There was no sunrise again today.
We awakened to a dawn shrouded in cold gray fog, so dense that it was impossible to see the peaks, much less the light behind them. The forecast had predicted sun, and after so many days of winter’s unexpected return, it was sobering to find that our world had not yet rejoined the light.
All of that changed within hours, of course: By mid-morning, most of the fog had already burned off, and patches of bright blue emerged from between the banks of thunderheads. But the clearing came too late to watch Father Sun begin his ascent; by the time he showed himself to us again, he was a bright silver glow high in the sky, his form too diffuse to perceive as a corporeal form.
I had already chosen today’s #ThrowbackThursday feature yesterday; it was not in any way a response to the gray that met me with the dawn. But it immediately occurred to me that it was the perfect choice for such a day — one, in fact, that I suddenly devoutly wished were still in inventory, and not least because it was one of the few small enough to fit my own hand perfectly.
But the real reason lay in its design: a simple wide band of lightly brushed silver, nearly gray in appearance, set at the very center with a perfect round orb, a small glowing amber sun.
I love amber, which is odd for me in the first place, because I’m generally not particularly fond of shades that fall in the “orange” segment of the spectrum. That applies to most yellows, too; they are simply not my colors. But amber is different.
Part of it is the substance itself, full of the earth’s own history and tradition and occasionally something more, sometimes holding the fossilized being of some ancient creature in its once-liquid embrace.Part of it is its translucence, the mysterious ability to see through its layers to whatever it may contain, even if that is as intangible as the light.
And part of it is that aspect that mimics and honors the light: Holding amber is like holding a bit of the sun itself in one’s hand.
And in this instance, it was possible to hold it all the time, set as it was atop the band of a ring that fit with the gentle embrace of a silken glove.
This ring was, of course, one of Wings’s simplest designs; the only style simpler yet is a plain band. But even in the sparest of solitaires, he summoned it from silver and stone to embody its own unique form.
The band was a little wider than usual, forged from sterling silver of a fairly substantial gauge. It both appeared and felt, on first impression, as though it were crafted from wide half-round wire, of a sort with very little doming.
It wasn’t.
But it was still rounded, in a sense — ever so slightly higher in the center of band, a minute downward slope on either edge. It’s an effect that Wings achieved entirely by hand, beveling each edge downward slightly using a file. It’s labor-intensive work, but done meticulously, it creates a band that possesses an almost organic feel, three-dimensional, softly flowing, with a secure embrasure.
Then it was time to form the bezel. Wings kept it as simple as humanly possible, a plain-edged round bezel with a low profile, the better to allow the stone to take center stage. Then he set the stone.
“Stone” is, of course, a bit of a misnomer for amber, which is actually tree resin, hardened over time on a geologic scale. But for purposes of gemwork, it can be cut and polished into beautiful cabochons. This one was relatively small, but it was exceptional: highly domed, with extraordinary color and translucence, like looking through a round orb of fire.
Like looking into the sun.
It immediately became one of my favorite works. Oddly, it took some time for the ring to find its home, but I can’t help thinking that it must have gone to someone who needed some extra light. That person now holds a piece of the sun.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2017; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owners.
