Provenance

This is where we share what usually stays inside the studio walls – the trials, mistakes and small decisions that shape each box, talisman and piece we release. Not as a step-by-step manual, but as quiet notes on why things feel the way they do in your hand: the paper we chose, the friction of a drawer, the weight of a bead, the way a form sits on a table or against the body. If you’ve ever wondered what goes into the objects you keep, this is where we lay that thinking open.

The Husk Collection

Journal 01

The Boxes Stories of how our objects come to be.

The "CACAO" Edition Box

There are boxes you throw away, and boxes you decide to keep.
The Husk Collection belongs to the second kind.

It began with a question we couldn’t shake in the studio: if our jewellery is quiet and sculptural, why should the box feel anonymous? So we moved towards papers with husk in them, materials that keep tiny speckles and soft grain from where they once came.

Folded into our drawer shape, they give each box a slower, more satisfying slide and a calm, matte presence that feels at home on a bedside table or desk. It’s still packaging, but it’s also a small object in its own right, something you can live with, reuse, and feel quietly good about every time you reach for what’s inside.

Every box in The Husk Collection follows this language: understated, tactile, and made to be kept and reused, not simply opened once and discarded. The first chapter in this family is The Cacao Box.

Choosing the cacao

The Cacao Box: the first box in The Husk Collection had to feel familiar and new at the same time. Familiar enough to sit quietly with our jewellery. New enough to remind us why we rebuilt the box in the first place. For us, that starting point was cacao.

The paper we use for this box is made with cocoa bean skins, the thin outer layer separated from the beans during chocolate production. Instead of being treated purely as waste, those skins are finely ground and added into the paper pulp. When we discovered this stock, the appeal was immediate: a warm brown tone with tiny natural speckles running through it. The brown and black dots you see on the box are exactly that, traces of cocoa, now part of the sheet itself, not a printed effect.

From there, our work began: turning that paper into a box that felt good in the hand.

Our previous smooth boxes looked clean, but the drawer sometimes slid out too quickly and felt a little too light. With the cacao paper, the gentle grain on the surface added a small but important change: friction. The drawer moves with a slower, more controlled slide, instead of rushing open. It’s a small moment, but it makes the act of opening the box feel more deliberate and satisfying

We didn’t get it right on the first try. We sampled different paper weights and constructions, rejecting versions that dragged too much or slipped too easily. We looked at how the box behaved full, empty, stacked, and handled again and again.

So we tested it the way you would actually live with it:

Under midday light on a desk.

Next to a lamp at night.

Against the suede of our pouches.

In stacks on a studio shelf.

The mark on the lid

We knew we wanted our name on the box, but we didn’t want it to be the first thing you see. On the lid, our mark stays quiet. The logo is pressed into the paper, only catching the light at certain angles. You see the form and texture first; the branding comes later.

In the end, we chose a pressed mark that only appears when the light finds it at the right angle. At a glance, you see the form and the speckles first. The logo comes later, almost as a detail you discover over time. It’s a small decision, but it follows the same thinking as our pieces: the person comes first, the brand sits in the background.

We didn’t design the Cacao Edition Box for a single unboxing moment. We designed it to stay – on a bedside table, on a desk, in a drawer you open every day. Maybe it keeps the pieces you wear on rotation; maybe it ends up holding small things you don’t want to lose. Either way, our hope is that every time you slide it open, you can feel that someone thought carefully about even this part of your experience.

If we care this much about the box, you can imagine how seriously we take everything inside it.

Journal 2

The "Olive" Edition Box

Some stories begin in a factory. This one begins in an olive grove.

Each year, across the Mediterranean, olive trees are harvested for their oil. Nets are laid under the branches, fruit is shaken loose, and the olives travel to the mill. There, they are washed, crushed and turned into a dense, fragrant paste – peel, pulp, stone and juice all together in one moving mass.

From that paste, extra virgin olive oil is separated out: the part we know, buy, pour, and store in our kitchens. What remains after this first pressing is something far less celebrated: a heavy, dark by-product made of broken peel, pulp fibres and tiny fragments of stone. It is rich in story but poor in obvious use. Traditionally, it goes on to be pressed again for a lower-grade oil, or burned, or treated simply as waste.

Yet even after that second life, something is still left behind: a dry, fibrous material known as de-oiled pomace. It is quiet, spent, and easily overlooked. This is the point where, in most stories, the curtain would fall.

Ours continues.

Instead of discarding the de-oiled pomace, it is collected and brought into a different kind of mill – one that works not with oil, but with paper. The material is carefully dried and micronised: ground down into a soft, powder-fine form that can be blended with traditional paper pulp. In this process, a portion of virgin tree cellulose is replaced by these olive residues, folding what the world nearly threw away back into a new sheet of ecological paper.

If you look closely at The Olive Edition Box, you can see those origins on the surface. The tiny speckles that move across the warm olive tone are not decoration printed on top; they are the quiet traces of what once lay under the trees and passed through the presses. The colour itself feels like it remembers the grove: sun-touched, grounded, neither too bright nor too flat.

From olive grove to box

We designed The Olive Edition Box with restraint, out of respect for how much has already happened before it reaches us. The form is a low, architectural drawer, wrapped in matte olive, with a long, slender MYJN wordmark stretched across the lid. There is no hardware, no extra framing, no unnecessary layers. The seam of the drawer and the proportions of the box do most of the work.

On a table, shelf or bedside, it reads less like “packaging” and more like a small, deliberate object that simply arrived with jewellery inside. The olive tone sits easily among books, ceramics, glass and wood. It doesn’t shout for attention; it waits, and becomes familiar.

For us, this box belongs to the same family as our Cacao Edition – what we call our Husk boxes. The idea is simple: begin with what the world almost leaves behind, and see how far you can carry it. From grove to mill, from by-product to paper, from paper to box, and finally from box to the place it finds in your home.

When you open The Olive Edition Box for the first time, you are meeting the last step of that journey. Jewellery sits inside, ready to move into your everyday life. But the box itself is not meant to exit the story once the lid has been lifted.

From this paper, the Olive box begins

It is made to stay.

You might keep the pieces you reach for most often inside it. You might move it to your desk to hold notes and paper clips, or to your bedside for rings, receipts and quiet things you don’t want to misplace. Over time, fingerprints, tiny scuffs and shifting contents will write their own, softer layer of history over the surface of that olive paper.

In the end, The Olive Edition Box is a small square of colour that carries a long chain of decisions: to harvest, to press, to look again at what is left, to mill it, to fold it into paper, and finally to shape it into an object that is calm enough to live with every day.