Mr. Hader — Beda’a’s founder — didn’t show me this watch before its release. Not even a glimpse.

Which, if you read any other article of mine about Beda’a, usually means one thing: it’s gonna be epic. There’s no halfway presentation, no “what do you think of this direction?” moment. We’ve had enough conversations over our friendship, going back to my time in Dubai, for me to recognize when something is being built with intent versus when it’s playing safe or extending something that’s usual. That silence already framed the watch before even seeing it. Even the teaser video was dreamy.

Because the Angles Guichets is not an isolated release. It sits inside a short but already structured trajectory for the brand, and more specifically for the Angles line, which has become Beda’a’s core design platform in under three years. What’s important to understand is that this is not just “a new model with a complication.” It’s the first time the Angles architecture is forced to deal with the constraints of an aperture display, which is a completely different problem than a central-hand or small seconds watch.

The Angles case is already established at this point. You’re dealing with a 37 mm format, but more importantly a multi-plane octagonal construction with three distinct stepped levels. It’s not a flat octagon in the Gérald Genta sense, and it’s not trying to echo the Royal Oak or Nautilus lineage. The geometry is sharper, more segmented, and it integrates the lugs into the case body in a way that removes the visual break you typically rely on to reset proportions. That becomes critical here because once you remove hands and most dial furniture, the case becomes the primary and only visual regulator of the watch.

Previous Angles executions had hands, a clear hierarchy between dial and case, and enough familiar elements to stabilize the composition. With the Guichets, that hierarchy disappears. The dial becomes a surface with two apertures, and everything else has to carry meaning through proportion, alignment, and negative space. This is where Sohaib Maghnam’s involvement becomes obvious, not in a superficial way, but in how controlled the watch feels. He is Beda’a director and designer after all.

If you’ve followed his work under his own name, you already know he doesn’t design in a “traditional” fashion. His watches are about geometry, futuristic elements, and a very deliberate use of empty space. That language translates directly here, but under much tighter constraints, because aperture watches are unforgiving.

Historically, they’ve always been a niche within watchmaking. Early 20th century pocket and wristwatch executions experimented with digital-style displays, but it’s really with pieces like the Cartier Tank à Guichets that the format becomes codified. You reduce the watch to windows, remove hands entirely, and force time to be read through apertures alone. Later interpretations, like the Audemars Piguet Star Wheel or F.P. Journe Vagabondage, take that concept further mechanically, but they all share the same constraint: once you remove hands, the case is everything. Alignment, spacing, and motion all become immediately visible.

Beda’a approaches this through a relatively low-key technical base, which is where things get more interesting than they first appear. They’re using a modified Peseux 7001, one of the most respected ultra-thin hand-wound calibres still in circulation. At around 2.5 mm thickness, it has been used across independent watchmaking precisely because it offers a stable, slim foundation. A characteristic of the Angles collection. 

Here, the gear train has been modified to run on a 24-hour cycle, effectively halving the rotational speed of the hour wheel. That changes the behavior of the entire system. When you alter ratios like that, especially in a manually wound calibre with a 42 hour power reserve, torque distribution becomes a real consideration. And that’s before accounting for the fact that you’re now driving discs instead of hands, which introduces additional inertia.

The display itself confirms that this is not a traditional jump hour watch. The upper aperture uses a continuous 24-hour disc where the sun and moon travel across a scale from 6 AM to 6 PM, then transition into night. Mechanically, this places the watch closer to a rotating disc display than to an instantaneous jumping system. There’s no sharp jump, no snappy transition. Instead, the indication is progressive, almost imperceptible, which aligns with the conceptual approach of the watch.

The lower aperture handles the minutes unconventionally. The disc moves, while a fixed arrow integrated into the dial serves as the reference point. This inversion, where the indicator remains static and the scale moves, is simple in principle but extremely sensitive in execution. Any play in the disc or inconsistency in alignment becomes immediately visible. Beda’a limits the display to five-minute increments, which is not a shortcut but a necessary constraint given the scale and the visual language of the watch. With apertures this reduced and a dial this closed, legibility depends on restraint.

The dial itself plays a bigger role than it might initially seem. It’s not a flat surface but a closed structure that follows the geometry of the case. Without that relief, the watch would collapse visually. By introducing depth through form rather than additional elements, the watch maintains its profile while still offering a sense of structure. 

Contextually, Beda’a occupies a very specific position. It’s part of a small but increasingly relevant group of Middle Eastern independent brands that are not just assembling watches, but building identifiable design languages. That distinction matters. For a long time, the region has been associated with consumption of high horology, not production. Brands like Beda’a are shifting that narrative, and they’re doing it through consistency rather than isolated releases.

The Angles collection has already demonstrated that it resonates with collectors. Limited executions selling out within 24 hours is not just a marketing point, it’s an indication that the design language is understood and accepted. Introducing a complication into that framework is always a risk, because it can easily disrupt what made the original pieces work. Here, that balance is maintained.

Which naturally leads to the question of positioning, and inevitably, the GPHG. At around 1,800 CHF, the Angles Guichets sits in a segment that has historically been competitive, particularly in categories focused on time-only or light complications. What works in its favor is not mechanical complexity in the traditional sense, but clarity of concept. The watch has a defined objective and follows it through without unnecessary additions. That kind of coherence tends to resonate with juries when it’s executed properly.

