Dylan Marx shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Dylan, it’s always a pleasure to learn from you and your journey. Let’s start with a bit of a warmup: What do the first 90 minutes of your day look like?
As soon as I open my eyes I let the world wash into me. Is it the light peaking through the window? Is it a buzz from my phone? Is it a bird chirping on the street? The start of the day fills my brain and body, I do not judge it, I simply let it in. Then it’s off into the sauna (185*) where I sweat out all of the terrors of the night. Each dream, a bead of sweat, dripping down my forehead, evaporating into the dry hot air. I do this until I myself am dry of any of last night’s horrors, before proceeding to chug a liter of Borjomi water, replacing the bitter salt of sleep with that of the springs of Georgia. At this point I’m usually feeling pretty revived. I step outside and feed my goats.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Dylan Marx, I’m a composer and ice sculptor. I think of my ice sculptures as scores, slowly melting in the sun, dripping into violins, warping the wood. I started doing this for a cruise line (which I will NOT name), and got pretty good at it. I was making all kinds of things: swans, ducks, geese, herons, cranes, you name it. Everyone was impressed. Eventually, they promoted me to bigger and bigger boats, giving me bigger blocks of ice to work with. There was nothing frozen I couldn’t handle. I made a lot of money doing this, but it was hard knowing that all my sculptures would melt away into nothing as patrons walked by stuffing their mouths with shrimp, crab, and other sea goods, without even giving my handiwork so much as a glance. One day, I had just finished carving a particularly large merganser, when I saw its tender wing begin to melt upon the boiled pink wrist of an SPF slathered, aloha-shirt-wearing cretin, as the string quartet tumbled their way Haydn’s 76. It was that moment that I knew that everything was connected. Everything was important, no matter how small, no matter how ugly, no matter how beautiful. The melting wing was me, and I was it, and we were both the sun-burnt wrist, and all of us were the cello, the viola, and the two violins, together. This was when I knew that I must compose.
Great, so let’s dive into your journey a bit more. What was your earliest memory of feeling powerful?
When I was 5 years old, we lived by a pond, and a large part of our diet was waterfowl. One hungry night, my dad handed me the ax, and pointed towards a distant mallard. It was then I knew that if I wanted to eat, I had to take. There was pleasure in power, and power in food.
Was there ever a time you almost gave up?
No
Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. Is the public version of you the real you?
This is something I wonder about, and I know that you, dear reader, wonder about as well. Is it? Is there a real me? Is this me, in this article, or is there another me somewhere else? And if that me is out there, which one of us is real?
Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. If immortality were real, what would you build?
Nothing. Death is the only thing that drives humans to create.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: @dylankurtmarx
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