Ask a trained designer for a ring and you will usually get two drawings, not one: the top view, showing length and width, and a side view drawn directly below it, showing width and height. The pairing is not a stylistic choice — the two views are constructed from shared guidelines so that every important detail lines up perfectly between them. Converting top to side is one of the first real skills of jewellery design drawing, and it follows a procedure.

The guidelines do the work

The side view uses exactly the same guidelines as the top view, extended downward: 90-degree guidelines projected 4 to 5 cm below the top view, with the finger-hole guidelines extended down alongside them. Because both views sit on the same vertical construction lines, a stone positioned at the top of the ring in plan stays perfectly aligned in elevation — and the finger hole, which never changes from one view to another, anchors the whole construction.

The procedure, in order

First, draw the finger hole: a circle centred exactly on the 90-degree guideline of the side view, fitted within the finger-hole lines. Second, the shank — always the first part of the ring to consider in side view. Look carefully at the top view, determine the shank's shape (flat, half-round or knife-edge, as covered in drawing rings to scale), and transfer the metal's thickness from the drawing. Third, work out the major forms of the top: understand the shape of the ring's upper structure and bring its relevant parts down to their intended heights. The order matters — follow it and, as the training materials put it, with the right guidelines you can hardly go wrong.

The toolkit is small and specific

The professional checklist for side-view work is short: a mechanical pencil with 2H lead, a triangle template with millimetre ruler, an extra template for aligning lines, an erasing shield with eraser, and white paper. Hard lead and templates are what keep construction lines faint, straight and accurate — the drawing equivalent of clean file work at the bench.

Practice under the clock

Training closes with a timed worksheet: a sheet of top-view designs to convert, from which the learner selects three favourites, prepares side-view guidelines for all three, and completes the conversions before time expires — then keeps going with more designs if minutes remain. The repetition is the point: side view “can be easy”, the guide insists, once the procedure is automatic. That fluency is exactly what a designer needs at the counter, sketching live variations on tracing paper while the customer watches — the full workflow taught in the technical drawing and counter-sketching course, and the doorway into drawing gemstone settings.

Ask a jeweller how to set a stone and the answer starts with a second question: which stone, and how will it be worn? The two workhorse answers are the prong setting — claws of metal rising over the stone to grip it — and the bezel setting — a continuous wall of metal wrapped around the stone's edge. They are not rivals so much as specialisations, and understanding the trade-offs is part of learning to read setting styles.

What a prong setting is

In a prong setting, several narrow posts of metal stand up from the piece and are bent over the stone's crown to hold it against a seat. Nothing covers the stone except those small contact points, so light enters from virtually every angle — which is why brilliant-cut faceted stones so often live in prongs. The classic jewellery-school version is the pedestal prong pendant: the setter rolls wire to exact measurements, forms the different wire shapes, files and solders the base and bail, then prepares and solders the prongs individually before the stone is ever seated.

What a bezel setting is

A bezel skips the claws entirely: a strip of metal is formed into a ring around the stone, soldered to the base, and then burnished inward over the stone's edge until the wall hugs the girdle all the way round. The full-perimeter contact is the point — the stone is held by pressure along its entire edge rather than at a few points. The technique and its step-by-step process are covered in how to bezel set a cabochon.

Light versus protection

The trade is straightforward. Prongs maximise light entry and show more of the stone, but they leave the girdle exposed — a hard knock can catch the edge, and over years a prong can wear, loosen or snag. A bezel trades some light for security: the edge is fully enclosed, the setting is kind to fragile stones and to wearers who are hard on their hands, and there is no claw to catch on clothing. Cabochons — domed stones without faceted pavilions — sit naturally in bezels; brilliant-cut stones usually want prongs.

What each demands of the maker

A prong setting is soldering-intensive and unforgiving of measurement: every post must be placed, sized and finished before setting, and the seat cut so the stone sits level with even pressure from each claw. A bezel demands metal control instead — forming the strip to the stone's exact outline and closing the wall evenly without gouging the stone. Both are taught as complete projects in the intermediate metalsmithing curriculum at JDMIS, where the Traditional Metalsmithing 2 course pairs the pedestal prong pendant with bezel-set pieces so learners meet both disciplines of holding a stone.

Choosing in practice

In practice the decision usually makes itself. Daily-wear rings lean bezel or half-bezel for protection; display pieces and faceted stones lean prong for sparkle; mixed pieces combine both. If you are designing rather than making, it helps to know how settings evolved and what each era favoured — see gemstone settings through the ages — and if you are making, both techniques begin with the same foundations: clean soldering, honest filing, and the patience to finish properly before the stone goes in.

Before a single gem is chosen, a custom ring exists as a drawing — and in a professional workshop that drawing is held to an unforgiving standard: actual size, accurate to the millimetre. A ring drawn out of scale is not a sketch, it is a future problem. If the design goes to production at the wrong size, the cost of re-sizing falls on the store or the designer, and the customer still waits or wears an uncomfortable piece. Here is how the professionals build a ring drawing that can survive the bench.

Start from the finger, in the right system

Rings are sized like clothing and shoes: the numbering differs by country of origin. The numbers used in Hong Kong differ from Japan, and both differ from other systems — so the first professional habit is confirming which sizing system a measurement refers to before any guideline is drawn. The guideline circles for the customer's finger size are the foundation of the whole drawing: the design is laid over these lines, which is what keeps the finished sketch in true proportion to the eventual piece.

