Ring - from Diary Entry 1162

Two rings formed through repetition and accumulation, inspired by the act of dripping wet sand to build fragile towers at the shoreline. Each ring can exist alone, yet gains balance and strength when joined with the other, mirroring moments of solitude and togetherness found in play. ‎ A continuation of the same gesture: layered, irregular, and built through patience. The surface records the rhythm of dripping, waiting, and allowing gravity to shape the form, a quiet response to noise, urgency, and instability. Art technique: Lost wax carving. Materials: 925 sterling silver. Dimensions: 2.5 x 2.4 x 2 cm. Weight: 14.32 g Production year: 2024 From the Diary These diary entries document the moments, places, and emotional states that gave rise to each ring. Written as personal records, they trace the lived experiences that shaped the pieces' forms, materials, and gestures. Each ring is accompanied by a diary entry, a personal record of the"Haven" that sparked its creation. Together, they map experiences of pause, fear, play, and choice, translated into wearable forms. Diary Entry 1162 — Oct 22, 2024 A war nearby is always loud. Unpredictable. And that is what breaks you. Days pass under constant bombing, constant threat. A month of jump scares, quietly laying the foundations for a lifetime of fear. Even silence feels unsafe. There is a high metallic buzzing that never rises or falls. A sound that does not leave. It settles above everything, above conversations, above thoughts. The mind waits for it to stop, but it never does. Slowly, quietly, you lose patience with the air itself. I had to do something to keep my sanity. I had to go far away to find a space where I could think clearly again. The child in me chose first. The beach. Memories of summers when my mother took us to the sea to rest, to feel the sun. And so I found myself in Batroun, sitting on warm sand, waves almost reaching my feet. I stayed for hours, listening to the sea, to the music of a nearby family, to children building fragile sandcastles. I wanted to play. I remembered how we used to build towers of water and sand, letting the mixture drip slowly, layer by layer. I showed them the trick: enough water to flow, enough sand to hold, never too much, or it collapses. This small, playful act felt worth preserving. Something fragile. Temporary. Calm. Something to be carried forward. That morning, I went down to the basement. I sat at my jewelry table. I took a piece of wax and began to carve. With my hands, I shaped my future. And myself.