Hot Mess Part Forty-Nine: Controlled Chaos

 

A Chorus of Tall Things

25 May 2025

It's been three weeks since the spring workshop ended. With glassblowing in the rearview, I almost forgot that there was a final blog post to be written. So here we go.

As the weather improved, I began to resent being stuck in the hotshop on Sunday mornings. I'd set aside precision in favor of color and flow. At the other bench, Murano was doing the opposite. If he was having fun, I certainly couldn't tell. Over at our bench, we were heating and swinging, aiming to get as tall as possible, and having a blast.

I messed up a lot. I had broken bottoms that went into the waste bucket. I had a collapsed middle that I thought I could cut off, to get rid of the ugly top, but the glass shattered under the saw.

I took a broken bottom home after sanding it down so it maybe could stand on its own. It only stood at a slant.

So I stuffed it in the ground where I'd already had a crop of threads. Now, at least, the threads would be protected.

I took another crack (bad word choice) at blue aventurine. This time I wound up with something worth keeping.

The sparkle only shows close up, and not in the photo.

One Sunday morning, CP made a thin-walled drinking glass in Murano's style. They'd been working up to this for a few weeks. Towards the end of class, Murano approached me and said, "See? My teaching style works for some people."

I was cleaning my glasses. Not looking up, I said, "If it works for him, it works for him." What was I supposed to say? 

He replied, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding." Are you, though?

I had a bronze rod that I'd used back in 2021. I didn't have much luck with it then. It worked okay as a thread, but it wasn't interesting. I'd made a large ornament that came out a muddy, transparent brown. On my desk is a failed vase that's now a pencil holder. It looks almost black. 

I figured I'd try again, since there was so much of it left. The first attempt was another broken bottom. The second one was short for a tall vase, very skinny, and only curved on one side. It looked like it wanted to hold balsamic vinegar. I was so annoyed when I put it away that I named it "Fuck All The Way Off." I gave it to Dale at the student sale.

And I still have loads of that rod left.

Meanwhile, there were chunks of Iron Maiden floating around. The new guy (I'm still working on a suitable nom de blog) was giving it away. This time, I tried to work hotter and to blow it out more. I'm always too cautious with opaque colors. I could have made this wannabe tall vase taller.

The colors though! Now I was seriously considering getting a half kilo of this rod for myself.

An Indigo rod tall vase exploded in the glory hole after I transferred it to the punty. I let the heat polish the edges, swung it a little, and kept the thing. All The Glass was there to witness the end. He always arrived a little before 9:30 to retrieve the colored and clear waste that collects from the pipes. He spreads the shards along the walkway next to his house. He looked at what I was doing and told me he had a piece at home the same thing happened to. "It's one of my favorites," he said.

 I like the color anyway.

When the school closed for Easter, we lost another Sunday. We were given some options to make up for it, and for the day we'd missed when campus was closed for the ice storm. Sometimes and I picked two Thursday afternoons.

The first one coincided with a celebration of Our Instructor and the Former Dean, who had collaborated to make a gate for the art gallery courtyard. I managed to get a few minutes of conversation with Our Instructor before Sometimes and I started working. All afternoon, people were coming in and out of the classroom to watch us. I wondered if any of them were the Mean Dean. I'm glad I didn't know, because I'm not sure I'd have been able to maintain civility.

On my way out, at 5:30 p.m., I passed the gate again. The evening sun shone through the glass.

On the hotplate, I'd been laying out swirls of blues and purples, some reducing, some not, in four little piles. On a core of white, I'd  dip into the piles and gather over, or gather clear then mash the gather into the piles. 

This tall vase got to 13 inches.

Because I wasn't trying to make sure the opening was flat and symmetrical before swinging, I'd get an exaggerated angle at the top. This one is a bit much.

On a Monday night, I'd gone to pick up an Iron Maiden rod from the oven, turned around, found GGP at the glory hole, and hesitated. One needs to get to the glory hole right away with a rod, lest it explode. GGP ought to have known that and seen me, but, for whatever reason, she was helping Rose or Sage and wasn't paying attention. The lost seconds sent the rod shattering. I'd swept up the pieces to use again later.

When later came, I picked them up on a background of blue-gray. The result was something akin to a faux wood panel on a 1970s station wagon.

With this and the two other Iron Maiden pieces in hand, and having seen what other people had been making with it, I realized that this color is never going to be the same thing twice. I ordered half a kilo and hoped it would arrive before the end of the semester.

Playing with the swirls again, I picked them up on the outside.

Then I poured what was left into a scoop and, on a blue-gray background, picked them all up together.