Sohaib Maghnam’s role in this shouldn’t be reduced to aesthetics. The constraints imposed by the Angles case, the modified 7001 architecture, and the demands of an aperture display mean that every decision is interconnected. If you look at his independent work, the same principles appear consistently: controlled geometry, careful use of space, and a refusal to rely on decorative shortcuts. Check out the new Moharib piece. Here, those principles are applied within the structure of a brand that already has its own identity, which is a more complex exercise than designing from scratch.

The Angles Guichets is clear and strong competitor in the indies scene. It operates in a more interesting space, where design discipline, mechanical adaptation, and price positioning intersect. At 1,800 CHF, you’re entering a range where comparisons become unavoidable, from Nomos complications to other entry-level independents. What Beda’a offers here is not finishing excess or mechanical spectacle, but a controlled integration of design and mechanics that is rarely this resolved at this level.

Beda’a has been on the magazine before, and it will stay there. Not out of familiarity, but because it’s one of the few young brands that is actually building something coherent over time. The Angles Guichets doesn’t try to redefine the aperture watch. It simply shows that Beda’a understands exactly what it’s doing, and more importantly, where it’s going.

Specs: 

• Movement: modified Peseux 7001 for 24-hour day and night indication, hand wound.
• Dimensions: 34 x 37 x 6.3 mm (L x W x H)
• Case Material: 316L stainless steel with a matching buckle.
• Dial: lacquered, 24-hour cycle.
• Hands: Sun and Moon indicators, Day and Night, polished
• Water resistance: 3 ATM
• Sapphire crystal
• Strap: calfskin leather, embossed,stitched.
• Reference: BQAS0526-37
• Swiss Made

Visit bedaawatches.com to discover the new collection.

I kept going back to the Sero Signature more than I expected, and that’s a huge compliment. It’s one of those watches that only starts to make sense once you begin placing it against other things you already know, once you start measuring it mentally against references that defined this category in the first place. Not to say that it’s « du vu et revu » as in something we’ve seen before, but to hammer down my point that there’s a clear respect of the traditional way of doing things.

Because whether Sero intended it or not, this watch lives in a space that’s already been written. You don’t approach Breguet numerals, a slim manually wound profile, and a restrained case without inevitably entering the orbit of watches like the Patek Philippe Calatrava ref. 96, the Vacheron Constantin ref. 6073, or even more modern reinterpretations like the F.P. Journe Chronomètre Bleu. Different price brackets, different intentions, but the same underlying language. Again, a compliment.

And that’s where the Signature becomes interesting. Not because it competes with those watches (it doesn’t) but because it clearly understands the framework they established.

The case proportions are the first indicator. 37.5mm is the easy number to read (sweet!), but the 46.5mm lug-to-lug is where the watch really positions itself. It stretches just enough to avoid that compact, almost fragile stance you get with smaller Calatrava-style pieces. It wears more like certain oversized references from the 40s, where lugs carried more visual weight and extended the watch across the wrist. It’s a subtle shift, but it changes the entire posture of the watch.

The 9.5mm thickness is exactly where it should be, and that’s largely due to the Sellita SW210-1. There’s nothing mind blowing about that movement, but from a construction standpoint, it’s coherent. Around 3.35mm in height, manual winding, stable architecture. It allows the case to remain slim without forcing the watch into ultra-thin territory, which often introduces compromises in durability or water resistance; AKA having to take it off to wash your hand. The 100 meters rating here is not just a spec, it tells you the case has been built with actual use in mind. 

But to get into the main part, the dial is where Sero takes a more deliberate position.

Engraving the numerals directly into the dial instead of printing or applying them changes the reading entirely. From a horological perspective, you move from surface decoration to taking away from the material itself. The numerals exist as negative space, and that means light behaves differently. You don’t get the crisp contrast of printed lacquer or the shadow line of applied markers. Instead, you get something more variable, more dependent on angle and intensity.

This is closer, in spirit, to how traditional guilloché dials interact with light, although achieved through machining rather than hand-turned patterns. The vertical brushing underneath adds a directional grain, which keeps the dial from becoming too static while maintaining control over reflections. It’s a measured approach. 

The consistency of execution is what stands out here. The chemin de fer, the numerals, even the signature text all follow the same engraved logic. That avoids the common issue where different techniques compete on the same dial, printed tracks next to applied markers next to stamped logos. Here, everything is resolved within the same surface.

The handset is another area where the watch holds together, and honestly the first thing I noticed. Heat-blued spade hands, correctly dimensioned, doing exactly what they’re supposed to do. The minute hand reaches the track with precision, which is something you’d expect, but not something you always get. The hour hand sits cleanly within the numeral ring, and the seconds hand remains visually light. 

It’s basic watchmaking discipline, but it’s often where watches lose coherence.

Looking at the different dial configurations, the variations don’t try to reinvent the watch. The silver and champagne dials stay closest to classical references, where the engraving becomes more subtle and the watch reads almost like a study in restraint, to be a little more poetic. The blue dial increases contrast and sharpens the overall presence, pushing it slightly closer to contemporary tastes.

The red dial is the outlier, but it still respects the underlying architecture, which keeps it from feeling disconnected. A little different, but different strokes for different folks.

