Carving Code into Wax

There’s something deeply meditative about making my Human Code pieces. Each one begins

with a smooth surface of encaustic wax, ready to be inscribed with marks that echo genetic variation—repetition with subtle difference.

I use an assortment of tools, many borrowed from the world of clay, to incise into the wax. Each tool has multiple possibilities: a single edge might create both a fine scratch and a bold groove, depending on the pressure and angle. The process is tactile and therapeutic, a balance between rhythm and unpredictability.

The scrapings—those curled ribbons of colored wax—aren’t wasted. They go into a tray, later melted down and folded back into future paintings. It’s a bit like a sourdough starter: each new work carries traces of the ones that came before it.

In this way, my Human Code pieces evolve organically, layer by layer—structured yet chaotic, deliberate yet full of chance.