It looked like a Monet.

At home, I'd been using the cup I'd made from scraps as my regular drinking glass. Pouring in orange juice changes everything.

Something funky was going on with the enamel white powder. The glory hole wasn't quite up to temperature when I started layering the color onto my initial gather. The white was turning silver. It had turned a little gold on me before, the very first time I'd put the color swirls over it. But this was different, and it didn't burn off in all the heat when I laid the swirls on top of it.

I was still thinking about the color-verb "vermillion reach" when I used chunky black frit from All The Glass' basment and laid vermillion frit over it. The result was one of my favorite pieces of the semester.

The next scrap drinking glass was a dud. Gold aventurine is awful when it's not laid on thick.

Meanwhile, the Student Art Show was being installed. I went into the gallery the day before the opening to see where my balloons ended up.

And at home, I poured myself a glass of milk.

The weather was improving, and I was beginning to resent being cooped up in the hotshop on Sunday mornings. But it was also cherry-blossom-on-the-floor season. That made things better.

The fan by the glory hole gave up the ghost. I found a replacement tucked under the back table. Its blades spun plenty fast, yet there was no current at all. I said, "I bought a hot plate and blocks. I ain't buying a fan." GGP bought one and rescued us.

At the end of one Sunday morning, as we were leaving and the afternoon shift was coming in, what started as chit-chat turned into an impromptu rod swap. The new guy was handing out more Iron Maiden. I gave him some bronze and poppy red in exchange. He gave me a piece of Cerulean Blue. I gave Murano something in exchange for a slice of New Red.

So now I had more Iron Maiden to play with. I tried a long-neck vase. The clear collar pulled with it, which is something I'd never had happen before. And the bottom broke. I put it away anyhow because I wanted to see what color it would be.

The same thing happened with the next one, only with the bottom intact.

When I got home, I found a heavy box of glass rod waiting for me. This looked like a lot more than half a kilo. I'd paid in advance, and the shipment ended up being a kilo in three pieces. The smallest chunk happened to be about the amount that the new guy had given to me, so I put his name on the wrapper and handed it to him the next time I saw him.

A tall vase sat on the Window Sill of Judgment. "This one needs eyes," I decided. I have a bag of googly eyes. Problem solved. The vase became a birthday present for someone who appreciates a well-placed pair of googly eyes.

We were getting close to the end of the semester.

I tried reversing the color scheme of vermillion reach. Meh.

Back in January, I'd drilled little discs from a fused sheet from All The Glass' basement. Now I was finally getting around to picking them up. The first one went south on my pretty quickly, the colors blowing out in different directions, settling near the bottom, leaving me to say "Yuck yuck yuck" as I worked the piece. CP looked over. "Drop it in a mold," he said. So I did, and rescued it, sort of, by spinning it into a floppy vase. I'm still not sure if I like this. It's in judgment purgatory.

The verdict on the second Iron Maiden vase (the bottomless one never having left the classroom) is also not yet in.

I tried the discs again. The result was weird enough to keep for now.

Cerulean Blue is one of my favorite colors, which is why I'd run out of the rod I'd had years ago. With the piece gained in the swap, I made a little cup, only to find that the bottom, far too thick, was cracked. The top was too thick also. This is a persistent problem I have with rods. Next semester, I need to learn how to get thinner tops.

I'd made a cup from the New Red rod, too, but it fell off the punty into the water bucket.

At the very end of class, I used a powder from the basement stash that I'd left out for everyone to use all semester, since there was still some left.

On our second makeup Thursday, I used the rest of the basement shards to make a bowl that ended up much bigger and heavier than I'd planned. I didn't want to risk losing it, so I didn't try to straighten out the indentation at the top (it's another of my persistent errors). I liked how it turned out, so I kept it.

I made one more vase with the mix of Monet blues and purples. The frits were on the outside this time, and they reduced.

With two slices of my new Iron Maiden rod, I made two cups, back to back. I turned the rod sideways for the second one. Otherwise, everything else was the same. 

This is the first one:

This is the second one:

Same rod, same day, completely different result.

That morning, I'd decided I wanted to replace an old millefiori drinking glass I'd made in 2021. I think I laid out too many millefiori for this one. Less is more. But I've been drinking out of it ever since. It's taller than the others I've made this semester.

The finale of the Student Art Show was on the same day as our final Sunday. I'd been asking for volunteers for the student sale. The most I got was one maybe. I made sure everyone knew I wasn't going to do this by myself.