Now, where the Signature really needs to be placed is in its price segment. At around €1,100 to €1,200, it sits in a very competitive space. You’re looking at watches like the Nomos Tangente, the Longines Heritage Classic, vintage Omegas…

Most of those watches take a different route. Nomos focuses on Bauhaus minimalism and in-house calibres, Longines leans heavily into archival design, vintage Omega Genèves are iconic and reliable. Sero doesn’t really sit directly with any of them. It’s closer to what smaller independent or collector-driven brands have been trying to do in recent years, tightening classical codes rather than reinterpreting them.

That’s also where the watch finds a bit of cultural relevance. There’s been a clear shift in the last few years, especially among younger collectors, away from oversized, overly expressive pieces toward something more controlled. Not necessarily vintage, but informed by it. The Signature fits into that movement as a very clear participant.

That doesn’t make it perfect. The “Signature” text still feels slightly more present than it needs to be when you look at how low-key everything else is, and the longer lug-to-lug will not work for every wrist. But when you place it where it actually belongs, within that €1,000 segment, against watches that often get one or two things right and miss the rest, the Signature holds together in a way that’s harder to dismiss.

What was interesting, and something that came up in conversation with Sergino, the founder, after I shared my thoughts, is that none of this is accidental. The positioning, the proportions, even the way the watch sits in this slightly uncomfortable but very deliberate space, it’s all been thought through.

And that also reflects in how they’re bringing it to market. The initial presale starts just under the €1,000 mark, with the first pieces at €899 before taxes, then €999 during the two-week window, before settling at €1,199 retail. It’s a detail worth mentioning because, at that earlier entry point, the watch shifts slightly in how you evaluate it. You’re no longer just comparing it to its immediate peers, you’re looking at it against a much broader field, and in that context, the level of attention given to proportions, dial execution, and overall coherence becomes harder to overlook.

If I were to discribe it in 1 word, I’d say traditional.

Check them out here.

I didn’t start paying attention to Lebond because of a launch, a price point, or a promotional Instagram reel. I paid attention because the brand felt… quiet? And in today’s watch landscape, quiet is rare as heck. Especially when the brand has more to it than just being a watch brand, hence the title.

Lebond is a young independent brand founded by Asier Mateo, and that matters. You can feel the difference between a project born from a marketing plan and one born from a personal background. In this case, architecture is the foundation. That doesn’t mean every watch looks like a building. It means decisions are made structurally, not decoratively. (Another reason for me to flex my architecture background).

After spending some time exploring the brand, something became clear: Lebond is not trying to enter the watchmaking industry. It’s trying to occupy a position closer to design culture than to traditional horological posturing. And I LOVE that for them.

Okay let’s get into the brand. There are currently two pillars in the Lebond universe: Attraction and Siza. That’s it. And that restraint already tells you a lot.

The Attraction, is the conceptual core. Inspired by Antoni Gaudí’s unbuilt Hotel Attraction project, it’s the watch where Lebond allowed itself to be the most expressive. Soft titanium case, disc-based display, strong architectural logic. It’s the piece that explains why the brand exists.

But what interested me after spending time on the brand’s website is the Siza. Because that’s where you understand that Lebond is not a one-idea studio.

The Siza is named after Álvaro Siza, and the watch reflects exactly what you’d expect if you know his work. It’s quieter. More rectilinear. More disciplined. Stainless steel case, slimmer profile, conventional hands, but still a very deliberate use of negative space. The typography is calm. The proportions are carefully balanced. Nothing is trying to be clever.

Side note (and I sincerely apologize for making this way too personal), whenever Álvaro Siza is mentioned, expect an unsolicited amount of fan girling from yours truly. You do not want to know about my 6 months project analysis project on his Huamao Museum of Art Education.

Okay let’s get back to Lebond. If the Attraction is about speculative architecture, the Siza is about lived architecture. Buildings you inhabit without noticing until you start paying attention.

What both watches share is a rejection of excess. Case sizes are reasonable. Finishes are controlled. Movements are chosen for reliability and thinness. ETA for that Swiss spice. 

What I appreciate most is that Lebond doesn’t hide behind the “independent brand” narrative. There’s no attempt to artificially dramatize production numbers or craftsmanship. The watches are well made, thoughtfully designed, and positioned honestly. That’s it. No myth-building required. 

A design studio designing like a design studio should.

Lebond feels closer to furniture design, industrial design, or even publishing than to traditional Swiss watchmaking. I mean that as a compliment actually. Just look at their packaging !

The pricing reflects that mindset. Lebond is not trying to be disruptive through undercutting, nor aspirational through artificial scarcity. The watches are priced where they should be given the materials, design work, and production quality. You’re paying for coherence, not for status signaling.

The conversation with Asier felt natural from the start. When someone builds from a personal place, the dialogue is easier. You’re not negotiating narratives, you’re exchanging references.

Lebond doesn’t feel like a brand in a hurry. And that’s probably its biggest strength. In a market obsessed with visibility, choosing to carve your own way is almost radical.

I’ll keep watching what they do. Slowly. On their terms. And that already says enough.

Sitting between design and horology, that’s what I’ve been desperately craving to see from new independent brands.

I don’t usually write about jewelry watches. Not because I dislike them, but because most of them don’t survive five minutes of serious horological scrutiny. They tend to sit in a comfortable but weird zone where “craftsmanship” is mentioned more than it is demonstrated, and where decoration is applied rather than integrated.
Simon Brette is one of the very few contemporary watchmakers who forced me to reconsider that position.

