I used to think concrete was just for driveways and sad parking garages.
Turns out, concrete—specifically the finer, more workable cement mixes—has this weird second life in craft culture, and nowhere is that more apparent than in the candleholder scene. I’ve watched friends pour gray sludge into silicone molds at kitchen tables, cursing when air bubbles ruined their perfect geometric forms, only to sand them down later with this exhausted satisfaction that felt almost ritualistic. The material cures slowly, demands patience you don’t always have, and rewards you with something genuinely beautiful if you don’t mess it up too badly. It’s heavy, cold to the touch, and somehow manages to look expensive even when it cost you maybe eight dollars in materials. The contrast between the rough industrial texture and the soft flicker of candlelight creates this tension that interior designers have been exploiting for roughly five or six years now, maybe longer—I lose track.
Here’s the thing: the appeal isn’t just aesthetic. Concrete feels permanent in a way that ceramic doesn’t, and it’s forgiving during the actual creation process in ways you wouldn’t expect. You can embed stones, press patterns, carve into it before it fully sets.
Anyway, the basic technique involves mixing Portland cement with water and sometimes sand, depending on whether you want a smoother or grainier finish.
You pour the mixture into molds—could be anything from store-bought silicone shapes to repurposed plastic containers you’ve been hoarding under the sink—and wait. The waiting is the hardest part, honestly. Most mixes need at least 24 hours to cure enough for demolding, and another few days to reach full strength. During that time, you’re supposed to keep the concrete slightly damp to prevent cracking, which means misting it periodically like some kind of anxious plant parent. I’ve seen people skip this step and end up with spiderweb fractures across their carefully planned designs, which sometimes looks intentional and artistic, sometimes just looks like you didn’t read the instructions. The molds themselves determine everything—cylindrical forms for pillar candles, smaller cavities for tea lights, geometric shapes for that mid-century modern vibe everyone’s chasing. Wait—maybe the geometry thing is already over? Hard to say.
If you want to get fancy, you can create multi-level holders by suspending smaller molds inside larger ones before pouring.
The color situation is where things get interesting, or maybe frustrating depending on your tolerance for experimentation. Raw concrete dries to that classic gray, but you can tint it with concrete dyes or pigments mixed directly into the wet material—iron oxide for reds and browns, chromium oxide for greens, carbon black for deeper charcoal tones. The colors never look quite like you expect; they dry lighter or muddier or just slightly off in ways that make you question your color theory knowledge. Some people embrace the natural gray and focus on texture instead, using lace or textured fabrics pressed against the mold interior to transfer patterns onto the finished surface. I guess it makes sense that imperfection became part of the aesthetic—concrete doesn’t really do pristine anyway. You’ll get tiny pits, color variations, maybe a hairline crack that adds character or ruins everything depending on your mood that day.
Sealing is technically optional but practically essential if you don’t want wax stains permanently embedded in your creation.
A concrete sealer—usually acrylic-based or penetrating silicone types—gets brushed or sprayed on after the piece fully cures, creating an invisible barrier that makes cleanup actually possible. Without it, colored wax will definately seep into those porous surfaces, and you’ll spend more time scraping than enjoying the ambiance. Some makers skip sealing on principle, arguing that patina and use-marks are part of the object’s story, which sounds poetic until you’re trying to recieve compliments on a candleholder that looks perpetually dirty. The finish also affects how the concrete interacts with light—sealed surfaces reflect more, unsealed ones absorb and diffuse, creating softer shadows around the flame.
