Though they seem to randomly sprout up in the tourist hot spots, the street jewelers actually participate in a remarkably well-planned and controlled system. First the artists — jewelers, photographers, painters and clothes designers — have to go through a fairly strict, month-long screening process.

Jewelers in particular must prove that the goods they sell are products of their own design. “A committee of artists come once a month and examine the craftsman’s finished and unfinished samples,” program director Howard Lazar said. Once they’ve demonstrated making significant portions of the product, they are given a license that allows them to sell their art for one year in three designated areas: Justin Herman Plaza, Fisherman’s Wharf area and downtown on Market Street. The Business Improvement District hires people as ambassadors to monitor the scene and e-mail pictures to Lazar every day to ensure that artists are following the rules.

Every morning the licensed street artists gather and draw a lottery to claim a spot marked in pink chalk with a number. “It all works,” said Donald Wickson, who has been selling his own hand crafted jewelry since 1972. “No one wants to fight over space. It’s a democracy. First come first serve.”

It wasn’t always hunky-dory like this, though. In the 70’s, the police often arrested street artists for unlicensed selling — a tricky dilemma for the street artist since licenses didn’t exist at the time. Street artists were nonetheless common. “It was a big hippy thing in the 70’s,” Wickson said. “Lots of rock n’ roll. A lot of us had to make a living, and there were a lot of hippy artists.” Finally, after frequent complaints, in April 1972 mayor Joseph Alioto sponsored Proposition J, which gives safe haven for artists who can prove that all of their wares are self-produced and that their designs are unique and their own.

Since then, street artists have been producing their craft for tourists and locals alike. They are a fiercely independent people who lead their own lives, an aspect of their vocation that many of them find satisfying. They report to no one. They are their own bosses; they set their own hours and work whenever they feel like it. Some even enjoy the freedom to pack up their things and travel for weeks at a time to exotic lands: Bali, Thailand, Singapore and Japan.

Freedom, however, is a double-edged sword. Life is not easy for the street jewelers. At one point, Wickson had to put his art on hold for 20 years and work as a casino pit boss in order to pay for his daughter’s college tuition. Although his wife worked full time as an administrator for UC-Davis, their combined incomes were not enough. For Rose Moore, (rosemoore.com) who is simultaneously a street jeweler, successful “local, regional and national award winning” singer-songwriter and mother of three children who are in their early 20s, a fourth job was sometimes necessary to keep her family afloat. She has worked as a telemarketer, a community educator, a sales-person and a catalogue saleswoman to supplement her income.

“There’s not as much freedom as you think,” Moore said. “I think it’s one of the biggest myths. There’s even less freedom than people with regular jobs have. You’re at the mercy of the marketplace. You have to work every day to pay your bills. The more successful you are, the more you have to work because there’s greater demand. You have to work twice as hard and twice as long because you have to sell what you make and make what you sell.” However, Moore has never resented this aspect of the vocation. “It’s not a con to me,” she said. “It’s a fact of life. I am a rock star. I have albums out and I’ve always done exactly what I wanted to do — to be true to my talents and gifts.”

For others, the hard life of street vending is much more appealing than their alternatives such as working at restaurants. “I make more than minimum wage,” street jeweler Rogelio Bautista said. “I can get more here than being employed (elsewhere).”

Street jeweler Alejandro Galicio, who moved from Mexico and has been selling his craft for 10 years, faces a similar situation. “I’m not really happy,” Galicio said. “But it’s the only choice I have. I used to work at a restaurant, but I didn’t get paid enough.”

However, Galicio and others agree on the benefits of their relatively free lifestyle. “I would sacrifice more if I were an employee because you have a schedule,” said Bautista, who sets his own schedule, which includes going to the gym and school after a day’s vending. Even Galicio confesses he has spent days at a time just watching TV and recently returned from a month-long vacation in Japan where he sold his own sketches of Buddha.

It takes a strong sense of independence to make it as a street jeweler — a trait they all seem to have in common. “Many (street artists) told me as a community that the one and only thing they have in common despite various ethnic backgrounds, business experience and nationalities is that they don’t like taking orders from someone,” Lazar said.

The ability to compete, which makes some street jewelers extremely secretive and unwilling to give interviews, is also extremely crucial to success. The idealistic Wickson denies that competition exists, however. “If everybody makes their own thing there’s no competition,” he said. This may be true for the majority of street jewelers, especially in the Justin Herman Plaza area, but walk for a little while among the other stands, downtown Market Street in particular, and that seemingly unique design on the first stand is almost exactly replicated, though slightly altered, on another stand a few blocks away.

“Certain crafts like bead craft they’ll widely copy,” Lazar said. “Unabashedly copy! Someone comes out with a new bead design and you’ll have 20 or 30 others doing the same thing.”

Some don’t mind the competition, however. “It always inspires me to get better,” Bautista said. “If you don’t have it, you get lazy.”

