WHAT THIS IS
Embers of Intention" is a two-part offering that explores scent as a conduit for memory, ritual, and personal mythology. Composed of a ten-scent candle collection and a video visual, this body of work is a reflection on Black Southern interiors and—both literal and emotional—and the quiet, intentional ways we shape time, space, and self through memory, light, and care.
Fundamentally, it is an act of preservation: of scent, of softness, of silence, and of story. The candles, each crafted from essential oils drawn from deeply personal memories, serve as portals—each one a tether to a moment, a season, a song, or a gesture.
This works ask: What does it mean to tend to one's interior life with ritual and care? What is the shape of memory when held in flame? How can scent be a spiritual archive?
THIS IS MORE THAN SCENT. THIS IS MEMORY. THIS IS RITUAL.
I never truly paused to think about the nature of scent, memory, and ritual—how intertwined they are in ways I couldn’t comprehend at the time. But scent is power. It can be safety or danger. It brings us back—sometimes so vividly we feel as if we’re reliving something in real time. That alone is a spectacle worthy of reverence.
I've always found magic in elevating the mundane. Lighting a candle is a small act, but one capable of deep transformation. It grounds. It transports. And over time, I’ve come to understand it as a ritual in itself. For much of my life, the word "ritual" felt intimidating—otherworldly or ominous. But I’ve learned it’s woven into our daily lives. It’s brushing our teeth. It’s preparing meals. It’s burning a candle while cleaning the house. These small things, when done with intention, become sacred. They are acts of care, acts of the divine.
My journey into candle making began a year into the pandemic, sparked by a box of essential oils sent to me from my job. Unsure what to do with them, I turned to YouTube, fueled by curiosity and a growing obsession with candles. After months of trial and error, I made my first candle that actually smelled like something—and it all changed from there. A friend invited me to bring them to her brand launch, asking a simple but powerful question: Are you serious about this? That question rerouted my path. I had no labels, barely any inventory, and yet I felt the first flicker of purpose. What began as a hobby slowly became something deeper: a body of work that reached into the most personal corners of my life, memory, and identity.
Moments of Reflection
What scent brings you home?
It’s hard to name just one. For me, candle numbers 3, 4, 9, and 10 always feel like coming home. These are the ones I reach for most often. They ground me. They bring peace. In a house that’s slowly becoming a home—after 7 years of living in it, and 3 of those years living alone—they hold space for me. These scents are like anchors.
What were you searching for when you made these candles?
Each candle demanded something different from me. But as a whole, I was searching for myself—for clarity, for expression, for origin. I didn’t know it at the time, but with every scent, I was getting to know myself in more intimate and deeper ways. Sometimes I was working through grief. Other times I was rediscovering joy. Always, I was in dialogue with who I was and who I was becoming.
What does protection smell like to you?
Protection smells like home—and home changes as we do. Sometimes it’s the Thanksgiving spread at Mama’s house (we never dared call her Grandma). Sometimes it’s a bottle of Pine-Sol or the scent of burning hair on Sunday morning while Twinkie Clark plays. If I had to bottle it? It would be light and floral, but demanding. A scent that whispers and holds firm all at once.
THE PROCESS
In the early days, the process was messy and deeply personal. I used a double boiler on the stove and glass droppers to blend oils, making just four to six candles at a time. Scent testing could take weeks or even months. I’d wrestle with combinations until something finally clicked. The process taught me patience. It taught me that things shouldn’t be forced. If a candle was meant to exist, its scent and name would come to me naturally. I trusted that because I trust the divine—and by extension, I trust myself.
Every part of this from blending, naming, labeling, writing—was a form of devotion. Even now, with a streamlined system and large wax melting pots, the essence of my process remains the same: pour with intention, honor what arrives, let it live.
At its core, this collection is about simple acts of self-care. It’s about nurturing ourselves in small ways. Burning these candles has become a ritual of presence for me. They’ve taught me how to be still. How to listen. Each scent holds a story, a fragment of me. From heartbreak to healing, they’ve witnessed every chapter of who I’ve become.
Black Scent Memory Matters
We deserve to be remembered for more than our pain. Black stories are rich with joy, sorrow, ritual, nostalgia, and love—and scent carries all of that. We all know the smell of a bathroom being cleaned with 4 different cleaning products on a Saturday afternoon. Or the scent of hot combs and burnt hair before church. These moments matter. They’re cultural archives, and scent is our quiet storyteller. Yet it rarely gets the reverence it deserves.
This is why these candles are important to me. They are part of the larger story of Black living. They honor my family, my queerness, my roots in the south. Candle 4 and 10 hold pieces of Texas and my father. Candle 3 is a celebration of my femininity—something I now embrace with pride. Each one is a reflection, a record, and a rebellion.
On Time and Preservation
Years after creating this collection, I see these candles as living objects. Each one embodies a thought, an emotion, a memory, or even a place not yet visited. They are more than just wax and oil. They are manifestations of something divine. They remind me that nothing sacred has to be grand—sometimes it’s as simple as striking a match.
This project is not just a product line. It is a ritual practice in public form. One that invites others to return to themselves by way of scent, breath, and reflection.
