When the mold is ready, it's time for wax, an amazing material that lies between life and death.

It is warm, pliable, responsive to temperature and touch.

Wax is like a temporary shell in which a sculpture wakes up after sleep.

It still has the flexibility of plasticine, but the brittle fragility of metal is already present.

I pour the wax in thin layers, achieving an exact repetition of all the details.

Every millimeter of the surface is checked, every edge is refined.

You can't rush here — moving too fast will leave a mark that will then become eternal.

Wax keeps the truth about every touch.

Sometimes at this stage I slightly adjust the shape — I remove unnecessary things, emphasize the lines.

This is the last chance to say something to the sculpture before it takes on bronze flesh.

I perceive this moment as breathing before jumping — short, focused, filled with expectation.

When the wax is ready, it turns into a casting model.

It will be covered with a ceramic shell, and when heated, it will leave, leaving room for molten metal.

This is how the alchemy of fire begins — the transformation into bronze.

Wax is the moment when the form is still alive, but already knows that it will become eternal.