What initially caught my attention with Brette was not the visual impact of his Chronomètre Artisans watches, but the intellectual structure behind them. There is a clarity of intent and purpose that immediately separates his work from the current wave of independent “expressive” watchmaking: Nothing feels decorative for the sake of seduction.

Simon Brette comes from a serious horological background. Restoration, movement construction, high-end independent environments, and a long exposure to traditional chronometry. This matters because it explains why his watches are built from the inside out. The Chronomètre Artisans project is not a design exercise wrapped around a movement. It is a mechanical project that intentionally invites other crafts to intervene without compromising its core. That’s my architecture background speaking, by the way.

At its foundation, the Chronomètre Artisans movement is a manually wound calibre designed with classical chronometric principles in mind. Large balance, stable frequency, clear gear train architecture…. The finishing is deliberate and controlled. Anglage is present but not exaggerated. Black polishing is used generously.

What makes Brette’s Joaillerie pieces particularly interesting is that they do not treat decoration as an external layer. Engraving, gem-setting, and surface treatment are conceived alongside the case and movement, not added afterward. This is a crucial distinction. Too often, jewelry watches feel like a finished watch that someone decided to embellish. Here, the decorative crafts actively shape the object.

Each Joaillerie piece is unique, not as a marketing statement, but because repetition would contradict the process itself. Engraving patterns are drawn specifically for each case. Stone selection responds to those engravings. The setting techniques adapt to the geometry and thickness of the metal. There is no modularity. There is no scalability. This is slow, expensive, and fundamentally incompatible with volume-driven logic.

What impressed me most is Brette’s restraint. These watches could easily have fallen into excess. They didn’t. And we know about many who did. The gem-setting is precise and disciplined. Stones are chosen for color harmony and structural rhythm; the engravings are deep, architectural, and purposeful. There is no narrative overload, no symbolic storytelling forced onto the object. The watch is allowed to stand on its construction.

This approach places Brette in a very specific position within contemporary independent watchmaking. He is not trying to reinvent horology. He is not chasing disruption. He is quietly re-establishing a hierarchy of priorities where mechanics come first, crafts serve structure, and aesthetics emerge as a consequence rather than a goal.

Culturally, this matters. We live in a period when independent watchmaking is often evaluated by its visibility and shock value. Brette’s work resists that logic. His watches are an acquired taste. They require observation rather than instant reaction.

This is also why writing about his Joaillerie pieces felt relevant within the framework of my new art magazine, Ariste. Ariste exists to explore objects that don’t fit neatly into predefined categories. Brette’s watches belong exactly there. They are not purely horological objects, nor are they jewelry in the conventional sense. They are constructed works, born from technical discipline and aesthetic restraint.

Simon Brette represents a form of independence that is often overlooked: one rooted in method rather than attitude. His Chronomètre Artisans Joaillerie pieces are not statements about luxury or creativity. They are demonstrations of control. Control over technique, over collaboration, and over when to stop.

I have always believed that true watchmaking begins long before a movement is chosen. It starts with intention. With a reason to exist that goes beyond filling a price point or following a trend. I am naturally drawn to watches that know why they are here. Not because they are loud or technically inflated, but because they feel considered. Honest in what they try to express and disciplined in how they go about it. That is where my respect begins. And that is why the Venezianico Redentore Bellanotte resonated with me almost immediately.

This is also the first time Time Telling Magazine works with and covers a Venezianico watch, and that matters. We are careful with the brands we choose to align ourselves with. Not everything needs to be covered, and not every watch deserves a platform. Venezianico felt like a brand we genuinely want to be associated with. There is a clarity to what they are doing, a cultural grounding that feels real rather than manufactured, and that made the decision straightforward.

I unboxed the Bellanotte at home, in a quiet moment, with my girlfriend and business partner, who’s also the person responsible for the beautiful photographs highlighting the watch’s charm. 

She has seen enough watches come through my hands to know when something is just another object and when it is something else. Her reaction was immediate and unfiltered. A short pause, then a genuine gasp. Not because of a logo or a complication, but because the dial felt like a scene rather than a surface. That moment confirmed what I was already sensing. This watch communicates visually, even to someone who is not looking at it through an expert lens.

The more time I spent with it, the more that impression settled in. The Bellanotte does certainly rely on instant impact. And then, you start noticing how it is built: 

The dial is structured, layered, and restrained. The aventurine background behaves like a real night sky. Throughout the day, as the light changed, it shifted subtly on the wrist. Indoors it felt almost matte and quiet. Outside, it came alive without ever becoming loud.

The off center time display in mother of pearl turned out to be one of my favorite details in daily use. It catches the light just enough to remain legible though its size, but it never pulls your attention away from the rest of the dial. During a busy day moving between meetings, cafés, and streets, checking the time felt secondary. The watch was more often noticed by others than consulted by me, which says a lot about where its strength lies.

That day, the amount of attention it attracted surprised me. Not the usual watch conversations about brands or price, but real curiosity. People leaned in. They asked what they were looking at. Friends who are art collectors and gallery owners were particularly struck by it. They didn’t talk about watches at all. They talked about composition, depth, and narrative. About how the bas relief architecture creates perspective, how the monuments of Venice are read through light and shadow rather than lines. One of them mentioned it felt closer to a miniature sculptural piece than a traditional dial, and that observation stayed with me, as an architecture student.

