How I Make My Witch’s Bells

People often ask how my handmade Witch’s bells are made, where the materials come from, and what goes into designing each one—especially when they’re used as protective bells for doors and thresholds. I make every design by hand, and no two are ever exactly alike. This isn’t a step‑by‑step recipe—it’s more a glimpse into how each bell comes into being, from the first components I pick up to the final sound it makes.

Starting With the Materials

Each bell begins with a small selection of components. Some are directly tied to nature or to Wiccan, Pagan, or witchcraft traditions; others are clearly manmade. I work with charms, beads, cords, and bells, alongside natural elements like branches, vines, leaves, stones, and dried plant material.

Some materials fall somewhere in between—weathered glass, rusty metal, or wreath forms made from dried vines. Whenever possible, I like to use materials from close to home. Vines and branches from our own backyard often end up in my bells, and I like knowing exactly where those pieces came from. It gives the bells a sense of place that mass‑produced materials can’t really replicate.

The bells themselves are one of the biggest challenges. There aren’t many affordable options that both sound good and are sturdy enough for long‑term use, and most of what I use has to be sourced online. Finding the right balance between sound quality, durability, and cost is something I’m constantly working at.

Letting the Design Take Shape

Sometimes I start a bell with a clear idea—a certain mood, symbol, or overall look I want to explore. Other times, I begin with just one or two components and let the piece take off on its own. The materials don’t always cooperate. Cords twist, pieces refuse to balance, or shapes don’t work the way I imagined they would. When that happens, I change course.

Not every bell makes it to the finish line. Some get abandoned completely; others are taken apart and reworked until they feel right. My rule is pretty simple: I make what I like. If I’m drawn to it, I trust that someone else will be too—even though I’m often surprised by which bells people connect with most.

I do sometimes worry that customers will see every little flaw once a bell is hanging in their home. But those imperfections are part of the process, and part of what makes each piece individual.

Symbols, Balance, and a Bit of Quirk

When I’m combining components, I’m looking for arrangements that make sense visually or feel intuitively right. I think about how symbols, shapes, textures, and colors interact with each other, rather than aiming for polish or perfection. I enjoy experimenting with bells that feel a little quirky, because I think there’s an independence in the people drawn to this work—an appreciation for things that don’t look mass‑produced or overly refined.

I also try to do things a bit differently. That might mean using recycled telephone wire, old altar cloths, or materials you wouldn’t normally expect to see in a set of bells. The goal isn’t novelty for its own sake, but making something that feels personal and intentional.

Thinking About Sound

Sound matters just as much to me as appearance. Over time, I’ve learned what makes bells ring clearly and pleasantly. They need to hang freely without obstruction, and they need to be balanced so they don’t clash or bang harshly—especially when they’re meant to hang on a door that opens and closes regularly.

Different bells have different tones, and combining them can create a more complex, layered sound. I choose bells that sound good to me and that work together visually. If the sound doesn’t feel right, I don’t move forward with the piece.

Practical Craftsmanship

A lot of the work comes down to practical problem‑solving: figuring out how to balance a bell so it hangs straight, how to knot cords so they won’t come undone, how to hold pieces together securely without relying on glue, or how to design door bells that won’t make an unpleasant noise with everyday use. These details take time and patience, often more than I expect.

I intentionally embrace a level of visible, amateur craftsmanship. My bells aren’t meant to look sleek, sophisticated, or flashy. I’m drawn to pieces that feel primitive, rustic, or a little crude—objects made by someone more concerned with spiritual purpose than with perfect aesthetics.

That’s one reason I use simple household tools rather than professional equipment. The process stays grounded, hands‑on, and human.

Bells Made With Intention and Protection

At their core, my Witch’s bells are about energy—cleansing, protection, and presence—rather than decoration alone. Many people hang them on doors or thresholds as witch’s bells for protection or for energy cleansing in the home. Each one carries the marks of experimentation, adjustment, and care. They aren’t churned out quickly, and they aren’t meant to be flawless.

They’re meant to be hung, heard, and lived with.