I have made a lot of candles over the last six years. Hundreds of batches, thousands of candles, more scent combinations than I could probably list, and plenty of ideas that never made it out of the studio.

And if there’s one thing making candles for a living has taught me, it’s that a candle smelling amazing when you pick it up is not the same thing as a candle smelling amazing when you burn it.

I think that’s something most of us don’t really think about when we buy candles. We take the lid off, give it a sniff, love it, and assume that’s what our house is going to smell like twenty minutes later.

Except it doesn’t always work that way.

There is actually quite a bit happening inside that little glass once you light the wick, and after years of making candles in our studio here in Tofino, I’ve become fairly particular about what I think makes one worth bringing home.

A candle has two completely different lives

In candle-making, we talk about cold throw and hot throw.

Cold throw is what you smell when the candle isn’t burning. It’s that first sniff when you pick one up in a shop or open the lid.

Hot throw is what happens once you actually light it and the wax begins to melt.

And I care a LOT more about the second one.

Obviously I want you to pick up one of our candles and think it smells beautiful. But ultimately, that's not what you bought it for. You bought it because you want to light it while you make dinner, run a bath, read on the couch, have friends over or putter around the house on a rainy Sunday.

It needs to work when it's burning.

That sounds incredibly obvious, but creating a strong cold scent is not necessarily the same thing as creating a candle that performs beautifully once lit.

More fragrance doesn't automatically make a better candle

This is one of those things I probably would have assumed before I started making candles: if you want a stronger candle, just put more fragrance in it.

Nope.

Wax can only hold so much fragrance, and every combination behaves differently. The fragrance, wax, wick and vessel all have to work together. Changing one can change the way the whole candle burns.

That's why making candles is a lot less pour some nice-smelling oil into wax than it appears from the outside.

You can create a fragrance you LOVE and then discover it doesn't perform properly in wax. You can change the wick and suddenly the burn changes. You can put the exact same formulation into a different-sized vessel and have to rethink it again.

There is a lot of testing involved in making something that looks very simple.

And I actually love that about it.

The biggest flame isn't the best flame

Another misconception: bigger flame = stronger candle.

Please don't encourage your candle to become a tiny bonfire.

A good candle should have a controlled, steady flame and develop an even melt pool as it burns. The wick has a job to do. Its purpose isn't just to look pretty flickering away in the corner; it helps determine how the wax melts, how fragrance is released and ultimately how the candle performs.

It's also why trimming your wick matters. If you've ever had a candle with a huge flame, black soot around the vessel or a mushroom growing on the end of the wick, that's not the candle becoming extra fragrant. It needs a trim.

I know. Candle maintenance. Who knew?

Your room matters more than you think

This one is worth knowing when you're choosing a candle.

A scent that feels beautiful in your bedroom or bathroom may feel much softer in a huge open-plan kitchen and living room.

That's not necessarily a bad candle.

It's a different space.

I don't think every candle needs to punch you in the face from across the house. Some scents are supposed to sit closer. Others naturally carry.

And personally, I think there is a difference between being able to smell a candle and being overwhelmed by one. My hope is that our candles are a secondary sensory experience in a space.

I want ours to become part of the room. You notice it. You walk out and come back in and notice it again. It changes how the space feels without making you wonder whether you've accidentally walked into the fragrance department of a mall.

That's the sweet spot for me.

Sometimes the simplest scents are the hardest to beat

This has probably been one of my bigger lessons as a maker.

I've made complicated scents. I've played with combinations and layers and notes and ideas. I love experimenting — hence the name The Hobbyist!!

But some of the scents that have survived year after year are surprisingly simple.

Long Beach is lemon + lavender.

That's it.

By the Sea Shore is fir needle + Bulgarian lavender + eucalyptus.

Three oils.

Then there's On the Inlet, with rosemary, mint, lavender + cedarwood. It's become the scent I probably associate most strongly with The Hobbyist because it's been here with me for so much of this business.

And Forest Bathing is deeper and more layered — fir, pine, and cedarwood — because that's what I wanted it to be. It needed that depth to feel like standing beneath the trees here on the coast.

I've learned not to add something simply because I can.

If three things create the feeling I'm looking for, I don't need seven.

Which brings me to The Keepers

We've been doing some editing around here lately. Over six years, I've made scents I've adored, scents that disappeared quietly, scents customers loved more than I expected them to, and scents I thought would be huge that... weren't. That's part of making things.

But lately I've been thinking a lot about the scents that have stayed.

On the Inlet. Forest Bathing. By the Sea Shore. Long Beach.

They're very different from one another, but they've earned their place here.

You buy them again. I still love making them. And, most importantly to me, they still capture the place or feeling I was trying to bottle when I first created them.

I'm starting to think that becoming better at your craft isn't always about learning how to make more. Sometimes it's learning what's worth continuing to make.

And these are the keepers.