Contours of time

Title: “Contours of Time”

There are days when world grows unrelentingly loud—when the weight of our own histories sits heavy upon ribs, whispering nothings that sound like everything. On one such day, I turned to the simple rhythm of wire and stone—though calling zebra calcite "simple" is a disservice to its quiet defiance.

This piece, it began without intention, as many honest things do. The zebra calcite had been with me for some time—an odd little fragment of contrast and calm, its pale and dark striations like pages of a book half-burnt, half-written. It does not shout to be noticed; it waits to be understood. That patience—it humbled me.

Zebra calcite is not flashy. It does not glitter under artificial light, and makes no promises of miracle. Instead, it offers something deeper—a kind of stillness that remind me of walking alone in winter woods. The silence is not empty. It is alive.

As I wrapped it in copper, each twist of wire felt like sentence in unfinished letter. The work demanded care. Zebra calcite is soft, easily marred if handled without attention. Much like us. It teach me, as I worked, that craftsmanship is not display of skill but quiet act of respect.

I hope that, when worn, this pendant does not make you feel adorned—but seen. Not admired—but accompanied. Let it be your pocket of pause in a spinning world. A small weight, not of burden, but of presence.

— R. A. (in another life, maybe, yes?)