Certain places carry a quiet magnetism—an unseen thread that tugs at the soul and lends a fleeting spark to everything that stirs there. Over the past four years, the land and space cradling the atelier have blossomed into just such a spot.

Now, it seems ready to turn the page and begin a new, tender chapter.

The drills used daily wear out quickly.
Not only do they lose their sharpness fast, but they also break rather easily, requiring frequent resharpening like a pencil.
However, the tool I’m currently testing makes it much easier to achieve the perfect angle— a small but satisfying joy as of late.

In the quiet of morning, inspiration stirs—soft, fleeting.
Somewhere close, it wells up like a hidden spring, gently overflowing.
So often it fades before we notice, but today, it lingers.
A quiet presence, waiting to be felt.