#texasresincreations

Sometimes my studio feels more like a tiny haunted workshop than a workspace.

This week, I’ve been pouring glossy black resin spiders 🖤. Once they’re cured, I sit with a tray of tiny orange gems and slowly place them — one on each leg, two for eyes, a row glittering down the back. It’s fiddly, sparkly work. The kind where time disappears and suddenly the whole night has gone by.

Spiders always get a bad rep, but I think they’re a little magical. They’re patient, they weave, they wait. And in resin, they get to shimmer.

When I hold one of these finished earrings in my hand, it feels like I bottled up spooky season and turned it into something wearable. They’re light, a little mischievous, and every single one ends up with its own “personality” because the gems never land in quite the same way twice.

✨ Handmade resin artist brain = half chaos, half sparkle.

Anyway — thought you might like to peek behind the curtain. The studio’s messy, my desk is covered in glitter, and the spiders are quietly glowing under the lamp.

Handmade light is soft armor. Not a shield — a shimmer. A promise that strength doesn’t have to shout to be seen.

Each petal I pour is layered with patience, intention, and a little glittered defiance. Because sometimes softness is rebellion.

You can protect your heart and still let it glow. That’s the kind of bravery I believe in.

Every time I pour a lotus mold, I think of the people who keep blooming despite the weight of life. Each petal, a small promise — that beauty can return even after the storm.

Sometimes, while the resin cures, I imagine the promise traveling through time, reaching someone who needs a moment of calm. Maybe that’s what handmade really means — that intention lingers.

Yellow is my mischief color — laughter caught mid-sunbeam. It’s the hue of resilience disguised as joy. While the resin cures, tiny gold flecks rise and drift, settling like daylight on still water. Every cured petal holds the memory of warmth.