In terms of proportions, the Bellanotte fits exactly where I need it to. At 40mm, this is as big as I am willing to go. I have small wrists and I am unforgiving when it comes to balance. This watch wears clean and composed. It never feels oversized or performative. It sits comfortably and disappears when you want it to. Especially for someone like me who dresses in tailored clothing. Nobody wants a lump on their wrist…

The movement inside, Automatic Cal. Seiko NH05A, does its job without demanding attention, and I appreciate that honesty. It is reliable, compact, and chosen to support the design rather than compete with it, seeing that its am “ulta-thin” movement.

This collaboration happened thanks to Elena, the marketing manager at Venezianico, who immediately understood our editorial direction and our values. There was no need to exaggerate the story or reshape the watch to fit a narrative. The alignment was natural, and those are the relationships I value most, as the magazine’s president.

Another thank you goes to my friend @thewatchcaliber for his generosity and kindness.

Here are the Specs of the Venezianico Redentore Bellanotte:

CASE MATERIAL: 316L Stainless Steel

FEATURES: Off-center dial

MATERIALS: Aventurine, mother-of-pearl, brass

DIMENSIONS: Ø40mm, 46.7mm lug to lug, 11.5mm thickness

MOVEMENT: Automatic Cal. Seiko NH05A

CRYSTAL: Sapphire crystal with antireflective coating

BEZEL: 316L Stainless steel

WR: 5ATM (=50mt)

STRAP: Genuine leather, Made in Italy

Price: 700€

I took my time with this one. Longer than usual. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because timing matters and with Waqtun, timing has always been part of the story. By the end of 2025, it finally felt right to write this knowing that 2026 will be a defining year for the brand. This is not a launch article and it is not a review in the traditional sense. It is a reflection on a watch, a philosophy, and a team’s journey, I have been close to since before Waqtun was even a name.

Before the Instagram posts, before the renders, before the first production sample existed, Youssef reached out to me. He’s one of the founders and the watchmaker at Waqtun. There was no pitch deck and no promises, just an idea and an invitation to be part of something they were building with intention. That moment matters because it sets the tone for everything that followed. The project has always been about creating a relationship, something closer to a companion than a product. Hence the slogan.

There is a photograph I keep coming back to. Mazen (the creative director) and Youssef standing over a desk, holding rough sketches of what would later become the watch. The lines are raw, the proportions still being questioned, the case clearly the focal point even then. That image captures Waqtun better than any high budget campaign shot. Two creatives, early in the process, obsessing over geometry and balance rather than marketing language. You can see the seriousness in that moment. This was not a side project. This was the foundation.

Knowing the founders personally changes how you experience the watch once it’s on your wrist. Mazen and Youssef are not trying to imitate Swiss heritage or borrow credibility. They are rooted in where they come from and confident enough to build forward from there. That confidence shows in the design philosophy. Waqtun leans heavily into sacred geometry, not as a decorative reference, but as a structural principle. Proportion, harmony, and balance are treated as non negotiables. It is the same logic that shaped ancient Egyptian architecture (which I am a sucker for, due to my architectural background), now translated into a modern object you wear every day.

The case is where all of this comes together, and it remains my favorite part of the watch. It is bold without being loud, experimental without feeling forced. The six edged asymmetrical form is not there to shock, it is there to feel right once you live with it. The way light hits the surfaces, the way it sits on the wrist, the way it avoids the usual clichés of “sporty” or “dressy” all point to a brand that understands restraint. This is a case designed to last, visually and emotionally.

The dial follows the same mindset. Minimal, intentional, and legible, with just enough detail to keep it from feeling sterile. The choice of a brass oil pressed dial and applied elements gives it depth without clutter. Even the decision to use the VH31 meca quartz movement feels aligned with the brand’s philosophy. It delivers precision, reliability, and that smooth sweeping seconds hand that bridges the emotional gap between quartz practicality and mechanical romance. It is not about proving anything. It is about choosing what works for the wearer’s life.

I was one of the first hundred people to receive the watch for expert review, but that number is symbolic rather than promotional. Almost every Egyptian watch creator and journalist I know is a friend, and many of them were given that same early look. That was not done to manufacture hype. It was done to build community. Waqtun has always positioned itself as a circle rather than a podium. The NFC card, the Waqtun Club, the emphasis on identity and continuity all reinforce the same idea. This is not a transaction. It is an ongoing relationship.

The brand is very clear about who it speaks to. Young professionals, creatives, entrepreneurs, people at the start of their journey rather than the end of it. Waqtun is not meant to be a trophy you buy after success. It is meant to be worn while you build it. That idea resonates deeply with me because it mirrors how the brand itself is growing. Confident, ambitious, but patient.

Of course, there is room for growth. There always is, especially with a first chapter. But that is part of what makes Waqtun exciting. It knows it is at the beginning and embraces that. My own soon to be involvement in the process opens the door to some genuinely interesting developments, not just in design, but in how the brand continues to define its voice and direction. The foundation is strong. What comes next is where things get really interesting.

This watch means a lot to me. Not because it is perfect, but because I have seen the care behind it. I have seen the late conversations, the revisions, the insistence on doing things properly even when it would have been easier not to. Waqtun is an Egyptian brand that is unapologetically itself, speaking in a language that feels both local and global without trying too hard to be either.

If you are discovering Waqtun now, understand this. What you are seeing is not the final form. It is the beginning of a relationship. And if 2026 unfolds the way I believe it will, this will be one of those brands people will look back on and say they were glad they paid attention early.

