The watch channels this subtlety and nuance, where each strand of the leopards’ conspicuous spots, or singular green
leaves, appear to quiver in the breeze. The scene is painted on a porcelain dial, a feat in itself where precision
and science precede the art. Porcelain dials have their own painstaking magic — they’re ultimately shiny and
translucent yet also steely and strong, and the material must first be formulated from a strict recipe of quartz,
feldspar, kaolin powder and water. After casting into dial-shaped moulds, the dial undergoes its first of many
firings — the primer, at 1,000°C, hardens the base as a second one, at 1,300°C, vitrifies the porcelain.
The next task is composing the individual colours — through mixing enamel powder and pine oil — with many of the hues
specific only to Blancpain. Only then does the painting commence, using impossibly tiny brushes, some no more than a
single hair, as more firings at 1,200°C set each shade. Summa summarum, it’s a laborious, time-consuming
and rather nail-biting process, where any breakage — these are wafer-thin dials, after all — means starting again
from scratch.
If miniature enamel painting is fascinating in how, to use Hayek’s words, “artisans are able to fashion miniature
worlds within the ‘micro’ dimension of a watch dial”, the beauty of the second clouded-leopard watch lies in the
mercurial nature of shakudō. Dating back to 700AD Japan, shakudō (which literally means red and
copper) is a metalworking technique that transforms gold-copper alloy from its natural tones — yellow,
orange, bronze — to a delicate and refined black-grey. Most famously used to decorate katanasamurai swords,
shakudō’s varying tones reveal themselves through a series of warm chemical baths of rokushō, a Japanese chemical
compound featuring copper acetate. It is a trial-and-error process whose end-goal is a wonderful surprise. “Although
we master the technique, the final result is not 100 per cent predictable,” Hayek says. “And the variations in hues
between chestnut brown, blue and black obtained with the shakudō process feature a remarkable richness that is
unique to this art.”
Complemented by a 45mm red-gold case and the hand-wound 15B calibre, the clouded leopard here is more intense than
its enamelled sisters: shakudō brings forth a medley of earthy, autumnal tones that compose a luxuriant woodland
scene, as the clouded leopard lies in wait, prepared to pounce at only the moment she knows. The dial harnesses a
real play of light that will look completely different under, say, the sun-soaked light of dusk or resting at your
screen-lit desk, while its three-dimensionality mesmerises. This is achieved through the complementary metiers
d’artcrafts of gold appliqué hand-engraving and damascening, where gold filaments are
hammered into hand-engraved troughs, making the likes of inlaid, silk-like whiskers come to life in both texture and
depth.
Mysterious in both its ways and whereabouts, the Formosan clouded leopard, Hayek says, is “an important symbol in the
collective consciousness of the Taiwanese”. As it happens, as this issue of The Rake went to print, the
pair of watches were sold, snapped up by a discerning private collector — which, for the rest of us, sadly quashes
any chance of seeing these metiers d’art beauties any time soon. I’m sure the ethereal
and elusive Formosan clouded leopard wouldn’t have wanted it any other way…
You can also view this feature in Issue 74 of The Rake - on newsstands now.
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