The Visage Ring traces back to a small, quiet detail in my grandfather’s yard—something most people might have walked past without a second thought. Nailed into the trunk of an old pine tree was a weathered ornament, its eyes, nose, and mouth each hammered in as separate pieces to form a face. It had that vintage, almost uncanny charm—like it had been watching over the yard for decades. My grandfather, Grandbear, never made a big deal about it, but it was always there, fixed in place, full of character. As a kid, I remember staring at it, the way something so simple could suddenly feel alive just by how it was arranged.
That memory stayed with me, and it found its way into the Visage Ring. The way the separate bands come together to form a face echoes that same idea—that identity isn’t one solid thing, but something assembled, layered, and revealed through perspective. It’s one of my favorite pieces not just for how it looks, but for what it holds. Every time I see it, I’m back in that yard, under that tree, with something quiet and familiar looking back at me.