Congratulations to the founding fathers of Waqtun:

Youssef Elgendy – Mazen Deraz –  Abdallah Sharabas – Ziad Fahmy – Youssof Tarek

I like watches that make sense when you step back a little. Not the ones that try too hard to impress at first glance, but the ones that grow on you once you understand where they come from. The Eclipse Qatar Edition from Beda’a sits exactly in that category. It is not a loud release, not a disruptive watch, and not something trying to reinvent the industry. It is simply a continuation of a story the brand has been building carefully over the last few years.

To understand this piece, you first need to understand the Eclipse collection itself. Eclipse is one of Beda’a’s most important platforms. It is the watch that really put the brand on the map internationally, especially after being presented around the time of the Grand Prix d’Horlogerie de Genève in Geneva. That moment mattered. Not because of trophies or validation, but because it placed a young Middle Eastern independent brand in a room where design, mechanics, and credibility are taken seriously. Eclipse showed that Beda’a was not just experimenting anymore. They had a clear idea of how they wanted to display time and why.

The Eclipse collection is built around an unconventional way of reading time. No traditional hands, no central axis doing all the work. Instead, the dial is layered, with hours displayed through a sweeping aperture, minutes floating independently, and a subtle ten second indicator adding movement without stress. It is modern, but not aggressive. Conceptual, but still wearable. That balance is hard to achieve, and it is why Eclipse feels like the backbone of the brand.

The Qatar Edition keeps that exact architecture intact. Same proportions, same philosophy. A 37 millimeter stainless steel case that feels intentional on the wrist, paired with a slim profile at just over 8 millimeters thick. Sapphire crystal on both sides, 3 ATM water resistance, and inside, the Sellita SW300 automatic movement. A Swiss caliber chosen for reliability and thinness, offering around 56 hours of power reserve. Nothing exaggerated, nothing underwhelming. Just a solid mechanical foundation that lets the design speak.

What changes with this edition is the context. The color Ad’am defines the watch. This deep maroon tone, closely associated with the Qatari flag, carries historical and cultural weight that goes far beyond aesthetics. Traditionally, this color was extracted from the sea, from shells, then transformed by time and the desert sun into a darker, richer tone. Over centuries, it became associated with sovereignty, identity, and belonging. That is the color language Beda’a chose to work with here.

You see it clearly in the strap, in the dial elements, and even on the rotor at the back. It is consistent without being excessive. The watch does not explain itself through graphics or text. It assumes the wearer understands what Ad’am represents, or at least respects it enough to wear it without needing justification.

Looking at this piece alongside the rest of the Beda’a collection helps put things into perspective. I own the black dial Angles, which is sharp, geometric, and very architectural in how it approaches time. Angles feels assertive. Eclipse feels calmer. More reflective. This Qatar Edition leans even further into that calmness. It feels considered, measured, and confident in its simplicity.

Limited to fifty pieces and released in December around Qatar National Day, this watch does not feel like a commemorative object in the traditional sense. There are no obvious symbols, no forced storytelling. It feels more like a respectful gesture. A way of grounding the Eclipse collection in local identity without compromising its original design language.

Orders for the Beda’a Eclipse Qatar Edition are open today, December 16. That being said, it has already sold out in the first 10 minutes.

The Eclipse Qatar Edition is not trying to be everything at once. It is a well proportioned, thoughtfully designed mechanical watch with a strong sense of place. It sits comfortably within Beda’a’s evolution as a brand and makes sense both technically and culturally. And sometimes, that balance is exactly what a watch needs.

There are some projects I cover for Time Telling Magazine because they are interesting, and others because they feel like an ongoing conversation between me and the people behind them, and this one definitely belongs to the second group. Especially because it sits in a place I personally love, a place where Arabic artistic identity meets European watchmaking know-how (le savoir faire), and I always feel like that combination creates something that feels both ancient and modern at the same time. Whenever Abdulaziz and Arnaud work together, it feels like two worlds meeting somewhere in the middle, one driven by emotion and language, the other by precision and craft, and I think that is exactly why I naturally found myself pulled into this new story (again).

So when Abdulaziz told me about this new watch, he started the story very casually, the way he always does. He said his brother in law is the typical tech person who loves devices and numbers, but really hates having anything on his wrist. Nothing at all. Which already makes the idea of building him a watch kind of funny. But before his birthday, Abdulaziz’s sister told him she wanted a watch made specifically for her husband. Not bought, made. Something personal enough that even a person who does not like watches would probably wear it anyway. I immediately understood what she meant because their relationship has this warm and positive energy that you can actually see.

Their family even has a phrase that belongs to them. They always say “أبرك الساعات”, and for anyone who does not speak Arabic, it means something like “the luckiest hours” or “the most blessed moments”. It is the short version of another phrase they say, “أبرك الساعات اللي شفتك فيها”, which means “the most blessed hours are the ones in which I saw you”. It is one of those lines that becomes part of a couple’s identity, very natural, sentimental in an effortless way, and extremely personal. That is why Abdulaziz placed the short version on the dial. It belongs there. It carries their warmth.

Since the phrase needed to look as meaningful as it sounds, he asked Jassim Alnasrallah to write it. If you know Jassim’s style, you already understand why he is the right person. He writes calligraphy like he is building a structure. He chose Thuluth script, which has a formal and elegant tone, and he composed the words in an oval shape that guides your eyes naturally around the dial. Even the tiny details, like the dots and the little hamza and the miniature kaf (look these up), were arranged so that they line up symbolically with the main hours on the watch, meaning three, six, nine and twelve. It’s the type of detail no one notices unless someone points it out, but once you know it, you feel the intention behind it.

