The Munich-based jeweler Karl Fritsch makes rings almost exclusively, approaching each one as a gut-level improvisation. Sometimes his experimental pathway arrives at a state of absurdist, self-referential humor (he once made a ring inscribed I HATE FRITSCH). More often he achieves an expressive richness, with dizzying accumulations of materially-specific excrescences. Every Fritsch ring is a contradictory microcosm, both the height of refinement and a dig in the ribs, fit for a monarch and a jester all at once.