What Stays on the Wall

Not everything in the workshop is made.

Some things are kept.

Pinned to a board. Tucked into a frame. Resting on a shelf above the bench. They are not there to be finished or refined, but simply to remain; quiet references, gathered over time.

A sketch, drawn once and returned to often.

A piece of leather, chosen not for a strap, but for its colour; a tone worth remembering. Nearby, small dials sit side by side, each a variation on a thought. Not yet resolved. Not needing to be.

There is no single starting point for a watch.

It forms gradually, from fragments like these. A line. A proportion. A feeling that something is almost right. Ideas are not forced forward, they are left to settle, revisited when the time feels appropriate.

On one wall, watches hang alongside photographs.

Some are finished pieces. Others are simply moments, a case caught in the light, a dial before assembly. Together, they form a quiet record. Not of progress, exactly, but of attention.

Elsewhere, there are reminders of place.

A drawing of a familiar skyline. A printed detail from an old building. The geometry of something seen and carried back into the workshop without quite realising. These are not references in the formal sense, but they find their way into the work all the same.

And then there are objects with no direct purpose at all.

A small wooden form. An old photograph. Something kept simply because it has always been there. Over time, these things become part of the environment in which the work happens; shaping it in ways that are difficult to trace, but easy to feel.

Nothing here is arranged for display.

It is simply where things have found their place.

And from this, slowly, the watches take shape.

Not from a single idea, but from many; gathered, considered, and allowed to remain until they are needed.