My Candle Stories
Birth Of My Rustic Candles
My rustic candles began with memories of standing in front of many ancient walls and statues where history, silence, and God’s presence felt close enough to touch.
On a bitterly cold afternoon in Milan I spent my time “people watching” sipping on a Cioccolata Calda, lighting candles in Churches, and came across The Church of Santa Maria presso San Satiro Italian Renaissance structure (1476–1482) and found this breathtaking fresco of the Madonna and Child.
In Venice walking to the Rialto bridge past the little souvenir market stalls and looking forward to my Lemoncello I found this gem.
This image was inspired by Il Gobbo di Rialto (Hunchback of Venice) in Venice.
The statue, its staircase and its porphyry column were installed on the Campo du Rialto in 1541.
It stands in plain sight, but unless you know what you’re looking for, you’d walk right past.
The soft light, the worn stone, the faded colours, and centuries of faith layered on the walls have quietly become part of my work.
My Beeswax Story
I lOVE working with Beeswax by using an old olive oil tin sitting in a pot of boiling water on my kitchen stove.
I melt the beeswax, get hubby to tie some nuts on the ends of the wick for a straight candle, dip the wick, hang it up, wait a couple of minutes, then dip again.
Over and over again until I get the thickness I want.
The tapers come out a little crooked sometimes, a little thicker in places, but that’s what I love about them.
They aren’t perfect, they’re honest.
Every candle shows the path it took to get there.
Beeswax doesn’t need fragrance or colour.
In its natural state it can have a faint smell of honey.
And the best part?
Beeswax naturally cleans the air.
When it burns, it releases negative ions which help to remove dust, pollen, mould, and pollutants from the air instead of adding to them.
People with asthma and allergies often prefer beeswax candles for this reason.
Sometimes when I’m dipping the wicks and watching the layers build, I imagine my great grandmothers doing the same thing in Italy, Switzerland, Germany or Poland.
I don’t know for sure if my relatives ever made candles, but something about the process feels familiar.
Maybe muscle memory passed down through blood,and that is why doing this feels so natural to me.
To me they are a natural connection, to the past, to the land, and maybe even to the women before me.
My wax flower Bouquets
For the first 21 years of my life I lived in Europe and South Africa.
I can still smell the flowers when I think of those places.
In Europe, the fields and roadsides are full of wildflowers of all colours, nestled in between luscious green grass.
The homes have hanging baskets, flowers on windowsills and the gardens just overflow with colourful blooms.
Somehow, the colours, the scent, even the way the air feels brings me to such a calm place with God and nature.
As a little girl in Switzerland, my mum would tie a bow in my hair, and off we went to pluck flowers in the fields.
I am also a tree hugger and used to sit under the shade absorbing the scenery of men cutting the hay with scythes.
I carry those memories with me,and I return to them whenever life feels too loud.
Back to now, and unfortunately I can’t have real flowers in my house.
They give me headaches within a few minutes and the sneezes start.
So I found another way.
I started making wax flower bouquets.
They have no wicks.
A friend suggested lighting them all and the scenario spelt FIRE to me.
They’re flowers first, something beautiful to look at.
They smell according to your fragrance, and when you’ve enjoyed them long enough, you can break them off the stem and use them as wax melts.
Dual purpose.
They’re flowers that don’t die.
I scent them gently, just enough to lift the fragrance without being overwhelming.
They stay the same colour, the same shape week after week.
And you can melt them when you decide.
Not when nature decides.
And maybe that’s why I love making them so much.
Every bouquet I make has a bow tied around it.
A little memory tucked in.
A little girl is still picking flowers.
Only now, they last.