People often come up to me asking how a jewelry pieces takes its form. Is it because of a gemstone? A sketch? A style?
Sometimes, yes. Most often, not really.
Most pieces start much earlier, with something that catches my eye and refuses to leave. Tree branches. A pattern in a book. A market detail. Something in the world that feels satisfying.
I rarely look at something and think, that should become a necklace.
It’s usually less literal than that. Something just looks good. Or feels well made. Or has a shape I keep coming back to. It stays with me, and much later, while sketching, some part of it shows up again in another form.
There are these black railings around London I still think about. I first came across them in South Kensington when my mum and I were there to get me set up for university. They sat against pale houses, so the contrast was strong, and the clover tops had this lovely detail to them. I remember being drawn to them and this was before I even knew I’d go on to become a jeweler. Only because they were beautiful objects in their own right.
That’s usually how it begins for me.
Studying Jewelry Design at Central Saint Martins changed how I think about design completely.
At CSM, you’re pushed to challenge everything. Why this line? Why this proportion? Why this form? Why does this piece exist at all? You’re made to think about the why behind the making, not just whether it looks nice on a page.
You’re also pushed to experiment. To try things that might fail. To go beyond the first obvious idea. Concepts mattered, so did independence. So did creativity. And standing by your convictions and getting really good at what you do.
Since then, there’s been a lot of work in the design space - years of building collections, working closely with karigars in Jaipur, seeing the jewelry featured in magazines - yet none of these save a weak design. The piece still has to hold up.
And for me, that always comes back to silhouette, proportion and form.
It’s the basis of all form. The sketches flow and take shape and unconsciously gravitate towards silhouettes that are balanced in structure and proportion.
If the silhouette isn’t working, the sketch isn’t a design yet.
A lot of time goes into very small details. Staring at a piece from across the room. Adjusting a line a dozen times (even when the first one was the best one). Trying prototypes to see how they move and feel. Taking something out, leaving something in or adding an additional detail because without it there’s something not quite there yet.
The finished piece looks effortless, and we absolutely love it, however getting it there is where the true love story lies.
I’ve always found “fashion jewelry” interesting for that reason – it so often carries all this old baggage of being ‘cheap’, ‘fake’, ‘lesser’ than something more important. (it’s all just marketing though isn’t it? Look at what’s happening between natural and lab grown diamonds these days!) Once you take precious materials out of the equation, design has nowhere to hide.
The design, it’s impact, the feel of it. The way it sits on the body. The way it moves. It’s incredible. It makes you engage with the object for its visual impact and it makes you think about what your personal expression and aesthetics are.
That’s uncomfortable in the best way.
It shares a broader world with brands like Alighieri, Misho, Roma Narsinghani and Bhavya Ramesh, but it has its own personality. That has always mattered to me. I never wanted the jewelry to feel anonymous, trend-driven, or like it could belong to anyone.
It needed to stand for an identity that either draws people in or makes them think.
Our pieces are strong on silhouettes, proportion and presence. They’re expressive and are made to be worn. They’re light in their construct, rich in storytelling, exciting in their visual appeal and emotionally available for the ones who see them. Statement doesn’t mean oversized, uncomfortable, impossible to repeat, or worn once and forgotten.
Vysteria Chandeliers (Ivy, 2016)
As I wrap up my musings, there is one last bit that I have to touch upon before signing off – it's the part between a sketch and the finished piece. It’s the space where things get real very quickly.
In the ten years of Dhwani Bansal jewelry, we’ve released around 300 designs. I’ve designed far more than that. A lot of ideas never make it out of the sketchbook. Some pieces look brilliant on paper and then completely change once they’re made. Sometimes metal isn’t the medium for them. Sometimes the designs aren’t practical (who needs practical? The karigars, of course!)
This is perhaps the most human part of the process.
Working with karigars in Jaipur has taught me a lot here. A sketch is one thing. A piece becoming real through their craft is something else entirely. The conversations I have with them are in way the best part of what I do. Sometimes a practical suggestion improves the design immediately. Sometimes you have to stick to your original instinct and defend it because as absurd it might sound in the moment, it will work! It really pushes you to trust your instincts (something we don’t really impress too much upon, but should!)
It’s exciting, nerve wracking, magical.
In my initial years of running DBJ solely in India, very often I’d have customers ask about “resale value” of a piece. Through generations we’ve been conditioned to view jewelry as an investment, a commodity of value to be saved and treasured. As I spend more time immersed in this craft, viewing treasures from across time and continents, the one thing that jumps out at me is - how incredibly beautiful each and every piece is. Isn’t that a function of imagination, skill and design? Why aren’t they valued just as much?