The Art of Starting Over

Oops…

It started, as most of my adventures do, with breakfast and coffee! As I wondered past the shops I noticed the St. Clair Art Association happened to be open, so naturally, I wandered in… because really, how could I not? I ended up chatting with the kindest group of ladies, and before I knew it, I was walking out the door with paperwork in hand, a heart full of excitement, and a challenge: six pieces to make. Six! I could practically feel my brain sparking with ideas.

I decided to take a bold leap, to combine photography and encaustic. My subject? Horses. They felt symbolic: freedom, movement, strength, everything I wanted to express. I started the piece with all the optimism in the world. The wax flowed beautifully, the image was setting perfectly… and then, in true Robyn fashion, I overthought everything.

It wasn’t perfect enough. The lines weren’t quite right, the texture wasn’t smooth enough, and that little voice in my head started whispering all the familiar nonsense about how it wasn’t good enough. So I kept working it, adjusting, fusing, smoothing, until my hand slipped.

And when I say slipped, I mean the scraper went straight through the middle. A clean, heart-stopping tear across the piece I had spent hours on. I just froze. I stared at it in disbelief, then did what any artist would do… I cried. Not for long, just about three minutes. Three good, cathartic minutes of tears.

Then, something inside me shifted. I started laughing. Because what else can you do? The damage was done, and somehow it felt freeing. I grabbed my tools, scraped the entire middle out, and began again, not out of defeat, but out of determination.

What came from that chaos was different. It wasn’t what I planned, but it was beautiful. It carried the story of what it had been through, the imperfections, the recovery, the rebirth.

That piece taught me more than any class or tutorial ever could: art isn’t about perfection. It’s about surrender. It’s about grace in the mess, patience in the process, and the courage to begin again, even when you’ve scraped everything down to nothing.

These past few years have felt a lot like that piece… grief, growth, and starting over again and again. I’ve learned to stop expecting perfection from myself and to find beauty in the cracks. Because, much like art, healing is layered… wax over wax, mistake over mistake…until one day, you look at what you’ve created and realize it’s you.

Imperfect. Resilient. Beautiful.

The Art of Beginning

It all begins with an idea…

and sometimes, that idea comes from a restless imagination, a mess of resin and alcohol ink, and one extraordinary Canadian woman who turned it into magic.

It all started a little over a year ago. I had this idea, you know, one of those wild “maybe I could actually do this” ideas that usually hit around midnight when you should be sleeping. I gathered every supply I thought I needed: resin, molds, pigments, gloves… the whole nine yards. I had absolutely no clue what I was doing, but damnit, I was doing something!

At first, I was completely mesmerized by resin. The shine, the depth, the absolute mess of it all. What I quickly learned? Resin is not for the faint of heart. It’s sticky, it has a mind of its own, and let’s not even start with the temperature factor. If it’s too cold, it sulks. Too warm? It bubbles like a bad science experiment. There were nights I stood in my kitchen like a mad scientist with a heat gun, praying to the resin gods.

And then… I found Erica Helder.

Now, if you don’t know who that is, stop reading right now, open a new tab, and go to www.ericahelderstudio.com. I’ll wait.

Erica Helder is a Canadian artist, and she’s the real deal. Her story is one of grit, heart, and sheer determination. Life has thrown her more curveballs than most, but she never backs down. She works with a medium that refuses to behave, can’t be controlled, and flat-out laughs in the face of perfectionism, and somehow, she makes it sing. That shift changed everything for her… and eventually, for me too. Erica doesn’t just teach technique; she teaches trust, in the process, in the chaos, and most importantly, in yourself.

From our very first meeting, I knew we were kindred spirits. She didn’t just teach me; she saw me. She pushed me when I hesitated, cheered me on when I doubted myself, and reminded me that art isn’t about being perfect, it’s about showing up anyway. Erica helped me understand that every spill, crack, and “what the hell is that?” moment is part of the story.

So yeah…I owe a lot to Erica. She lit the match that started this fire, and she’s still the voice reminding me to just keep going.

Now, let’s talk about this website. Lord help me, this thing has been a journey. I’ve been building and scrapping it for months. Fonts, colors, layouts… if you know anything about Libras, you know we can’t make decisions to save our lives. I wanted to give up about fifty times. But that same inner voice that told me to pour my first batch of resin said, “Nope. You’re not done yet.”

And here I am. Writing my first blog post. Who would’ve thunk it?

So this… Alarka Wire is where it all begins. I’ll be sharing what I’m working on, the good, the bad, and the “oh dear god, why is this sticky again?” moments. I’ll post photos, videos, maybe even a few tutorials once I stop melting things unintentionally.

I don’t know where this journey is taking me, but I know I’m supposed to be here. Creating, learning, making a mess, and finding beauty in the process.

Here’s to ideas, to persistence, to the people who believe in us when we don’t, and to doing the damn thing…even when we have no idea how.

With love and chaos,
Robyn Leigh