To date, this has been my most challenging design—in all the right ways. Here’s a walkthrough of how the project came to life.

 

Dahlia Days

This past summer, while vending at a local Dahlia Days farm event here in Colorado, I met a fellow gardener. We started chatting about her floral-embroidered Converse and her love of growing dahlias, and she quickly became a new friend of n’Grained.

When fall rolled around, she reached out to let me know she’d submitted a custom request—“a fun project when you have the time.”

Initial Request

Her request form included a few key notes: sterling silver, everyday-wear, inspired by her dahlias (especially the petals), nothing too ornate, and no timeframe. The type of piece was still undecided, so we went back and forth a bit to find the sweet spot between her vision and my style.

She reiterated her love for the petals, while wanting the design to feel more like an inspired representation than a literal flower.

As our conversations continued, I took an honest inventory of my current skill set—and the uncomfortable reality of rising metal prices. I knew her budget wouldn’t cover the full cost of the time and materials this project would likely require, especially with research and trial-and-error outside my usual scope. But I also knew this would be a real learning opportunity for me, and because she was flexible with timing, I chose to treat it as such. Some projects give back in ways that aren’t strictly monetary - this was one of them.

Designing Together...

She sent more photos of her dahlias, and as I sat with them, the design focus became clear: the very center of the flower—where tiny closed petals transition into slightly larger ones. Almost like a zoomed-in macro photo of the flower’s heart. Intricate, layered, and beautiful. Both sides of my brain were very excited to dive in.

CHOOSING THE PROCESS

I knew early on that to do this piece justice, it needed to be multi-dimensional. I weighed the pros and cons of fabricating from sheet metal versus hand-sculpting in metal clay. This would be my largest and most intricate clay piece yet, which felt risky—but it also felt like the best way to capture the depth and texture the design called for...

Decision made. Time to sketch!

Jes sent back excitement for the macro approach and how it looked as a ring! Another decision made.

STONES (or not)

Before refining the design further, I asked whether she wanted to incorporate stones, since that choice would impact the overall structure. I shared a few ethical, natural options in dahlia-inspired colors. We both swooned over garnets—but before committing, I suggested I sculpt a rough draft to better understand scale, shape, and placement.

I spent a few hours experimenting with air-dry clay (the closest to metal clay), forming as many tiny, dahlia-like petals as I could until they felt right. Much harder than I thought. I took mental notes on how I shaped each detail so I could replicate the process later in silver clay. I sent her photos of the draft, including possible stone sizes and placement.

STONE ALTERNATIVE

Jes was curious to see a non-stone option, which got me thinking: what else could live in that space? Granulation came to mind—fusing tiny spheres of metal onto the surface in a symmetrical or organic pattern.

I re-wetted the clay draft and, using tiny tweezers, experimented with a few granulation variations. When I sent the photos over, she immediately connected with one version and decided to nix the stones altogether. She said it reminded her of pollen!

Of course it did. How did I not think of that sooner???

From Clay to Silver!

After confirming details like ring size, band size, and finish, I got to work. I kept the clay draft close as I sculpted the design in silver clay. To avoid warping later, I chose to sculpt the piece with a curve from the start, using a wooden dowel, my fingers, and a collection of broken dental tools.

LET'S FIRE

There are two ways to fire metal clay: with a jeweler’s torch (best for small, simple pieces) or in a kiln (better for larger or more complex forms). Under-firing can result in brittle pieces that snap easily, and because this design varied in thickness and was larger than a nickel, kiln firing was the safer choice.

I didn’t own a kiln—yet. But knowing I wanted to continue working with metal clay, I invested in a small beehive kiln just in time for this project.

Before firing, and with Jes’s blessing, I spent more time carving delicate veins into the petals and refining the transitions between forms. This not only added definition but also shaved away excess material—dust I saved to rehydrate into usable clay for future pieces.

After curing the kiln and running a test piece, it was time to fire the dahlia. Because of the uneven thickness, I set multiple timers to reposition the piece, hoping for more even heat. Testing for full sintering (cooking-through) is nerve-wracking—you can’t really tell unless you try breaking it—so I reluctantly stress-tested it by dropping it and attempting to snap it. It passed.

THE BAND (take one)

For the band, I chose 14g round sterling wire—comfortable, sturdy, and suitable for everyday wear. I initially planned an open shank to keep the profile low and reduce material cost, but matching the curve of the band to the underside of the dahlia for maximum solder contact took over an hour.

That hour included four failed solder attempts. The band kept snapping off under stress tests, and I started noticing subtle signs that made me worry the clay piece wasn’t fully sintered. Anxiety officially entered the studio.

MORE FIRE, THEN TRY AGAIN

After a day of research, I decided to re-fire the piece for another hour (bringing the total to about 2.5 hours) to be safe. Once cooled, I burnished the full underside where the band would attach. Burnishing compresses the silver particles, reducing permeability so the solder stays where it’s supposed to—between the two surfaces.

THE BAND (take two)

Given the earlier hiccups (and the reality that time equals money), I pivoted to a full band design. I fabricated a new 14g sterling band and carefully sanded the contact area to ensure a flush fit. Before soldering, I pre-heated the metal clay portion to a subtle pink glow, then let it cool just enough to add flux and solder.

Using my largest torch tip, I focused the heat on the thicker clay portion, allowing the heat to transfer up and gently pull the solder into the joints. After inspecting it under my bench light for gaps and pickling off the fire scale, it was time for the real test.

I tried—pretty hard—to break it. Nothing budged.

Oh you know I did a tiny dance in my studio with a shit-eating grin on my face. Relief!

CLEAN UP + PATINA

After a light polish with my Foredom to better reveal the surface, I cleaned up the details using hand files and fine grinding bits, getting into all the nooks and crannies. I intentionally left my subtle tool marks—evidence of the handcrafting process that’s deeply important to me in this age of mass-produced.

Once the surface was clean, I applied Jax Black patina in two dips, then selectively buffed it back to reveal highlights where sunshine would naturally hit the piece. This brought out depth and dimension, and is one of my absolute favorites! It’s when the piece really comes to life.

This was, by far, the most complex piece I’ve taken on to date—but it’s exactly this kind of challenge that keeps me excited about my work. Jes is incredibly happy with how it turned out (as am I), and I’m deeply grateful for her patience. Time, after all, is a vital ingredient in any artisan’s craft.

If you’re interested in working together on a custom design, feel free to e-mail me or start here.