs of refreshments,
food, and assorted dogs and cats
Adults often took the night shifts, resting on their cots between tasks. Bud and I were there too,
transfixed by the sounds of a humming kiln on a dark night with stars twinkling overhead, a distant
coyote call, whippoorwills and owls sounding off, or by our horses with the occasional grunt. And then
there was the camaraderie of our social club, consisting of the adults, Bud, and I. The nights were
filled with discussions about temperature and how it affects a glaze. Whether pottery should be located
in the kiln toward the door, where it was cooler, or in the back, where it was hotter.
At the end of the process, we all stepped away when the kiln reached its the optimum
temperature. It would be too hot to touch and too hot to open. We had to wait two days for it to cool
down. This was what we called the anti-climax period, filled with anticipation but feeling almost
disappointed that we had to be on hold, like children waiting to open presents within arms’ reach while
parents uttered the “wait till it’s time” refrain. It is imperative to leave the kiln alone until the time
comes to open the door–or risk ruining three months’ work by opening too soon, as this can cause the
pottery to crack. Kiln opening parties were a thing and friends would gather to observe the fired
glazes, admire or critique the results, and celebrate the unexpected. The studio also provided extra lab
time for some students. Sometimes they came in to work in wax for their metal projects at UT. I was
fiercely drawn to this metal work. Observing lost wax casting interested me and piqued my curiosity. It
started me on my jewelry-making journey.
Next to the art department at UT, exhibits at the student art gallery often had some psychedelic
display with Jimi Hendrix or Procol Harum playing in the background. The students danced and
grooved to the art and music or sat on the gallery floor, enjoying it all. Sometimes the contrast of
patrons dressed to the nines did nothing to disturb the “hippies”, or vice versa. It was the era of the
‘sixties, a magical time of imagination, and even I knew then just how special it was. This was a time
of heightened awareness and creativity, unique and unforgettable.
generation]] These exhibits fed my artistic tendencies and I loved every minute of it.
My days were filled with memorable experiences. Oftentimes I would saddle up my horse and
ride for an entire day, discovering new areas and watering holes. The solitary times I spent with my
retired champion roping horse, Susie, were some of my best. She rode like a smooth Cadillac. West
Austin was and still is a beautiful place, a place where my ancestors from Spain passed through on the
way to Bandera, Texas. I often wondered how difficult it may have been to travel back in those days.
Bud and I were not allowed coloring books or comic books. We made our own and sometimes
sneaked a peak at some of our friends’ comic books. Coloring books never interested me, anyway. But
what I was given were plenty of crayons and pencils (Black Warrior pencils–yay!), colored pencils,
paint, and large sketchbooks. Ah, the smell of pencils and new paper! Drawing big cats and male
anatomy were two of my favorite subjects. Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo were my drawing and
design inspirations. The hours spent reading about these two men occupied my quiet time and I was
spellbound by their accomplishments. I wondered if I could ever attain the skills for the kind of things
they did—well, they had patrons, and I did not. Plus, I was so young, and who pays attention to a kid?
My dad did, and at thirteen, he enrolled me in jewelry classes at UT.
It was pretty exciting! I accompanied Dad to his classes, and going to jewelry classes on the
days he didn’t teach were a bonus. If I had time to spare I would visit the Texas Memorial Museum on
campus, next to the art department. The first floor was a jeweler’s dream, a room filled with gem
stones from around the world. With sketch book in hand, I would draw designs for a chosen gem stone
The second floor housed the taxidermied native snakes and other native animals, and buffalo, which
scared me, so I would stand several feet away. The third floor displayed dinosaur bones, some found in
Texas. The place never bored me, and I always looked forward going to the university with my dad.
The worst part of my life coincided with starting high school while my parents’ divorce was
taking place. I found that even in high school, other students seemed to have limited exposure to art
and museums, as most of them had only visited museums on a school field trip. I also encountered an
attitude that, surely this little Mexican half-breed (my mother is part Czech) can’t know much. I did
meet two of my best friends there, one a music and history lover, and the other, a true cowgirl who
managed her family’s thousand-acre ranch. Dad soon re-married, and along came my youngest brother, Pablo.
He is a glass artist now living in North Carolina. I was fortunate to work with my two brothers on
collaborative pieces.
In my mind, Dad’s students who were already working artists were my best friends. Little do
they know how much of an influence they had on me. By the time I turned eighteen, my metalworking
skills required an advanced jeweler to teach me what I needed to move forward. During this waiting
time, while trying to find jewelers to apprentice with, our local library was my go-to for more
information about jewelry making. I remember my arms often holding lots of books related to this
topic. I also began to keep a journal of my metal casting process, filling it with observations and
documenting notes, like the atmosphere when casting, kiln temperatures, which techniques I’d use—all
in service to perfecting my craft. Without documenting the outcomes, I would have to rely on memory.
At this time, the jewelry business was dominated by males. I wondered how I could go into this
field when women were the exception. This did not hold me back. I made a pest of myself once I found
people I wanted to work with. These amazing jewelers could take raw gold, alloy it to 18 karats, and
turn it into a beautiful piece of jewelry. They did not want or need any help from me, so I did the only
thing I could think of and returned day after day to sweep, polish, or watch over their shoulders– much
to their chagrin. But I ignored this and kept going. I landed a job with one of the aforementioned
jewelers when he moved to a limestone building in downtown Austin. Five days a week I worked in his
studio, making molds, casting, and polishing.
At five o’ clock I’d change out of my messy work clothes for more conservative dress and walk
to my second at a bank, where I processed debits and credits in the transit department, often till
midnight or later. We balanced thousands of items. The next day it would start all over again. But
weekends were the time for me to make and cast my jewelry, preparing for our annual family show and
sale, which ran for more than 55 years.
It wasn’t long before I got married and at age 33, had a beautiful baby girl. Dad married a third
time and I now had a baby sister, two months after my girl was born. I raised them together for a time.
My little sister is now a paralegal and cultivates exotic tropical plants. She sometimes helps me with
my business paperwork or models my jewelry. She is such an angel—truly a blessing. Both my
daughter and little sister are close at heart. They developed a secret language none of us adults could
understand. The birth of my little Pisces girl inspired a broach picturing a mermaid holding her
merbaby in her arms. The mother’s mouth forms an’ “O” to signify she is singing a lullaby to her
sleeping daughter.
My daughter and I are such buddies! She went with me everywhere. Duplicating my childhood,
I took her to museums and rodeos, often seeing competitions featuring my dad’s cousins, children of a
nationally known horse whisperer. We spent time outside discovering bugs, flora, and fauna. She has a
silver spoon I made for her with a fish carved into the handle.
Years later I became a single mother. I quit my apprentice and bank jobs to become a full-time
jeweler. This didn’t work out so well, as I needed more income. I was hired as an instructor at Austin
Community College as a Professor of Jewelry when the program was being created. I contributed years
of my documentation and experience along with the other jewelry professionals. The program grew and
eventually received accreditation. I’ve been working there more than 22 years. Besides teaching and
another clerk job, I still had my garage studio and continued to produce items for our annual family
show and sale.
After my daughter graduated from high school she moved to Germany on a Fulbright
scholarship to continue her studies in the German language and cognitive studies (neurology). She has
been there seven years, and is newly married.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

