A Different Alchemy

From earth to hive: on leaving clay behind and finding devotion in beeswax.

I thought ceramics would hold me.

I threw myself into it the way you throw yourself into anything you hope might save you: a wheel, a slab roller, an extruder, brushes and glazes — soon I had a little studio. The promise of vessels rising from the earth felt grounded and elemental, and for a moment, like the right path.

I learned not to wrestle with clay, but to dance with it. I loved sitting at the wheel and letting the clay take me on a journey, rather than attempting to bend it to my will — not exactly ideal for production.

My pieces resonated with people, and the demand grew. I was thrilled to be putting my studio to good use, and as my health deteriorated it became my main source of income. But over time, clay asked more of me than I could give: the weight of production, a dependence on fire I couldn’t control, and a body that felt, daily, like it was betraying me. Every step felt anchored by expectation, bulk and equipment — a cage of my own making.

As resistance grew in clay, I looked for what might move more freely beside it. That path led me to beeswax, and in time I realised my work was not meant to rise from earth, but to flow from hive. I needed to lose myself in clay to discover wax.

Beeswax carried its own history: flowers distilled, a colony’s devotion, the labour of thousands condensed into malleable gold. It was already alive before it reached me. All I had to do was listen. And listen I did — I became a beekeeper. My connection to the super-organism that is the hive, and all it encompasses, deepened, as did my appreciation for the seasons, its flowers, folk traditions and rituals, both within and beyond the hive.

Ceramics taught me discipline, patience, an appreciation for the elements and for heritage crafts. I carry all of that into the wax. But I have made the decision to let go of ceramics as a core part of my business. Clay will always remain with me, but free of the weight of production. It may appear occasionally as a ceramic bead or token woven into jewellery, but mostly it will be for joy — for expression, for family and for friends.

So now, I am giving myself fully to beeswax. It is where my practice and my stories converge — transformed, through flame and metal, into ritual candles and ceremonial jewellery. Offerings made not just to be used, but to be kept close, to mark thresholds and act as objects of devotion. Each one born of the hive and shaped by my hands.

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