Stage 2: Chain Linkages — When Plans A, B, and C Failed

This week felt like a turning point. For a while now, the apprenticeship has been moving forward in a way that did not always look like progress from the outside. There were parts on the bench, assemblies in motion, and a lot of time going into work that still had not crossed the line. This week, that changed. Two Stage 2 pieces finally came together, and the path there was a good reminder that finishing a project is rarely as simple as it looks from a distance.

The first major finish was the bicycle chain ring. By the time I got to final assembly, most of the fabrication had already been done, but that did not mean the piece was ready. A few of the tube rivets had to be replaced. One was too short and did not look right. Another split. One of the link plates was slightly off in its dimensions, and that small discrepancy was enough to make the chain read as crooked. So I took it apart, checked everything carefully, measured again, corrected what needed correcting, and rebuilt it.

That happened more than once.

It was not my favorite part of the week, but it was necessary, and it paid off. In the end, the ring came together smoothly. That was one of the best moments at the bench this week: seeing all those separate parts finally behave as one piece. It looked right, and just as importantly, it articulated properly. For kinetic jewelry, that is the test. A piece like that cannot merely resemble the idea. It has to move the way it was meant to move.

Bench notes from the week: the bicycle chain ring finally on the hand, the tube-link bracelet finished and in motion, Chico inspecting both, and the improvised Plan D that turned a solid piece of silver into the seamless tube rivet that got the catch over the line.

The tube-link bracelet brought a different kind of challenge. Most of the bracelet itself was already there. The links were assembled, the movement was good, and the final remaining task was the sister hook catch. The trouble came down to one tiny structural detail. The two halves of the catch had to be joined with a very short tube rivet, roughly 2.8 millimeters long. That small piece stopped the whole project.

Plan A was to use the chenier tube I had already made. On paper, that should have solved the problem immediately. In practice, it failed at once. Because the tube had a soldered seam, the seam became the weak point. The moment I started flaring the end, it split. I tried again. Same result. Plan A was dead.

Plan B was the obvious fallback: order the proper seamless sterling silver tube from a supplier. I did that, but the tube was still at least a week away. Fine as a backup, but not much help if I wanted to finish the bracelet now.

Plan C was more ambitious. I tried to forge a seamless tube from a round disc of silver, working it down into a domed hollow form that I hoped to draw further. I did manage to create a dome with an opening, but I could not get it down to a size that made the next step practical. That plan stalled out.

Which left Plan D.

Plan D was the sort of idea that sounds questionable until it works. I took a solid piece of silver, mounted it in a handheld drill, and used the drill like a rough little lathe. With files and abrasive sticks, I milled the outside down to a round shape. Then I drilled through the center, opening the hole progressively until I had the dimensions I needed. It was not elegant. It was not standard. But it worked.

That was probably the most satisfying problem-solving moment of the week. Not just because it solved the bracelet, but because it drove home something important: not every bench problem can be solved by looking it up. Sometimes there is no tidy answer online. Sometimes you have to think your way through the problem with the tools and material in front of you.

Once that tube was made, the rest of the catch went together easily. The bracelet was finished. And just like that, two pieces crossed the line in the same week.

More than anything, this week proved three things to me. First, the discipline is there. I put in my four hours at the bench every day, and that consistency is starting to show in the work. Second, simple-looking steps can hide real technical complexity. And third, I am finally bringing projects to completion. After a long stretch of effort that mostly looked like buildup, I now have something concrete to show for it. Two finished pieces, one hard-won solution, and another week of the apprenticeship properly lived.