I work alone, in the silence of the workshop.
The series are limited, the shapes unique, numbered, almost confidential.

I choose durable, noble, living materials.
Recycled silver and gold, melted in France, carrying a discreet ethic.
Everything is slow here—and intentionally imperfect.

Forma Prima is a collection of collected fragments,
shaped with the idea that beauty cannot be forced.
It reveals itself — sometimes — to those who take the time to see it.

I sculpt each piece of jewelry by hand,
in wax, as in a malleable memory.
It is an ancestral technique: lost wax casting.
It allows you to capture every trace, every hollow, every breath.

When metal comes to take the place of wax,
he keeps the slightest traces:
the gesture, the accident, the erosion.

This know-how is slow, demanding, and always a little magical.
It makes every piece unrepeatable—like a memory faithful to the moment.

It all starts with a footprint:
a shard of an object, a piece of wood, a broken shell,
placed in a clay mold to keep track of it.

From there a form is born,
that I rework in wax:
I extend it, let it breathe, or I preserve the accident.

Then comes the metal — silver or recycled gold —
which freezes this fragment of reality forever.

The jewel preserves the reliefs, the hollows, the forgotten textures.
It tells of a landscape, a passage, a material that has lived.

A Forma Prima jewel is not an accessory.
It's a relic. A vestige. A trace.

This is what I saw — what I felt —
and which I transmit to you, frozen in metal.
Each piece carries the story of a missing object,
the memory of a gesture,
the memory of a form.

You are not wearing a piece of jewelry.
You look.