My earliest memories are not of toys, but of treasures tucked in my father's palm—a geode split open to reveal a universe of crystals, a piece of obsidian cooler than the mountain air. He’d say, "Listen, Viv. Every stone has a voice."

For years, I forgot how to hear it. In a world of polished perfection and relentless noise, that quiet conversation with the earth faded. Until I found myself lost, not in the wilderness, but in my own life.

I returned to the desert, to the silence where the only sound is your own heartbeat. There, with dust on my skin and the vast sky overhead, I picked up a rough, unassuming cluster of amethyst. Its points were uneven, its surface frosted with the passage of millennia. In that raw, untouched form, I felt it—a deep, humming calm. The voice my father spoke of.

That was the awakening. I realized true beauty isn't crafted; it’s revealed. It’s in the raw crackle of a crystal’s surface, the mysterious garden within a moss agate, the quiet strength of a shape formed by time alone.

So I began CORAIV. My hands now seek only what the Earth has already finished. I design not to alter, but to honor—to cradle these ancient fragments in simple, thoughtful settings that set their native soul free.

Each piece I choose holds a stillness. When you wear it, that stillness becomes yours. It’s a whisper from the depths of the world, a reminder that the most profound peace is the one we find already growing within, waiting to be uncovered.

This is my story. But the stone in your hand? That is its own. And it’s just beginning to speak to you. 

Behind the Scenes: The Quiet Ritual

People often ask me, “Where does a CORAIV piece begin?”

It begins long before it reaches your hands. It begins in the stillness before dawn, with a cup of tea and a tray of crystals bathed in morning light. This is my most sacred time. No sketches, no tools—just observation.

My studio isn't what you might imagine. There are no roaring machines, no assembly lines. It’s a sunlit space where the only soundtrack is the wind chime outside the window and the soft clink of stone against my worktable. Every surface holds a story in progress: a selenite wand waiting for its perfect setting, a family of druzy agates sunbathing on the sill.

The selection is an intuitive conversation. I don’t choose crystals; they choose me. A smoky quartz might feel grounding for days when the world feels too fast. A piece of raw rose quartz, with its gentle, scarred surface, whispers of heart healing. I spend hours, sometimes days, with a single stone, turning it in my hands, understanding its weight, its energy, its hidden facets. The design must come from the stone itself—a delicate prong to showcase a natural termination, a fluid silver form that mirrors the crystal's organic flow.

Then comes the hands-on alchemy. The silver is melted, shaped, and sculpted to embrace, never to constrain. My favorite part is the final union, when metal and mineral meet. It’s not an imposition of will, but a marriage of equals. The silver becomes a humble pedestal, a silent frame for a masterpiece millions of years in the making.

Before any piece leaves, it sits on my desk. I hold it one last time, charging it with a final intention: that it may be a touchstone of peace for its new keeper. I imagine it journeying from my quiet studio into someone’s life, a solid anchor in a fluid world.

This behind-the-scenes world is slow, deliberate, and deeply personal. It’s the antithesis of mass production. Every scratch on my workbench, every worn spot on my favorite leather apron, tells of this commitment. Here, in the quiet, the real magic happens—not the creating of beauty, but the careful, loving act of revealing what has always been there.