How I turned lead into colored wax www.kolorwacks.com

When I was a girl and wrote in my diary, my mother found said diary and read it out loud. My cheeks turned red with shame and I stopped writing.

When I was a girl and created art in my mother’s house, she made me walk it out to the trash. Consequently, I didn’t draw anymore. It wasn’t that I was creating pornography; it was that she thought my work was “dirty.”

When I was in my 30’s, the crater at Winslow Arizona called to me in a dream, and there I discovered not only the story of my origins, but I also stumbled onto The Painted Desert. That’s where the idea for a multi-colored crayon was hatched; that, and it was Einstein’s birthday.

I experimented for years until I had created what I wanted. Until I had exorcised the trash-walking demons of my mother. Until I took back my creative soul in stages, much like a caterpillar. When I first started, I could feel my mother in the room, admonishing me about a) what I was doing, and b) how I was dripping the colors of the wax. “You can’t put that color with that color!”

I distinctly remember saying out loud to her that she had to leave the room. Or at the very least, stand in the doorway. I had to repeat myself many times. Even at that distance, I could still feel her gaze until I became aware that I wasn’t aware of her anymore. Her voice went almost silent.

So don’t expect the stealing of any part of your soul to happen overnight. Roots travel deep. And it’s not just the judgment of another person. It’s what’s been worn down and eroded in you over the years that needs tending. And those roots are sometimes tangled up with other issues. So as well as a retriever of parts of your stolen soul, you also become a well-heeled and seasoned gardener in the field of your dreams.