The first question is: what is the project?
That sounds obvious, but it was the problem underneath a whole pile of other problems.
I was trying to make mountain-shaped candles. More specifically, I was trying to use digital fabrication to create wax sculptures derived from real terrain. That part was clear enough. What was much less clear, especially early on, was whether this was fundamentally a candle business, a fabrication experiment, a software project, an art object, or some scrappy mutant combination of all four.
By the time I wrote in my notes:
What’s The Project?
- Make candles Why software? Why software? CAM is required How to tune
I had already burned a fair amount of time learning the hard way that vague project definitions make every downstream decision more fussy.
The broad project description that survived in my notes is pretty clean:
The project is to use digital fabrication to create wax sculptures.
That is accurate, but it hides some of the actual tension.
The product was supposed to be physical, giftable, maybe sellable, and tied to place. The process, on the other hand, leaned heavily on terrain data, notebook experiments, CAD/CAM workflows, and later a bunch of custom tooling. So the whole thing had a built-in identity problem:
Unfortunately, reality picked option three.
The early evidence is kind of funny in hindsight. By late August 2024 there were already brand guidelines, business-card assets, info sheets, and planning docs for markets. So on one axis the project was already trying to become public-facing.
At the same time, the physical process was still messy as heck:
That is a rough place to be. You can absolutely make branding assets while the process is unstable, but it does mean the public story gets ahead of the internal certainty.
I kept having to answer that question because software projects are very good at expanding to fill the room.
The answer, as far as I can tell from the notes and repos, is this:
The product depended on geometry that was too specific to do comfortably by hand.
I needed to:
That is not impossible to do with a pile of disconnected tools, but it gets goofy fast. The whole reason the software stack kept growing was not because I wanted a cool stack for its own sake. It was because the object itself demanded tuning.
Or, said a little more plainly: if your project is a mountain candle, software is how you negotiate with the mountain.
One of the clearest lines in the notes is:
Aluminum doesn’t scale, let’s try silicone molds
That sentence matters because it turns the project from a mostly technical curiosity into a real manufacturing problem.
At that point it was pretty clear the project was not just:
It was more like:
That is a much bigger project. Also, frankly, a more interesting one.
The notes in April 2025 make this even more explicit:
That is a classic sign that a project has outgrown the story I was telling myself about it.
Once I started asking “what is the project?” in a serious way, a few things changed:
Defining the project more honestly did not make it easier.
What it did do was make the next steps less stupid.
Instead of asking “what notebook stack should I use?” as if that were the interesting question, I could ask:
That shift is what made the later tooling work worth doing.
Once the project definition got a little less muddy, the next problem was straightforward, at least on paper:
I needed a path from a real mountain to usable geometry.
That turned into terrain data, TouchTerrain, CAD packaging, notebook friction, a bunch of Nix nonsense, and eventually wax-cam.
Good clean fun.