It's not often a person can trace back a skill (or set of skills) to one singular point of origin. Generally, wanting to learn about something new is a culmination of various conversations, experiences and desires — which isn't frequently linked to a specific moment in time or object. While this certainly is the case for much of what I do...there is this ring I have. It is my point of origin.

More than a decade ago, before I was working with my hands, I was on a lunch break in summer. I remember it was a perfect day, clear and sunny in Camden. Like most locals, I tend to shy away from the crowded shops filled with tourists, but for some reason, I stopped into The Smiling Cow to look around. I was feeling cheeky, and wanted something bright and fun and girly. After coming up empty, I browsed by the counter and came across a flat of gaudy resin rings for $2 apiece - so I bought one. Little did I know that I would keep this ring so close to my heart and it would change the nature of who I am. I loved its curves and how it felt on my finger. I fell in love with this ring — the shape of it — and vowed to find a way to reproduce it.

My passion for many mediums all can be traced back to this one goal: to reproduce this cheap, mass-produced ring. It would all start with me taking the ring and rolling it around in my fingers; making mental notes about how I could manipulate different substances to create a version of this ring.

It began with clay. Could I build a version of this ring, glaze it and fire it? Enter my love for hand building and glazes. Glazes are really just crushed glass - so this led to working with fused glass. Now, taking the ring again — could I make this ring from finely crushed glass held together with a binder and fired? Would it hold up in the kiln? How hot? How long? How does the glass flow? Should I freeze the glass slurry before? Should I stand it up on its end? How fragile would it be? Could someone safely wear it?

Clay moved to glass, which then moved back to clay. Should I make a mold of the ring in clay and make a glass ring that way? Glass morphed into metal. Could I create the ring shape out of silver or copper? Fabricate a ring out of sheet metal soldered together to make a hollow version? This led me to learn more about how to solder, how to work with metal — the chemistry of it all. Crucible anyone?

The most recent iteration of this passion to reproduce has led me to silicon molds and resin and lost wax casting. In addition to that standard process, I have become enamored with 3D printing, CNC machines and other prototyping options.

Now, you see, it really has nothing to do with wanting more rings, rather, the process of learning about different materials and how to use them. I take joy in spending hours working through this challenge in my head. I have taught myself how to work with many substances — experimenting, learning, failing and succeeding. In then end, this ring has become my baseline. Something so familiar to me, so loved, that I feel comfortable using it as a starting point for almost anything.

This cheap plastic ring has become my safety net. No, I might not know what I am doing, but I have a starting point from which I feel comfortable and that I can justify to all those who criticize. When asked, "Why the hell would you want to learn that?" I can simply respond, "See, there is this ring I want to make." Period.

More from Maggi Blue:

• Don't sweat the small stuff (but don't forget the big stuff either)

• Inspiration for the pragmatic creative

Maggi Blue is a freelance graphic designer, glass artisan and metalsmith in the Midcoast. She is a lover of color, a collector of skills and one badass at dying Easter eggs. Her columns explore what it's like to find the artist within while still making a living in Maine.