I woke up this morning and realized I'd been dreaming of working in wax all night. Hash marks instead of dots, thinking of how they represent days on a calendar and how the wheels I've been drawing represent the passage of time as the wheels bound up and down but always forward.
Thinking about how I've always marked the days with writing and how time ages everything within it. Bringing all those thoughts to the work and trying to make that visible and beautiful.
Counting. My abacus collection. Dripping clay back when I made ceramics into little nubbins on the surface of my pots. Each dot representing the ticking of a clock. Accretion and carving away. Combing, scraping, gouging the wax. Filling it back in and fusing it down. Mud pies in the driveway. I'm 6 years old again and this time I won't be punished for putting mud balls on the window of the house next door (the neighbor marched right over and tattled on me and I was confined to the house for the rest of the day - What was I thinking?).
This will be my last day in the studio for awhile which is why I've been working so hard. On Thursday I travel to Carmel via airplane and rental car to the IEA Annual Retreat for 3 glorious days of wax demonstrations and the honor of meeting other artists who have been seduced by this excellent medium. Color, baby. Texture. Big stinky mess in the studio. Cold work with the door ajar and a big exhaust fan blowing all day.
Gummy wax stuck to all your tools and the bottom of your shoes. And you don't care one bit. Not when you have a wax monkey on your back. Hee hee. Back to my hot, magical cauldron!