Memento Mori. Remember you must die. Not meant to be morbid or fearsome, but meant to inspire, motivate and clarify that life should be lived.
This idea has been central to art, philosophy, and literature, throughout history.
It is a symbolic reminder of the inevitability of death.
As Socrates says in Plato’s Phaedo, “The one aim of those who practice philosophy in the proper manner, is to practice for dying and death.”
This beefy bronze silver skull ring was produced as a limited edition of 10. UK size M, It is also available in sterling silver or silver with gems.mmmm.. Also if you would like it heavily oxidised (blackened) lemme know !
Some items in our collections have sparked more demand. So we have made them editions and taken them out of the collective... Grab em' whilst you can.... Once they're gone, they're gone.
From our AW19 collection: The Moon and The Yew Tree
Inspired by the Sylvia Plath's poem:
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky — Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls. How I would like to believe in tenderness – The face of the effigy, gentled by candles, Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews, Their hands and faces stiff with holiness. The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild. And the message of the yew tree is blackness – blackness and silence.