I have always been nourished by dreams of elsewhere. It all began with a book my father gave me in childhood. It was called “The Little Girl from the South Seas” — a book that made me travel from my own room, listen and understand, and imagine other possibilities.

Many years later, it was a jade object found in the Taklamakan Desert, offered by the man I loved, which I still wear as a pendant, like a talisman. Then came a journey to the Fayum, where I gazed upon thousands of pottery fragments emerging from the sands. A Roman intaglio, acquired at Drouot, around which I sketched a Renaissance-inspired ring. And countless adornments I wore — amulets, heavy ethnic jewelry, transformed objects. Each of them evoked either a fleeting moment or eternity, a being or a civilization.

But it took many turns and detours in life before I imagined making it my profession, and before I dared to embark on the adventure.

I began by going back to school, to deepen my knowledge of Art History. Then I studied at the École Boulle, where I had to admit that technique was not my strongest skill, and that it would be wiser to entrust it to a master jeweler. What I could do, however, was to discover rare, sometimes exceptional pieces — and to imagine what they might become by sketching and transforming them.

Today, I create between thirty and forty jewels each year. Pieces sourced from old European collections, which I hunt down in auction houses, each with certified authenticity. Every jewel is handcrafted, using traditional techniques, with the imperative of preserving the integrity of the piece — and magnifying it.