Stone & Colour

Clear Quartz is the stone we use to sharpen everything around it — it doesn't carry its own colour story so much as bring out whatever it's paired with. I think of it as the quiet amplifier in the room.

Moonstone changes depending on how you tilt it in the light, which always makes me think of how differently a piece can feel from one day to the next. I gave a Moonstone piece to a friend right before a big life change, almost without thinking about it — it just felt like the right stone for someone standing at the edge of something new.

Pearls always surprise people when they learn how they're actually made — slowly, in response to something small and irritating that the oyster couldn't get rid of. I think about that a lot. It's not a mineral, technically, but it earns its place here; there's something quietly moving about beauty that comes from patience rather than pressure.

Mountain Crystal is deceptively simple — just clear quartz, nothing showy — but I've come to think of it as the most honest stone we work with. It doesn't pretend to be anything. I like giving it to people who aren't sure which stone they need yet, because it's traditionally believed to take on whatever intention you bring to it.

Kunzite has the softest colour in our whole collection, somewhere between pink and lilac, and it fades a little in strong sunlight, which I actually love — it feels like a reminder to be gentle with it, and with yourself. It's one of the stones people ask about most once they've worn it a while.

Pink Opal has this milky, almost powdery pink that I don't think photographs half as well as it looks in person. It's a soft stone, both literally and in what it's meant to do — I think of it as one for slower healing, the kind that doesn't happen all at once.

Pink Tourmaline has a brightness that Rose Quartz doesn't quite have — a bolder, more insistent kind of pink. I think of it as the stone for people who are done being quietly hard on themselves and are ready to actually believe they deserve kindness.

I used to think Rose Quartz was a little too soft, almost too obvious a choice for a love stone. Then I actually lived with a piece for a while and realised that's exactly the point — it doesn't try to convince you of anything, it just sits there being gentle until you notice you feel calmer. I keep a small piece by my bed.

Amethyst is the stone I return to most. It has a way of quieting a room without ever feeling heavy — and because no two batches are ever quite the same shade, the piece you're holding is truly one of its kind.

Fluorite rarely looks the same twice — bands of purple, green and blue shifting through a single piece, sometimes within a few millimetres. I love that about it. It feels like the right stone for anyone whose path doesn't look like everyone else's.

Prasiolite is rare enough that I still get asked what it is more often than almost any other stone. It's a soft, pale green quartz that always makes me think of the first warm day after a long winter — that specific kind of relief. We use it for pieces about starting over.

Purple Quartz sits somewhere between Amethyst and Rock Crystal for me — the same violet calm, but lighter, more transparent. It's a good stone for someone who wants Amethyst's steadiness without quite so much weight to it.

Amazonite has this blue-green that I still haven't found the right word for — somewhere between a shallow lagoon and an overcast sky. It's traditionally tied to honest communication, which feels fitting, because it's the stone I reach for before conversations I've been putting off.

Chalcedony is the quiet one. It doesn't ask for attention the way some stones do — it just steadies you, especially on the days everything feels like too much. I paired it with amethyst because together they do two different kinds of calm: one clears your head, the other just holds you still.

I sourced our first Aquamarine from Idar-Oberstein myself, and I remember holding it up to the window and thinking it looked like a piece of the sea that had decided to stay still. It's one of the calmest colours we work with, and it's become the stone I reach for before anything that makes me nervous.

Aventurine doesn't get talked about as much as some of our other stones, and I think that's a shame, because it has this subtle shimmer that catches you off guard in the right light. It's traditionally known as a stone of quiet luck, and I like that it doesn't demand attention to do its work.

Blue Fig Quartz has a depth to its blue that feels more introspective than Blue Quartz's lighter tone — closer to dusk than daytime. It's the one I reach for before I need to say something honest.

Blue Quartz has a coolness to it that instantly settles a piece — it's quartz's clarity, just dipped in calm. I like pairing it with warmer stones for exactly that reason; it takes the edge off without dulling anything down.

Emerald has been prized for its green for thousands of years, and holding a piece, I understand why instantly — there's a depth to that colour that catches the light differently every time. It's one of the more precious stones we work with, and I treat it that way.

Green Burnt Quartz gets its rich, smoky colour from heat treatment, and I've always found that a little symbolic — a stone that's been through something and come out deeper for it. We pair it with amethyst often, because together they hold both wisdom and a bit of quiet fire.

My grandmother had a small jade pendant she never took off, and I think that's part of why I can't be neutral about this stone. It's smooth in a way that almost feels warm, even straight out of the workshop. We use it in pieces meant to last — the kind you pass on rather than replace.

