Joan Hornig wanted more. In the world of high finance, that’s a necessary instinct, but her thriving career as a consultant to money managers wasn’t enough. In the months after the 9/11 attacks, she wanted to nurture educational institutions—and respond to the irresistible pull of gemstones.

“During that time, I found it therapeutic to hold minerals and stones—natural, solid things from the planet—in my hands,” says Hornig, who lives in New York. “I had always been artsy and decided to make some jewelry for myself, using quality material.” Within three months of fashioning her first design, Hornig’s portfolio had blossomed, and she was building a business that funnels 100% of its profits to educational charities.

Today, Hornig’s jewelry—18-karat green and white gold, netted with tourmalines, garnets, amethysts, and topaz—sparkles in display cases at high-end retailers like Bergdorf Goodman and Neiman Marcus. Devoted customers across the country host sales and parties to promote her mission. “I never had a master plan for my jewelry business,” she says, downplaying the fortuitous combination of gorgeous design, quality materials, charity, and healthy subsidies from her consulting work. “I am really a superb salesperson,” she says, “You can’t be in fundraising or raising money for hedge funds and not be.” Hornig made her first, surprisingly bittersweet, sale in 2002: a triple-strand gold necklace with pink and green tourmalines. “The size, luster, cut, and clarity of those stones was spectacular. It was really, really hard to sell that necklace,” she says. “To this day, I fall in love with my own jewelry.”

The textured multivalence of designs such as the Petal Collection reflects Hornig’s fascination with the Dutch masters; she cites their “elevation of the ordinary” and the “loving attention lavished on all the details of light and surface.” She also draws inspiration from the world around her: The Georgette earrings, named for Hornig’s husband of 31 years, George, are a top seller. She uses leaves, feathers, and even food in her work. The Cornflake and Potato Chip necklaces, for example, were conceived during the height of the low-carb diet craze. “If you couldn’t have the food, at least you could have the jewelry,” she says with a laugh.

The idea to link her jewelry to fundraising first came to Hornig in the grocery store, where she took note of Newman’s Own spaghetti sauce. Like Paul Newman’s organization, the Joan B. Hornig Foundation funnels profits directly to charity, in this case to various educational initiatives—“not just classroom courses,” Hornig says,“but also the arts, public health issues, continuing education, vocational education, education of parents who come to this country to provide their children with better futures.” To date, Hornig’s designs have raised more than $250,000 for nearly 100 nonprofits. Hornig sees her business structure as an evolution in fundraising beyond awareness ribbons and wristbands. She likens the sale of every necklace or bracelet to a challenge grant. “I give my customers something they want—jewelry—and the next step is to give them a chance to see what they can do for others.”