Competition certainly spurs new ideas from the street jewelers. It’s a matter of survival. “I have to be one step ahead,” Galicio said. “Right now it’s really competitive. I have one guy (who) copied me. Now he just pays me for (my pieces) and sells them.” When his wares lose their popularity, Galicio plans to make purses from CDs.

Despite the intense competition, street artists still maintain a tight community. “Its an interesting situation,” Lazar said. “They’re fiercely competitive — competing for spaces (and) customers. On the other hand, if someone passes away, they immediately get together to get a collection to help the survivors. Sometimes they’ll watch each other’s kids.”

The Experience

Each of the three designated street artist locations has a distinct vibe about it.

The Justin Herman Plaza was the first and only location granted to street artists and its old history is reflected through its crafts. You’ll find that the jewelry there is classic — lots of delicate silver and expensive metals studded with semi-precious stones like turquoise. “It’s high end,” Lazar said. “It’s got higher prices — not necessarily tourist prices — for locals who want better quality and not necessarily a bargain.” Almost each of the stands is set up under a shaded canopy or huge umbrella with wares laid out on nice black cloth-covered tables. Some even have glass display cases. Wickson’s stand is a classic example. Laid out on a mid-sized tablecloth are rows of neatly arranged rings. Each one is made of a fine silver thread bent and hammered into intricate loops that create a sort of spider web effect. Wickson sells earrings, bracelets and necklaces, ranging from minimalist pieces to ornate, lavish ones with fine details that bring to mind Victorian Age jewelry.

Wickson is warm and friendly, as most of the street jewelers are. Most will strike up a conversation as customers browse their wares, but are keen to stay unobtrusive — never hovering. Those that leave without purchasing anything never receive dirty looks but instead a quiet, genuine parting smile.

Shoppers can feel safely inconspicuous amid a motley stream of tourists coming from the piers, yuppies grocery shopping at farmer’s market, commuters fresh off the ferry and locals just trying to get into the heart of downtown.

Walk a small distance, just about 10 blocks down Market street, and you’ll feel like you’ve just skipped over from England to Hong Kong. It’s an entirely different world. Gone are the quirky eccentric twinkling melodies of the street drummer banging away on upturned detergent buckets.

Instead, chest-booming beats blast from a pimped-out green 1997 Chevrolet’s Bosse subwoofers. Everything here is grittier, dirtier. Table stands are often slapped together with old planks of wood, set up along the busy street.

Though the street jewelers here don’t seem as friendly or accessible, with just a little bit of ice-breaking, they’ll happily open up and show their softer side. They have to be guarded here. “Downtown has all the junkies and homeless,” Wickson said. “You get a lot of negative energy from the Tenderloin. It’s just a different crowd of people.”

Different indeed. The traffic flow, still peppered with the occasional tourist, is filled with much younger locals, ages ranging from 10 to 30. Most are teens, due to the close proximity of the mall. Much fewer people stop for a look. A pity, for the young, urban, edgy feel of the location gives birth to the kind of jewelry perfectly appropriate for the heart of downtown, with jewelry made with everything from antique coins to cutlery.

Galicio, who works on Market Street, specializes in making the ordinary, everyday spoon and fork into pretty adornments. He’ll hammer a fork into a bangle, twisting the prongs into creeping vines that cradle grape-like, colorful glass fishbowl marbles. Some of his rings are made in a similar fashion, while others are just simple bands made from the ornamental ends of spoon handles. As of now, his stand is the only place to get his iconic spoon pendants — pictures of pop culture icons like Marilyn Monroe sealed into the cavity of a spoon’s head with a clear liquid plastic. His jewelry has the characteristic downtown Market Street look — it pushes the boundaries, with crazy creative ideas that sometimes, with the wrong outfit, could border on tacky. For the bold, confident trendsetter, however, downtown Market Street is the place.

The Pier 39 area comes less highly recommended. “The kind of customers it attracts are tourists looking for a bargain,” Lazar said. “They have unlicensed vendors selling things they don't make (and selling in areas not allotted for selling). The whole area does not meet my approval. Downtown, at least they have sellers abiding by the rules.”

Despite the differences in areas, one thing holds true. Almost all of the street jewelers are more than happy to make adjustments and alterations for customers. Ring doesn’t quite fit? No problem. When buying straight from the maker himself, a smaller size is as easy as a little bit of hammering. Customization is even sometimes the street jeweler’s specialty. Bautista, for example, makes key chains by taking a blank key, cutting out an image in the head with a stencil of something like the Air Jordan logo, a zodiac sign or even a design of the customer’s choosing and then cutting the customer’s name out of the key arm with a special saw.

Purchasing street jewelry is an experience like no other. Unlike the deliberate, planned nature of regular shopping, street jewelery shopping involves an element of randomness, of surprise. The beauty finds the shopper. It’s a twist of fate — a treasure.