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In ligament, silver mirrors the body, wrapping round—sometimes grotequely, sometimes in elegance—finger and wrist and neck.† Each piece of the ligament collection travels from the plastic sprue to the flame to the process by which the origin loses itself only to find a more precious end, like a knightís journey or a feasting table viewed from outside the window on a winterís night.† Wearing ligament is wearing a process.† And the process continues with you, as the metal warms against your skin, remembering flame, and passes by the everyday, recalling its plastic shadow-form, and feels your rhythms, remembering the link between then and now—the body—where ligament is born, where it longs to remain.

In each ring the holding and the letting go. Composure and abandon, space and coalescence. Nubbin speaks many things.

By itself, the never-ending circlet finds completion in the wearerís own body, in designís own origin. Then it offers another space. Follow the slender perpetual moment passing through metal. Palm to fingertip, the ring leads from the fortunetellerís domain to the inexorable print of identity. In this wide world, you are alone.

But the finger may pass through Nubbin more than a single time. And doubled, Nubbin falls in love. Oneís seeking drop sleeps peacefully, finally, in the silver arms of the other. You are the traveler come home.

Nubbin is the trinket dropped while simplicity and destiny cavort.

The answer to a riddle that has yet to be asked.


number three chain bracelet
for winding round your wrist as a reminder of where you're going. jumbled silver you could almost eat. (eat with your eyes for strength along the way...)


number two necklace
here is a necklace that eats its own tail. a bright chain weighty, yet born of the air. (for what is form's determinant, but space?)


number three large key clasp
first you peer through the keyhole at a world green as ocean algae, at a green forest with the sunshine dappling just so. then you unlock the door...


nubblet chain
exquisite bone links connect as smoothly as your own, turning inside out the notion that beauty lies within...


brass section crossed
smooth, not-quite-intersected lines and original numbers wed religious iconography with mundane plastics, weekly football... uncommonly common art.


brass section miffles
if you must ask, "what is a miffles?, you are not ready for this pin turned elegance from plumber's pipe, mechanics muffler, musician's flute. if instead you laugh...well, then you might be ready.


brass section lily pad
what frog would turn prince at the sight of this winding piece? what pond would not be honored to float such a euphony of form?


brass section trapuppette
on a quiet street somewhere in the city, you may hear notes, syncopations flutter from the mouth of some unseen horn. the ghosts of old jazz cats may be walking. or someone near you might be wearing this.


thin twist tangle bangle
filigree for a wayward wrist! for the wrist of one who knows summer lakes and city streets twisting from one star to dawn. light-catching bangle, majestic charm.


orga bangle
for one who never believed it was possible for the little stream to freeze, here is a bracelet that reminds us of the layers (molecules, meanings) on which our own little flows depend.


water's journal
strange characters dancing across a lapel or a collar. mercurial notes. lucid brook.


nubbin flat head
nubbin speaks many things:
i absorb and emanate, clasp and release. i find you and give you back. what am i?


smooth bar head strings
don't be taken in by geometry. look closer. see the tendrils stretching from wall to wall, a door-jewel for closing in the treasure of your finger.


nubbin slim head
from the fortunetellerís domain to the inexorable print of identity:
for me the gap is nothing. the violence of passage only appears so, for i fall but do not break. i am each time exactly the same and never so. you can find yourself in me and lose yourself. my violence can be real for you. My peace can be real. what am i?


anemone four sprong split
ah, tempest-tossed. the tiny anemone remembers when you lived in the sea. its feelers feel air now, wave in the breeze-tides that envelop earth--great, round bauble.


anemone multiple split
the fluid in rigidity, the living in the dead. enclosed by this ring, your finger will entreat, "do not fear my spines! i was once as supple as you, and still dream of it."


wrap moderately tight
when every limb is in place, every strand aligned, the spirit loosed for perfection on the night, this is the ring to wear. grace condensed, nothing omitted.


bilingual guardian
does the message change depending on your feelings? this silver scroll extends your inner self for those who can find their way among the runes.


nubbin big head
while simplicity and destiny cavort:
i am an empty bowl. go begging with me and find simplicity. i am a full moon. i am a fragment of music, the note so perfect it congealed as it left the blind manís violin on the train. what am i?