My son’s milk tooth, once lost and long forgotten, found again in a quiet moment.

Carved into pearl, not just to remember, but to search for something I hadn’t yet understood. A trace of childhood, a glimmer of the mystery that still lingers.

Certain places carry a quiet magnetism—an unseen thread that tugs at the soul and lends a fleeting spark to everything that stirs there. Over the past four years, the land and space cradling the atelier have blossomed into just such a spot.

Now, it seems ready to turn the page and begin a new, tender chapter.

The drills used daily wear out quickly.
Not only do they lose their sharpness fast, but they also break rather easily, requiring frequent resharpening like a pencil.
However, the tool I’m currently testing makes it much easier to achieve the perfect angle— a small but satisfying joy as of late.