In 2016 decided to move to St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands., a place I’d visited before, for a teaching position with a small nonprofit jewelry and gemology school. It was an incredible experience
and I’ll never forget the music, food, and the friends I had there. I soon realized a teacher’s salary was
not enough to live there. It was an incredible experience, with the music, food, and the people.
However, St Thomas is rough on a teacher’s salary.
While deciding whether or not to stay in St. Thomas, on a beautiful day I came across a
discarded item on a hike to my favorite beach. It was a coffee cup all the way from Marshall, Texas,
and painted on it with a slogan, “From Texas With Love”. I took this as a sign. That same day I packed
everything and shipped it home—my car and dog, too. I met the car and my dog in Florida, then
trekked home with a dear friend who rode with me. I was sad to leave my friends. Two months later
Hurricane Harvey swept the island to its foundations, but my friends were alive, and are almost done
rebuilding.
To this day, I think of this school and how could it have been different. I wanted to make a
difference. Most of what the tourists buy there is made in China. The island is blessed with tasty fruits
and vegetables, and has an abundant history of making native candies, basket weaving, woven hats,
clothes, culinary delights, and jewelry. These crafts must be cultivated and preserved!
Discouraged, depressed, and back in Austin, I realized I’d lost most of my fortune and had to
rebuild. Austin Community College had an opening and, again, I took it. I love to teach. I still make
and sell jewelry. I also cast for students, individual professional jewelers, and some jewelry stores. My
50 years’ experience casting in silver, gold, bronze, and copper has taught me how to troubleshoot
casting problems.

