An homage to the trees that have raised me.

I was lucky enough to grow up on the edge of a protected forest. Nature has always been my place of worship. Being able to work with clay and beeswax allows me to pay homage to the trees that raised me.

I can never seem to find the words for the deep connection I felt growing up in my simple suburban backyard. Our home backed onto a protected nature reserve, whose wilderness overlapped my every day. I made friends with the foxes, rabbits and bees. I grew accustomed to the ebb and flow of Nature’s many cycles. I developed intuition; sensing when a mother robin kicked a blue egg from her nest and knowing just where to look for it. I learned from the trees that towered over my place of play. The rocks held my stories, and told me ones of their own.

It makes sense why beeswax and clay seem to spark something in my skin. There is a wild to them that we both share. Like me, they’ve been processed and shaped by life. And like me, they retain the memory of the freedom from where they came.