Then the whole thing went to Arnaud from L’Artisan Horloger, who now knows exactly what happens each time Abdulaziz brings him a new idea. The first thing he told me was that this was his first experience with something like this, and that it was eye opening, that Abdulaziz always pushes him to new places. 

They are actually developing four different stone dial variations for this calligraphy collection (hence my journalistic involvement), Lapis Lazuli, Meteorite, Tahitian mother of pearl with a blue tone, and white mother of pearl. 

The calligraphy itself is laser cut in a very thin stainless steel, brushed so it has texture, and it is extremely delicate. Arnaud told me it was the most fragile and meticulous part he has ever worked with, especially on the meteorite dial which has an uneven surface that makes everything more difficult.

Inside, they used the Miyota 9015, which beats at four hertz, has hacking seconds, and is accurate and reliable. It is a nice upgrade compared to the usual entry level movements people expect, and it fits the whole spirit of the watch, which is emotional on the outside and practical on the inside.

Before we finished our conversation, Abdulaziz told me to share one last message with my readers, and he insisted on it. The calligraphy watch is now available for order! 

Anyone who wants one can contact Arnaud directly, either on the website or through the brand’s Instagram. It is not a mass piece, it is simply the continuation of the creative relationship I have been lucky enough to witness up close.

And that is honestly what I enjoy most about writing these stories. The watches are beautiful, of course, but it is always the people and the emotions behind them that stay with me the longest.

By definition, a Pièce Unique or Unique piece is a “Watch produced in a single example, usually created on commission or for special events.”
So when Dr. Abdulaziz first sent me a photo of his Pièce Unique in his hand: A warm, amber dial with four horses frozen mid-stride, I felt the same thing I get when a good story starts to rearrange itself in my head.
I know enough about watchmaking to recognise a thoughtful execution: 38mm, 9mm thick, domed sapphire, an NH35 automatic inside, the sort of compact, honest package that lets a dial do the talking. But I didn’t yet know the whole story behind the art on that face, or how that art had grown from friendship into a little business of feeling and craft.

Arnaud, the maker behind L’Artisan d’Horlogerie, is precisely the kind of person who makes that possible. His Instagram and site show what he’s been quietly obsessed with for years: stone and fossil dials, tiny landscapes, and textures cut from geological time. You’ll see dinosaur-bone slices, lapis, tiger eye, and other unusual materials rendered into round micro-portraits for the wrist. It’s all there in his online presence: process reels, close-ups of banded stone, and the occasional prototype coming to life.

That’s the practical side. The thing that actually hooked Abdulaziz, and kept me listening to their story, was the personal. When they spoke about the two watches they made together, they weren’t riffing on lume or bevel angles. They were talking about family, memory, and a visual language that tied someone to a place. One of the two dials is this horse tableau on an amber field, warm, primitive, and somehow ceremonial. The other is a cooler, vivid composition: a blue field with three horses in the foreground, a building in the background, and a cluster of palm-like forms that read like memory and geography layered in paint.

Arnaud made both dials by hand, starting from sketches and material hunts. The materials matter: Arnaud’s work has always been about finding unusual raw things and coaxing them into wearable art, dinosaur bone, and tiger-iron pieces that are fragile, wasteful to cut, and breathtaking when they survive the process. The result is always a one-off or a tiny run. That’s the point: they’re intimate, uneven, and irreplaceable. You can see this aesthetic across his feeds and shop; the stone dials are the signature.

Abdulaziz’s two watches are a study in contrast and complement. The amber-hued dial reads like an heirloom: ochres and rusts arranged into silhouettes of four horses that could be carved out of a textile or painted on a fresco. It sits inside a compact, conservative case, 38mm across, 9mm thin, topped with a domed sapphire crystal, which keeps the drama on the face where it belongs. The movement is the NH35, a practical, reliable automatic chosen because the case couldn’t accommodate Arnaud’s newer, slimmer micro-rotor ideas; it keeps the piece honest and wearable, a little utilitarian so that the dial’s voice is never competing with technical showmanship.

The second dial is story-driven in a way that the first one only hints at. Here, there are three horses again, but their colours are saturated: a red, a blue, and a golden figure, placed in front of an architectural element and a palm or floral motif that reads like a cultural emblem. In their conversations, Abdulaziz explained how the four horses motif, which appears in other parts of the project’s design universe, ties back to family roles and cultural identity: four siblings, different personalities, a shared set of values; the national museum and the desert; a grandfather’s shop and a father’s memory. These are visuals that mean something, not just pretty pictures. They’re personal heraldry translated into tiny, circular paintings on stone. Those ideas are in the audio: the dials are cultural maps, and the watches are the vehicles carrying them. (You can see photos that Abdulaziz shared; his images make clear there are two distinct designs, each treated with care and storytelling intent.)

What I find compelling is how the technical choices bow to that storytelling. Arnaud could have chosen to over-engineer: exotic movements, showy cases, impossible finishing. Instead, he deliberately used a modest case profile and a dependable NH35 movement for Abdulaziz’s piece, leaving the dial to become the centre of attention. That decision, simplicity in service of meaning, says as much about the maker as the imagery itself. Arnaud’s Instagram and site show this pattern: craft that elevates unusual materials without overcomplicating the watch’s practicality.