For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?

My jewelry style is based on nature. The texture of weathered wood is one example. I often cast native flowers and grape leaves found in my backyard or on hikes. When I can’t cast these organics
for some reason–perhaps the items are too thin or too large to cast, I carve the likeness in wax. My
pieces captured in metal are examples of what we must never take for granted. It is through nature that
we see a whole universe larger than ourselves. The more we know about our surroundings, the more we
learn about ourselves. No one can create perfect art as does Mother Nature.
I will never forget a statement made about my future by the opposite gender. Here it is: ” Oh,
she’ll probably get married and raise some kids.” Those words alone felt like a predestined sentence. I
heard this throughout the 1950’s and ‘60’s. This chauvinistic attitude about women was the norm for the
times. For me, it was the greatest insult– and challenge– to assume a woman could not be anything but
a mother. This was combined with other underappreciated jobs (besides raising children) such as
running a household while perhaps holding a full-time job, sewing our clothes, and keeping up
appearances, My mom did all this, but also managed my dad’s publicity, the bank account, and when
she had time, did things for herself.
I never lost sight of what I wanted to do. I took inspiration from other successful women like
Ann Richards and her daughter, Cecile, Liz Carpenter, Doris Shropshire, and my aunt Sarita Soto, the
first woman and Latina to receive a PhD. of Philosophy and Education at UT—accomplished in only three years!
Last but not least, and saving the best for last, my greatest female inspiration has been my mom.
Winston Churchill once gave a speech to a graduating class that in part said, ” Never give in–
never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty. Never give in except to the
convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force, never give in to the apparent might of the
enemy” This may have been said during a time of war between Germany and the United Kingdom, but
I have applied these words when faced with setbacks and discouraging remarks. I’ve kept my eye on
the prize, so to speak. No one expected me to be as determined as I am. Anyone with desire can do
anything, man or woman. Somehow, somewhere, there will always be naysayers. Stand in your skin
and know who you are. I truly believe you can have anything you want if you persevere. It doesn’t
happen overnight!
For me, there are many things about making art in metal that are rewarding: The ability to turn
your ideas and designs to fruition by thinking outside the box while observing empirical facts.
Knowing the properties of metals and what to combine with them in my designs. It took a while to
come up with ideas in my area of interest. This to me meant looking at current trends in magazines, art
shows, high-end jewelry such as that made by Cartier, Van Cleef & Arpels, Bulgari, Harry Winston,
Tiffany, and more. These jewelry houses offer more than enough inspiration. Sometimes I dream about
designs. For this I keep a sketch book and a pencil beside my bed. When I have these dreams, with eyes
closed, I roughly sketch what is in my mind’s eye, then drop the sketch book and resume sleeping until
morning.
The results can be stunning. That’s the reward.

Contact Info:

• Website: coming soon
• Instagram: Martha “Gina” Soto @ginasotojewely
• Facebook: Martha Soto

Image Credits
All photos by Martha Soto