How they’re made

A wedding, and a better idea than shopping.

We were getting married. Buying a pair of bands was the obvious move right up until the thought arrived that they could just as easily be made.

It was never about the money. A band that had been made would mean more than one that had been bought, and even if it came out imperfect it would be ours. That seemed like the better end of the deal, and it was.

What wasn’t expected was everything after. A one-off job turned into the thing I now do — partly the process, partly the sheer spectacle of it. The flame. Metal glowing hot. Metal going molten and moving like water when a minute earlier you could have put it in your pocket.

That hasn’t worn off, and it’s where every band on this site comes from: the same method, the same bench, the same pair of hands.

A silver band and a gold band worn together, seen from the palm side. (finished product) — Silver alongside gold — both have been through the torch.

Silver, mostly.

Gold has been through the torch here too. But what’s for sale is silver — pure silver, solid all the way through, never plated over something cheaper.

Silver is also, frankly, the honest material to sell at this price. A pure silver band that somebody actually forged is a real object. A thin gold-coloured one usually isn’t.

Four stages

From a glowing lump to a finished band

Every band goes the same route. These are photographs of one going through it — same ring, four points along the way.

In process of finishing

Filed

Silver heated until it glows, worked round and joined, then filed until the band runs at one consistent width the whole way round. Still flat-edged, still dull.

Finished product

Domed

The outer face is worked into a dome, then sanded through finer and finer grits until the grey goes even. A satin band stops here.

Finished product

Polished

Onto the wheel, until the grey turns to mirror and the band starts reflecting whatever is in front of it.

Most of the work is removing metal.

A band starts as a length of silver heated until it glows, worked round and joined. At that point it is faceted, lumpy and obviously hand-made, with the join line running straight down it.

Everything after that is subtraction — filing it to an even width, working the outer face into a dome, then sanding through finer and finer grits until the grey goes even. A satin band stops there. A polished one goes onto the wheel until it starts reflecting the room.

The join never entirely disappears, and I’ve stopped trying to make it. If you go looking on a finished band you can usually still find it.

A finished band worn, the workshop shelves out of focus behind. (finished product) — A finished band, worn.

The photographs are the actual rings.

Everything on this site is a photograph of a band I made, taken on a phone at the bench. They’ve been cropped and colour-corrected — the workshop light is very orange and silver came out looking like brass — but nothing has been added, smoothed or rendered.

Which means the pictures show the real level of finish, including the bits that aren’t perfect. That seemed like the right way round.

See the bands →

Together

Three at a time, on the bench.

Three domed bands stacked loosely against each other. (finished product) — Polished bands throw the light around.

Three hand-made domed bands, one showing its join line. (finished product) — The join line, still visible on one of them.

A thin polished silver band on a purple velvet pouch. (finished product) — A thin one, on its pouch.

Two thin polished bands resting together on red velvet. (finished product) — Two of the thinner ones.

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