Last night I dreamt in wax
Stilled by cooling into shapes formed by its flowing path,
Interrupted by critical temperature.
A victim of its own physicality.
As an artist, I must control the flow, the mass, and the boundaries.
My life becomes an extension of the work.
My fingers, the torch.
As in nature, rules apply,
However, there remains the unpredictable nature of the wax.
I strive to achieve it's secrets.
Beeswax and damar- a combination from nature.
The artist seeking control.
Much as a volcano erupts, despite expert prognostication and prediction,
It's flow arrested by nature's topography,
I apply, pour wax onto a surface seeking a fusion of nature and self.
Trying to set boundaries.
Trying to understand the medium and become one with the process.