Measure what the finger will actually wear

Training begins with observation: real rings, a triangle template, and width measurements in millimetres at the top and the bottom of each ring. Two questions do the teaching — is any width wider than the lower section of the finger, and are all rings the same width from top to bottom? They are not, and the reasons (comfort, knuckle clearance, style) are exactly the considerations a designer weighs when setting the width of a new band on paper.

The three shank styles

Top view is the most common view to begin any ring design, showing the object's length and width. From this view every ring starts from one of three common shank styles, which look strikingly different in profile: the flat shank, the half-round shank and the knife-edge shank. Length is measured equally outward from both finger-hole lines — the length being the furthest outside point of the ring — and each style's geometry then determines how the band reads on the hand. These are the base forms on which every elaboration is built; see the major forms of jewellery design drawing for how they fit the wider drawing curriculum.

Tracing paper: the professional variation machine

Customers want options, and the fastest way to produce them is not to redraw guidelines on fresh paper for each idea. The professional method: draw the guidelines once, then sketch directly onto tracing paper laid over them. The sheet shifts as many times as needed, producing variation after variation in perfect scale while the customer watches — and while the designer asks questions, drawing the client into the selection. It is counter-sketching as a conversation, not a performance. The approach pairs naturally with the structured methods in the elements of jewellery design.

A real brief, drawn

The training culminates in a full customer scenario: a client with a named deadline, an occasion, a budget context and — crucially — a stone he already owns (a cat's eye chrysoberyl bought abroad). From greeting to finished scale drawing, the designer converts a conversation into guidelines, shank choice, stone placement and variations on tracing paper, exactly as covered in how to become a jewellery designer in Singapore. To see where gems enter the picture at the bench, continue with how to draw gemstone settings — and for the full study pathway, the technical drawing and counter-sketching course teaches this workflow in full.

Not every join in a piece of jewellery needs a flame. Cold connections are mechanical joins — rivets, eyelets, tabs and stitches — that hold parts together with nothing but carefully fitted metal. They are among the oldest solutions in the jeweller's workshop, and they remain the right answer whenever heat would do more harm than good.

When a jeweller chooses not to solder

The obvious case is heat-sensitive material. Wood, shell, horn, acrylic, pearls and most gemstones cannot survive soldering temperatures, so any design that combines them with metal must be joined cold. Enamelled surfaces are another no-fire zone: a second trip through the torch would destroy glass that has already been fused.

Cold connections also solve problems that soldering creates rather than solves. Some combinations of dissimilar metals resist solder or corrode at the seam. And a row of neat rivets can be a design feature in its own right — a visible, deliberate line of stitches in metal that gives the piece structure and ornament at once. Deciding when to use a cold connection instead of a solder seam is itself a design skill, and it is one of the projects in the intermediate Traditional Metalsmithing 2 course at JDMIS, where learners build a complete cold-connection piece from planning to flush-set gemstone.

Preparation: parts, design transfer and texture

A cold connection only works if the parts are prepared properly. Each layer is fabricated, filed clean and fitted so the surfaces meet flat — gaps that a solder seam could fill become wobble and misalignment in a riveted piece. The design is then transferred to the metal so that hole positions land exactly where planned on every layer, which is the difference between a rivet that pulls a piece together and one that fights it.

This is also the natural moment to add texture. Roll printing — running a patterned or shaped object through the rolling mill with the metal — presses a permanent relief into the surface before any holes are drilled. It is an optional step in the cold-connection project, and one of the fastest ways to turn a flat blank into something that reads as designed rather than cut out.

Rivets and eyelets

The workhorse of the family is the rivet: a short length of wire passed through matching holes in the layers, then flattened on both ends so the heads clamp the stack together. Done well, the process is unforgiving in a satisfying way. The wire must fill its hole snugly — a loose rivet is a failed rivet — and is trimmed to stand only slightly proud of each surface. The piece rests on a steel block so the hammering has something to push against, and the blows fall evenly from both sides, so the two heads grow at the same rate and the stack stays under equal pressure. Because the heads are formed by hammering, the maker controls how big, how flat and how decorative they become. Eyelets are the hollow cousins — short tubes flared outward at each end with a setting punch — and they read as tidy rings on the surface while doing the same clamping job, with the added option of passing a cord, a jump ring or a second layer through the opening.

Planning the location of each connection is the real craft. Rivets placed on a visual axis look intentional; rivets scattered wherever the drill happened to land look like repairs. In the workshop the sequence is deliberate: clean up the parts, decide the connection points as part of the design, then rivet — first in demonstration, then on your own piece.

Invisible rivets

Sometimes the join should disappear. An invisible rivet is set below the surface of the metal: the hole is countersunk, the rivet is formed, and the seat is filled and finished flush so that nothing shows but clean metal. The piece holds together exactly as if it had been soldered, but no heat ever touched it — which is what makes the technique invaluable when the design includes material that must never see a flame.

Finishing — and a stone, cold-set

Final finishing brings the layers to one even surface, blends the rivet heads and removes every mark that the process picked up along the way. And because the piece was joined cold, it can stay cold to the very end: the project finishes with a flush-set gemstone, a stone secured in a burnished seat in the metal with no heat and no prongs — a small, satisfying proof of how complete a no-torch piece can be.

Cold connections sit inside a bigger picture of how jewellery is made: some pieces are cast, some are built from sheet and wire with solder, and some — the ones that mix materials or show their structure proudly — are joined by pure mechanics. If that distinction interests you beyond reading, the foundation metalsmithing course covers the bench basics, and cold connections are taught as a full project in Traditional Metalsmithing 2.