Blue Resin Skull — Making Time to Make Something

There’s a blue epoxy resin skull sitting on my work surface right now. The colour is mine, mixed and poured. The eye sockets hold a metallic copper tone that catches the light differently every time I move it. It’s not finished. The surface still needs work, the photo doesn’t quite capture it the way I want, and I’m not sure when I’ll get back to the last steps. That’s fine.

I made it because I wanted to. Not for a market, not for a deadline, and not because anyone asked for a resin skull. Just because the idea was there and I had a stretch of time that wasn’t already claimed by something else. That small choice is what this piece is really about.

The practical side

Epoxy resin rewards patience more than speed. For a cast like this:

- Work in thin layers if you’re building color or inclusions. Thick pours trap heat and can yellow or crack.
- Colour thoroughly before you pour. Transparent dyes and mica powders behave differently; test a small batch so you know how the shade will look once it cures.
- Keep the workspace dust-free for at least the first few hours. Once the resin starts to gel, anything that lands on the surface stays there.
- Demold only when it’s fully hard. Flexing a soft cast is the fastest way to leave fingerprints or distort the shape.
- Finish work (sanding, polishing, additional pigment) can happen later. The skull doesn’t need to be perfect the day it comes out of the mold.

None of that is complicated, but it does require showing up when the resin is ready rather than when the calendar is convenient. The same is true of most handmade things.

Why the unfinished version still counts

A lot of creative work gets abandoned because it doesn’t look like the version in our heads. The blue skull is a good reminder that the value isn’t only in the polished final object. Part of the value is in the decision to mix the resin, pour it, and let it cure while the rest of life continues. That decision says the time belonged to me for a while.

Most days are full. Work, family, errands, and the general maintenance of living leave little leftover. The leftover is usually small — an hour after dinner, a quiet morning, a stretch when no one needs anything. Those fragments are easy to spend on scrolling or nothing in particular. They’re also the only time most of us will ever have for making something that exists only because we chose it.

The skull doesn’t solve anything large. It won’t organize a week or finish a project that actually needs finishing. It does prove that a person can still decide, on an ordinary day, to turn a material into a shape that didn’t exist before. That choice is small and it is also complete.

If you have a half-finished piece sitting somewhere — resin, wood, fabric, clay, or something else — it doesn’t have to be perfect to have already done its job. The job was to claim a bit of time and use it for yourself. The rest can wait until you have another small stretch.

That’s the part worth keeping.