Not everybody calls me Joséfine. My father was called Joseph.
When I was a tree-climbing, strawberry-eating, field-roaming child, way back in the times of endless summers, silent afternoons and homemade toys, my grandfather used to call me Joséfine.If we ever ventured to the village and somebody enquired about me
("And who's that little... boy? girl?")
my grandpa always, always answered "Well, that's Joséfine, Joseph's daughter".
And that was that. When he died, nobody else called me Joséfine. And many years later, when I started looking for a name for the jewellery I was making, Joséfine was there waiting for me and I dove right back into that identity, with surprising delight.Maybe one day I'll tell you about the K?