the weight of gold
Gold has been tenderly shaped by time yet remains steadfast—like a memory held in breath. It does not corrode. It does not tarnish. It endures.
It is dense—nineteen times heavier than water—and malleable to the point of ethereal delicacy, so soft it can be gently reshaped, beaten, drawn into wire thinner than a strand of hair.
whisper of memory
There is something elemental in gold—something stubbornly resilient. We trace our stories onto it, and it keeps them. Formed in the sun’s dying breath, arriving on our earth through cosmic bursts, gold is an echo of time itself.
In the studio, I hold fragments of this ancient and sacred substance. It nestles between my fingers like truths too old for words, and its weight reminds me that memory contains gravity—even when it feels as light as warmth touching my skin.
gold as talisman
Gold is the most malleable of metals. A single gram expands into a full square metre of hair-thin sheet, translucent and luminous. It bends beneath the hammer, softens under heat, remembers every fold.
A gift from the earth, a strand of gold is a language of ritual; of passing awareness from one hand to the next, from one season to the one that follows. It invites intention, and in that invitation, it becomes talisman: a companion through our own cycles of becoming.
within manawa
Gold is not only material.. it is a memory keeper.