There is another layer: how the friendship shaped the object. This began as friends riffing on ideas, not as a commission with a spec sheet. Abdulaziz didn’t walk in and demand a logo or a trend-driven hue; he brought memory, symbols and a trust that allowed Arnaud to interpret. In the studio the conversations became sketches, then scaled maquettes, then dial slices cut and polished until the images held the weight of the story. Arnaud told me about the losses in the cutting process (especially with fossils and delicate stones) and the way each success felt like a small miracle. He’s an obsessive with a craftsman’s patience, the kind of guy who will cut three different rough stones just to find the one that carries the exact red or banding he wants.

And there was beauty in their process: Abdulaziz’s cultural references, the museum’s architecture, the family horses, the desert colours, found a gentle interpreter in Arnaud’s hands. The watches became portraits of a friendship that had already started to move into business, a slow pivot from collectors’ chat to a real, collaborative practice. That transition felt natural because both men value the same rare thing: honesty. They were not trying to make a marketable halo piece. They were trying to make something honest for both of them.

There’s a practical lesson here, too: independent watchmaking is not only about inventing a movement or photogenic numerals. It’s about translating life into objects. One of the watches uses a humble, robust NH35 inside a compact 9mm-thick case with a domed sapphire, choices that ensure daily wear without compromising the soul of the design. The other dial speaks through imagery and colour, architecture, horses, personal iconography, and the watch becomes a conversation starter rather than a billboard.

If you look at Arnaud’s social footprint, you’ll see how this work fits a broader practice. L’Artisan is already known for stone dials and tiny series that sing because they are rare and tactile. The pieces for Abdulaziz sit comfortably in that lineage: singular, narrative-driven, slightly eccentric in the best way.

I’ve always thought the best collaborations are friendships that have learned to work together. This one feels that way: a collector and a maker who learned each other’s languages, who let small practicalities (case size, movement choice) bend to a larger aesthetic conversation, and who let cultural memory sit at the centre of the watch. When Abdulaziz wears the amber dial, you see something more than a timekeeper on his wrist; you see a small, wearable archive of family, time, and place. When he shows the blue, populated dial in its box, it reads as a miniature mural, a story paused in a second.

In a world that applauds shouty limited editions and technical flexes, making yours represents another type of horological superiority. They’re the sort of pieces that age in meaning, not just in patina. They are the product of a friendship that grew into a practice, and when the maker posts the cutting process on Instagram, or when Abdulaziz shares a wrist shot in a white thobe, you feel the lineage: two people making time into something that actually says something.

If you want to see the work yourself, Arnaud’s posts are a living sketchbook: raw stones, rehearsal sketches, and slow reveals of dials that survived the cut. But here’s the thing I keep thinking about: you don’t need to scroll to understand why this matters.

Some watches arrive with the whole fanfare of a launch, press releases flying around, and a dozen Instagram reels ready to flood your feed. Others? They slip into your life through something far better: friendship. That’s how the Anders & Co AC2 Volcán in Bronze Jade landed on my wrist, before the rest of the world even saw it. The brand’s founder gave me an early look, and from that first moment, I knew this one was going to stick.

The Volcán isn’t loud or over-designed; it’s confident enough not to scream for attention. The bronze case immediately sets the stage. Warm, alive, destined to patinate over time (which is already happening as we speak). But the real show is the dial. Jade, not just “green.” Natural stone that feels rich, layered, and unpredictable. In some light, it’s deep forest; in others, a lighter glow, like it’s breathing under the sapphire. It makes you look twice, and then again, because no two moments on the wrist feel identical. That’s not marketing fluff, that’s the kind of subtle detail collectors dream about.

At 37mm across and just 5.65mm slim, the Volcán wears like it was designed to disappear under your cuff and reappear just when someone asks, “Wait, what are you wearing?” That thinness comes thanks to a Miyota quartz tucked inside. Some purists will sniff at quartz, but in this case, it’s the right call. The movement keeps the watch razor-slim, maintenance-free, and honest. This isn’t a piece pretending to be a tool watch, it’s a refined daily companion, happy to follow you from a coffee shop to a dinner without fuss.

Living with bronze is always a story in itself. Fresh out of the box, it shines warm and crisp. Weeks later, it starts to darken, soften, and carry your life on its surface. Pair that with jade, and the watch feels alive, evolving. It’s the kind of watch you don’t just wear, you grow into it. And that feels very Anders & Co.A family based on continuit, just like I said about the AC1.

Of course, watches like this can’t live in a vacuum; pricing always comes into play. The Bronze Jade Volcán is set at 6,700 SEK (roughly €600 or a bit over $600 depending on where you’re based). In today’s microbrand scene, that puts it in interesting company. Plenty of brands at that price point offer stainless-steel cases with sunburst dials and maybe a Miyota automatic. Few give you a natural stone dial, bronze case, and this level of finishing. Against other microbrand dress-leaning pieces, the Volcán feels different,more personal, more intentional.

And that’s exactly why this watch works. It doesn’t try to be everything to everyone. It just delivers texture, character, and wearability in a package that feels rare at this price point. For us at Time-Telling Magazine, the Volcán Bronze Jade is more than just another microbrand release. It’s a reminder of why we do this: because watches are personal, because friendships shape this hobby, and because sometimes the best pieces don’t just launch, they arrive as secrets shared between friends.