Larimar comes from only one place in the world, and I remember being a little in disbelief the first time I saw a piece — that pale, cloud-marked blue looks almost unreal. It's become one of my personal favourites precisely because it's so rare; every piece feels a little bit like luck.

Prehnite is one of the quieter stones in the collection, pale green and a little translucent, and it took me a while to appreciate it — it doesn't announce itself the way some others do. Now it's one I recommend to anyone in the middle of a slow, real change.

Turquoise has been worn as protection for longer than almost any stone I know of, across more cultures than I can list, and every piece looks slightly different — no two veins of matrix are ever the same. I think that's part of why it's stayed relevant this long; it never quite repeats itself.

Turquoise Quartz borrows its colour from actual Turquoise, but has quartz's clarity underneath, which gives it a slightly different energy — brighter, a little more optimistic. I like to pair it with Citrine for pieces meant to feel like a fresh start.

Amber isn't a mineral at all — it's fossilised tree resin, sometimes millions of years old, and I still find that quietly astonishing every time a new piece comes in. It carries this warm, ancient kind of energy that I don't think any other material in our collection has.

Carnelian is the stone I reach for on days I can't seem to get moving. There's a warmth to that orange-red that genuinely feels energising, not just symbolically — I keep a piece in my studio for exactly that reason.

Citrine is often called the stone of abundance, and its warm, sunny yellow makes that easy to believe on sight. I think of it as a stone for beginnings — I gave myself a small Citrine piece the week we launched EVASIMIN, and I still have it.

Honey Jasper has a warmth that's almost edible — rich, golden-brown, deeply comforting to hold. It's the stone I think of for anyone easing back into themselves after a hard stretch, slowly, without rushing it.

Lemon Quartz is the stone I think of as quartz's answer to a good coffee — bright, clear, a little zingy. On days when I need to think fast rather than slow down, it's the one I pick up.

Sunstone is the stone I hand to people who tell me they've been feeling a bit flat. There's something about that warm, glittery orange that's hard to stay gloomy around. I keep a loose piece on my windowsill in Frankfurt, mostly because it makes grey mornings feel less grey.

Tangerine Quartz is one of the most playful stones we work with — that bright orange just makes people smile when they see it. It's the one I'd choose for someone who needs permission to have a little more fun.

Tiger Eye is one of those stones that photographs beautifully but is even better in person — the way the light moves across it when you turn your wrist. I wore a Tiger Eye piece to a meeting I was dreading once, half as a joke, and it actually helped. I've believed in it a little more ever since.

Yellow Jasper has an earthy, dependable warmth that I've come to rely on more than I expected. It's not a stone that asks for attention — it just steadies whatever it's near, including, on hard days, me.

Black Spinel surprises people — it has more sparkle in it than a black stone has any right to. I like giving it to people who are quietly rebuilding after a hard stretch; it doesn't shout about resilience, it just has it.

Hematite has a weight to it that always catches people off guard — it's heavier than it looks, almost reassuringly so. I keep a piece in my pocket on days I feel scattered; there's something about that density that pulls you back down to earth, literally.

Onyx is quietly one of the most requested stones we work with, usually by people going through something difficult. I don't think that's a coincidence — its black is so solid and matte that it feels less like decoration and more like armour you can actually wear. I like that it never tries to sparkle its way out of being serious.

Vulcanic Stone is formed under real heat and pressure, and it looks it — rough, matte, a little untamed compared to everything else we work with. I like that it doesn't try to be polished; some strength shouldn't be smoothed over.

Agate was one of the first stones I ever worked with, back before EVASIMIN had a name. I love that no two slices look the same — the banding is different every time, like the stone kept its own private record of how it formed. It's not flashy, but it's the one I trust to hold a piece together, literally and otherwise.

Ammonite is technically a fossil, millions of years old, spiralled into the exact same shape you find throughout the rest of nature. Every time I hold one I'm reminded that some things really do come full circle, eventually, even when it doesn't feel like it at the time.

Coral carries real history in it — shaped slowly by the sea, ethically sourced with a lot of care on our end because that matters to me. I think of it as a quiet nod to everything that came before whoever's wearing it.

I love Multicolor Quartz precisely because it refuses to be one thing — every strand is its own small assembly of colour, put together rather than born that way. It's less about a single stone's meaning and more about the whole: variety held together as its own kind of harmony.

Ocean Jasper looks like something pulled straight from a tide pool, and every single piece is swirled differently — no two are ever alike. I love that unpredictability; it reminds me that good things don't always arrive on schedule.