The sparkle of stones in the jewellery box belonging to my Grandmother
is one of the earliest memories of jewellery that I have.

As a six year old I spent many enchanted hours, in a small sleeping chamber
at her country estate, with the treasures which resembled those of the princesses in my fairytale story books; but I could touch these!

A dozen years later that princess became a reality and the touching was no longer limited to my grandmother's jewellery. The seventeen-year-old beauty cast her spell and for the time being I did not think too much about jewellery. Not for the time being.

Then came the day when her favourite ring went missing.
(To explain why that mishap was my fault would take too long.)
Doubtless the time had come to think about jewellery again.
Intensively, even.

There was the inventor's workshop belonging to my father. There was nothing which could not be found there. Here the silver contacts from diverse switches, there a tiny piece of silver wire. The lost ring was neither a treasure nor precious but it belonged to the princess and I could picture it so exactly that I decided to make a new one.