Once Upon A Bubble
The moment of this gesture makes it all worthwhile: A young woman walks
to the table which is piled precariously high with soap--- circles, rectangles
and squares, all redolent with heady scents. She carefully eyes the entire
landscape, and then plucks a favored one. Holding the bar, she inhales it,
closes her eyes and sighs. In that moment, I am in heaven.
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| Love in the Time of Van Gogh |
When I was a young girl I wanted to be a spy and detective of superhero
note, a White House pastry chef, and a writer—all in no particular order. Today,
I create a line of over thirty artisan soaps in my River Girls Soap studio. My
work reflects the nuances of each of those once fantasized careers — the
persistence of a detective to find a blue azure dye that recalls sea glass; the
tenacity of a chef to design and redesign the best recipe for a salty air
scent, and the wordsmith laboring of a writer to describe just so, a fragrant
soap and the experience it evokes.
River Girls Soap reflects my personal intersection of a wish for a life
of quiet work and the daily chance to create for others a heady slice of simple
joy.
Artist Contortions
or Multitasking to Nirvana
Soap crafting is a vocation that requires a great deal of patience, an impeccable
nose sense like those perfumers of ancient times possessed, a designer’s eye
for hue, and an ability to brainstorm names.
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| Confetti Betty |
The extraordinary marriage of science and art is what makes it
interesting. Making it work as a business is an entirely different animal. In a
given day, the process may encompass everything from the vital drudgery of
lifting and chopping heavy blocks of plain glycerin soap to grating pounds of
fresh chocolate scented cocoa butter, to measuring and blending fruit and nut
oils. Perhaps the most jubilant and time-consuming task involves perfume
blending and fragrance creation.
From an eyedropper, I squeeze droplets of scents onto paper strips. I am
forever hoping to create something unusual or provocative. For every attempt
that falls flat, surprises invariably arrive. Sometimes these creations will
sit in the dark for days and weeks to cure.
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| Ginger Kisses |
My studio armoire houses over 200 amber glass bottles of fragrance and
essential oils – all wanting to be blended and tinkered with. These oils may
come to me from as far away as Egypt or sunny California. They may smell of
rose geranium or blood oranges. When I cannot dream of anything fresh and new,
I lie on the wood floor, open bottle upon bottle, and simply close my eyes.
The Utter Surprise
of It
The act of unmolding or cutting into a loaf of soap is the most
satisfying of all. It is the Christmas equivalent of tearing wrapping paper
from a gift. I never know what will greet me until the suction push from the
mold’s cavity or that first press of a cold steel knife to a loaf.
Every bar and loaf is different. Like a sunset or fireworks display, the
appearance can never be truly replicated. How the design appears, the manner in
which swirls fall and weave, and what colors choose to pop or recede are a one-time
show. Now you see it; now you don’t. Indeed, you can never make the same bar
twice -- ever. To me that uniqueness embodies the craft’s highest beauty.
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| Meant to Bee |
Naming Names
The naming of soaps often involves a trigger. Triggers arrive whenever
they wish, perhaps after a thunderstorm sweeps through the backyard, in a
cellar box of forgotten letters, or in a patch of pulpy sweet blackberries.
Each batch I pour maintains its own mood and character. Its name must
reflect that. Artisan’s soaps should suggest who they are and what they might
be in that long hot shower ahead. Often, it is not enough to say simply, Rose soap, for indeed, what kind of
rose? Is it the kind the first person who broke your heart recalls? The rose of
the backyard bushes of childhood barefooted hide and go seek games? Or could it
be the rose left anonymously drying between the pages of an abandoned flea
market book?
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| Cobalt Doves |
P.S. Love Your
Craft with No Apologies
The most challenging part of being an artist is clarifying foremost to
yourself your work’s worth in heart, not hard currency. Why
do you do what you do? The answer is most imperative not for the world, but for
you. I was never trained for the soap crafting I engage in daily, yet I love my
work. It sprang from accidental interest, and turned earnest with an
unexplainable intensity. I dream persistently now in scents and colors.
In the early years, I felt embarrassed by the deep resounding joy my
pursuit gave me. After all, I held two degrees so shouldn’t I be advising some
rogue politician how to get your vote, or hunkered down in a lab, discovering
the cure for what ails you most?
More than a decade later I can say confidently that an education is for
all of life’s pursuits be they commercial, scientific, artistic or family. I
think when we send our educated out only in the pursuit of corporate and
material gain, then it sends a message that artistry -- be it painting, literature
or artisan endeavors -- is of is of little value in our society. Nothing could
be further from the truth. Ultimately, it is the beauty in such simple things
as a shower, eyes closed, with fragrant soap that offers the brief serenity for
the arduous hours to come.
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| Peony '63 |
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| Beatrix & Peter |
This is Week 27 of 52 Artists in 52 Weeks. To see more about Wanda’s
soaps, please visit her website
and her new blog. Thank you for
reading and sharing Wanda’s story today!
