A handmade ring passes through fire three times and a hundred hammer blows before it ever touches a finger. This is the full journey, exactly as it happens at the bench, and exactly as first-time makers do it here on a Discovery Day.
I.Melt and pour
Sterling silver arrives at the bench as grain: small bright pellets, 92.5 per cent silver and 7.5 per cent copper. The copper is what makes the metal hard enough to wear; pure silver is too soft to hold a shape on a hand. The grain goes into a ceramic crucible, and a torch takes it past 900 °C until it gathers into a glowing, swirling pool.
The pour is the moment beginners remember. Molten silver moves fast, and the mould gives you one second of commitment. Out comes an ingot: a rough, honest little bar that contains your entire ring, waiting.
II.Forge and roll
The ingot is far too thick to wear, so it is forged. First it is hammered lengthwise on the anvil to begin the stretch, then passed again and again through the rolling mill, a hand-cranked press that thins the bar a fraction of a millimetre per pass.
Working the metal hardens it. Every few passes the silver must be annealed: heated to a dull cherry glow and allowed to relax, or it cracks. This rhythm of work and rest runs through every stage of smithing, and learning to feel when the metal needs the flame again is half the education.
III.Cut and form
Ring size is simple arithmetic: the finger's circumference plus an allowance for the metal's thickness. The strip is cut, its ends filed dead flat, then bent around a steel mandrel with a rawhide mallet until the two ends meet. They must touch perfectly, so that no light passes through the seam, because solder fills nothing. It only joins what already fits.
IV.Solder the seam
The join is painted with flux, a sliver of silver solder is laid across it, and the whole ring is heated evenly, never just the seam. At the right temperature the solder flashes and runs through the join like water finding a crack. Done well, the seam ceases to exist: the ring becomes one continuous piece of metal.
Solder does not glue two ends together. It persuades them they were never apart.
V.Size and true
Back on the mandrel, the ring is tapped round, since a soldered ring is always slightly oval, and then stretched or compressed to its final size. A well-made ring should slide over the knuckle with a whisper of resistance and sit still once it lands.
VI.File, sand, finish
Files erase the solder line and dress the edges; sandpaper moves through finer and finer grits until the surface is ready for its finish. Here the maker chooses the ring's character: a bright mirror polish, a soft satin brush, a hammered texture that catches the light in facets, or an oxidised patina that darkens the recesses and lets the high points glow. There is no correct answer, only the one that looks like you.
VII.Making one yourself
Everything above fits inside a single day. It is precisely the arc of the atelier's Discovery Day: you arrive at a bench in the morning having never held a torch, and you walk out at sunset wearing a ring you poured, forged, soldered and finished yourself. Given a week, the same hands learn stone setting and design. The full story is told in a week at the bench.