I have made a discovery, and that is:
I have the patience of a pig in petticoats posing for a portrait on a pier.

Which is to say, none.

I have zero patience.

The thing is -
I like to think of myself as a chill, laid-back, go-with-the-flow, everything-is-fine, no cares, no worries kind of human.
Not a rush, rush, hurry, hurry, uptight, wound-tight person.
As someone who has spent hours upon hours knitting, spinning, and being a proponent of slow fashion, you’d think I’d have to have some amount of patience to even think of taking on these hobbies. Right?

Well.

Apparently, I’ve used all my patience points on those hobbies, and now I have none left.

There is an encaustic artist on the East Coast whose work I admire greatly. Her paintings stop me in my tracks, and I marvel at the level of detail her work holds. Her name is Emma Ashby, and I’ve arranged to take private lessons from her next spring because I don’t understand how she does it.

AND I MUST KNOW!

How she gets such amazingly fine details in her paintings without the heat gun or blow torch distorting the fine lines.

(I promise the link between this artist and the pig in petticoats is coming.)

Emma recently had a solo gallery exhibition, and as part of the marketing for that show, she did a one-hour Facebook Live demonstration of some of her techniques.
I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say the planning I put into watching this FB Life was Oscar party-watching level.
There were notebooks, backup pens, snacks, stretchy pants, and a C4 explosive device rigged to blow if anyone so much as thought about disturbing me.

I watched.

I took notes.

And then I scream-cried!

I watched in horror as the answer to my burning question was answered. To achieve her fine lines and intricate details, she waits.

That’s all!

She waits.

Daggers to my eyes! She WAITS!!!

The thought had never occurred to me.
To achieve the final details in an encaustic painting, the artist paints a layer of oil paint over any carvings, markings, or natural blemishes made in the wax. The oil paint settles into the cracks/carvings/crevices highlighting them and making them pop.

Like a weasel rushing to get out of a tuxedo in which one of the cuff links is caught, I run a heat gun over these details, warming the wax up one more time so that the oil paint can sink into the wax, and a micro-thin layer of wax closes over the oil paint, sealing it in. The purpose is so that no wet oil paint is exposed because oil paint can take up to two weeks to dry. However, the problem is that if one uses too much heat, the oil paint can disappear entirely, or the details can distort.

Do you see where this is going?
It never occurred to me to wait TWO WEEKS for the oil paint to dry, not once, not ever, and because I have the patience of a pig in petticoats posing for a portrait on a pier, I would have never thought of it on my own.

The other thing I learned. Oh yes, there is more. This is why I’m going to take a private lesson from this extra-talented person.
To use my heat gun on low vs. high.
Yep. It takes more time, but I have more control of the wax.

But once I was done scream-crying, I employed these new techniques and made some really beautiful art!

Today’s life lesson. Sometimes it’s okay to wait. Sometimes it’s okay to go a little bit slower to enhance the details a little bit more. I think we can safely file this under the age-old adage “Stop and smell the roses,”

Is there part of your process or part of your day that you’ve learned not to rush through?
I’d love to hear about it.
Happy sauntering to you all!