Celsius 273 is concrete jewellery. It is a synthesis of thoughts and visual expression, urban architecture that fits into the palm of your hand. Each piece of our jewellery hides its own story. A story that we are inherently familiar with, a story that we breathe into and live through. A story that belongs to the city. Small details give sense to memories, experiences and desires yet to be discovered and people yet to be met. Concrete streets and sleeping volcanos about to erupt within us give rise to the sketches of cities that fit in between your fingers, warming your skin and reminding you that life is intertwined in the concrete metropolitan walls that safeguard a myriad of inspirations. And this one, this is our inspiration to create lives and moments that would preserve a small part of this story of urban architecture in ourselves for all eternity.
We take inspiration from the dust of mists that tickle your skin as the sun rises. Life filled to the brim with water frozen in the vastness of the horizon sails on the wings of the northern winds. You take a gulp of air into your lungs and stop for a moment. Your very own entity quivers and flits away, leaving behind a fragment of the city in your frozen body. Desperately, you yearn to blend into this urban landscape and yet… have you ever asked yourself what is it all for? What are these sleepless nights spent looking for your inner self in the darkest of the shadows for? Lost glances, searching for a reason to live, for a reason to… love. You inhale the city dust throbbing with artificiality, dulling your mind, involuntarily and unconditionally shaping it into a stereotype that drowns you in lethargy. What are you seeking in this reverberating void? We smile at each other with unseeing eyes and create urban utopias by constantly lulling our memories, suppressing them to the ground and into the depths of our subconsciousness. We base our faith on lies and we pray to idols that have sullied the hope held by others. And then, we justify our sins with conversations, confessions and tears. We use the imperfect nature of man to measure our responsibility and continue playing with our fates. Oh, my dear man, we are jugglers. I am endlessly fascinated with our ability to scorn and love at the same time, to attempt to break away and yet to crave to stay. Even if most of us spend the nights counting teardrops falling from our cheeks and running in salty rivers across our pillows, it is us that create urban stories. It is us who breathe in the smoke and disappear into the horizon heady from the sleepless starlit darkness.