Caustic Encaustic Wax aka My Unique Bren-ness; the Waxing Flower Moon of Doom

I just ate a bagel with butter dipped into the remainders of buffalo wing sauce that my husband had made this weekend.  It is a total zero in nutritional value, but there is something about how it feels in my mouth that is very sensual- a kind of velvety heat. My lips plump from the spice and my tongue feels thick.  Did I mention that my husband's hot sauce is from his job in college at a local infamous eatery for killer wings. And it is killer.  In taste and in heat. In those days, my spouse smelled of cooked oil and chicken fat.  He smells better now.

That first paragraph is really a procrastination to the real meat of my blog. A way to disguise my shame. So let me just state the painful facts:
I caused the complete evacuation of the local three story Arts Organization where I am taking my second class in encaustic wax painting. Yes. Evacuation. Sirens. Fire truck.  Just like in a Christmas Story where Ralphy is watching in horror as the fire trucks are called to release his pal's frozen tongue from the light pole, I shrink down on the outdoor bench trying to disappear.  I watch everyone milling around as they wonder out loud 'What happened?' Someone looks my way. Me? What? No, I have NO idea what happened.  Shake head, look down.

From the start, I had clouded ideas of what this class would entail. After all, the Fayum Mummy portraits were painted in this medium and I do love all things Mummy. (Anubis nods in approval and I wave back)  I thought it would be a graceful medium that would tweak my creativity in a new way and allow me to make edgy, unique art. Instead, it is like decoupage gone horribly awry. Gloppy wax, cooling to an opaque white covers the art I painfully arranged on my incredibly expensive primed wood art board.  I look at it and think 'huh'.  It isn't the good kind of 'huh'.

The teacher comes over and says "That is incredible. Just incredible.  You have a gift with this."  I have to cough to keep from out right laughing.  This looks like snot. No. Worse.  It is snot covering a rather beautiful collage.  
"You don't like it?" the teacher asks seeing me looking at it askew.
"Um. No." 
"Really?"
"Yes"
"What don't you like about it?"  she asks sincerely and I want to answer truthfully. I swear to god I want to blurt it out that it looks like snot. But I don't. Decorum twists my tongue until I say that I thought it would be more translucent.  Jesus, that is an understatement.

End the first class...fade to black for a week and...TA DA...here I am on a bench wondering why my particular palette of hot wax decided it needed to spill and cover our art, our room and us with dark smoke.  Apparently, the answer is crayon.  Yes, simple crayola crayons. Chopped by me at home to make wax colorant.  I decided after the first class to embrace this medium and make it my bitch. The teacher had suggested the crayons and I ran with it. I thought all week on how I could use what I know and infuse my unique 'Bren-ness' into the class.  I was going to make my mark...
There is no doubt that I did just that...