There’s a moment in enamelling when you realise the work is no longer entirely yours.

After enough firings, enough cracked dials, enough resets, something shifts. You stop trying to force the result. You begin to listen — to the material, to the kiln, to light itself.

This was the point where our enamel dials started to change.

Flinqué enamel is often described in terms of technique: guilloché beneath glass, fire layered over pattern. But what matters more is what happens after the process is complete. The dial doesn’t stay still. It reacts.

As light moves, the pattern tightens or loosens. Under soft light, the dial appears calm, almost matte. In direct light, it sharpens, coming alive with depth and movement. The same dial can feel restrained in the morning and vivid by afternoon — not because it’s changing, but because light is.

This is something no render or specification sheet can fully explain. It’s also something you only start to notice once you’ve stopped chasing perfection in the kiln.

Early on, we tried to control everything: colour saturation, surface uniformity, consistency from dial to dial. Fire doesn’t work that way. Enamel has its own memory. The metal beneath has its own tension. Every firing leaves a trace, even when the surface looks flawless.

Over time, we learned to design with those realities rather than against them.

The guilloché patterns became quieter, more deliberate — not to shout through the enamel, but to support it. Colours were chosen not just for vibrancy, but for how they soften at depth. Even small decisions, like how sharply an edge is cut or how much enamel is built up, began to matter more than before.

What emerged wasn’t a single “look”, but a behaviour.

The dial doesn’t demand attention. It waits for it.

This is why we rarely photograph our watches under dramatic lighting. Not because they don’t look good that way, but because it tells only part of the story. The real character appears gradually, over time, on the wrist — when the dial catches light unexpectedly, then fades back again.

In the end, this is what working with enamel taught us.

Craft isn’t about freezing an object at its most impressive moment. It’s about creating something that continues to reveal itself long after it’s finished.

And sometimes, the most honest work begins only when you stop trying to make it behave.