In Frenchtown ONLY!
Alex Sepkus is out! Or, as he might say, Alex Sepkus is also not so out. In a world full of designers scrambling to turn fine jewelry into an offshoot of the fashion industry -- and therefore, by nature, attuned to the fad (it's called the rag trade for a reason) -- Alex remains so focused he never feels the need to chase anything. Why should he? His picture is big, like a magnificent mosaic; the components comprise detailing so small he and his workforce require microscopes to execute it, which is only the first contradiction from this designer.
Alex Sepkus makes no sense. Somewhere between P.G. Wodehouse (of whom he is a big fan) and a worn flagstone from a medieval church floor, Alex found timeless beauty. So, perhaps he makes perfect sense.
Alex Sepkus is a fanatic; the intelligence he applies to his work is far beyond the national standard requirements of a jeweler set by the committee of national standard requirements. Which leads to the second contradiction about Alex: This obsessive approach would normally suggest an absence of humor. Instead, we see in Alex's work an irresistible playfulness, even a quirkiness, unrivaled in the world of the goldsmith.