In the supply shed were four crates full of donated work going back years. People were bringing in boxes of glass to add to the pile. We were told it all had to disappear or it would be thrown out. These were the pieces that would provide money for us to buy more blocks, or whatever other supplies we'd need that the school would not provide.

At the last minute, Sage and Rose volunteered. When Sunday came around, Tall Vase was in for Sometimes as my partner. He kept running back and forth between me and the classroom while I was working. I had a suitcase full of my own pieces in my car.

I wanted to rework the Cerulean Blue cup. I put it in the big oven, then, when it got to the proper temperature, blew a bubble into it. I reshaped it, but the result was not at all satisfactory. The top was, once again, far too thick. The shape was meh. I took it home anyway because I liked the color.

I made another long-neck vase from Iron Maiden while Tall Vase was setting up. "Nice shape," Murano said. It took a beat for me to realize he was talking to me. I'd been invisible since I stopped being his partner. "Thanks."

I made another one. Same rod, maybe an hour later.

People were coming and going from the hotshop all morning. Some were classmates using the time to grind down uneven bases. Others were picking up their work. Some were folks who had wandered in after the art show next door.

And then Alchemy appeared in the doorway! The last time I saw him, the Colonel was still in charge. Of course, I had to ask him about my white frit turning silver; and of course, he texted me an image of a possible answer fifteen minutes later, while I was assisting Tall Vase.

At 12:30, I was packing up my tools. Sean, Dale, and her brother had been watching us for the past hour, and were watching when one of the afternoon students, a returning old-timer who used to work with LT1 and LT2, gave me an owl she'd made long ago. 

"On one condition," she said. "You have to name him."

"Frederick," I said.

Here is Frederick, at home, eyeing a mushroom Sometimes made:

Sean helped carry my stuff to the car. I retrieved my suitcase full of glass, and my lunch, and headed into the classroom to set up and work the tables for the show.

Rose and Tall Vase had done a good job displaying all the donated pieces. Tall Vase had a few of his own. I set mine up next to his. Tall Vase worked the student sale table for a while. Low Key was in and out. Alchemy stuck around for a while. 

I wouldn't let Dale buy anything unless she took some pieces for free. My goal was not to bring any of these things back home. Only two people I didn't know bought anything of mine. At the student table, the rule was "name your price." That worked out pretty well. By the end of the day, our club coffer was $305 richer.

As I was about to pack up what was left of my own work, one of the building tech's kids, who I'd seen on Monday nights, wandered in. I offered her some free glass. She ended up taking four pieces. I didn't have to pack up much at all.

I did have to reload the crates from the student sale leftovers. Making the executive decision to jettison all the giant pieces that nobody even looked at (mostly from All The Glass), I reduced the load from four crates and three boxes down to three crates and one box. Another building tech helped me carry them back into the shed. I took the big rejects to the waste bins in the hallway.

"What are you doing?" Low Key asked. I explained. "I'll take some. I need to give some gifts." The new guy sequetered more for himself, leaving very little in the bin.

The next day, Monday, was our last day.

I had a big plan: Enamel white on the core, coated in clear so it wouldn't reduce, with a reducing purple and a reducing blue tangle of threads on the second gather. It took a long time to set up, and, at first, it looked like what I'd imagined. Then things went mushy. The purple spread and reduced to a golden brown on its own. I forgot to hit the vase with the torch before I put it away, so if the blue was going to reduce, it would have to happen in the annealer.

The whole thing was a mess. 

At the end of the night, we were told that the crates of student glass in the shed had to disappear, the last malicious act of the Mean Dean before stepping down.

"But this is how we make money for supplies," I told the building tech.

"I know," he said. He's always been on our side. "They can come back in the fall."

My car was right there. I took the three crates. The new guy took the box. 

I realized, as I drove away, that I'd forgotten my pipes and the hot plate.

Time was running out to fetch our last pieces, so I left work early that Thursday to pick everything up, including my pipes and the hot plate.

Before I retrieved my glass, I went over to the art gallery to retrieve my balloons. Nobody official-looking was around, so I stood on my toes and carefully removed the chains from the hook. The box I'd brought the piece in with was sitting next to the pedestal. Nobody asked me any questions as I packed up. If I was supposed to sign a form or something, I never did. I could have been anyone.

When I got to the hotshop, Sometimes was there. I showed her the messy vase.

"It looks like a planet," she said.

"Planet Urf!" I declared. I kind of hate it and I kind of like it.

Once more with the Iron Maiden:

Ugh! I even pulled and trimmed this top and it's still too thick!

One last cup, Cherry Red. Thick top again!

Sometimes drove away. The furnace was off and empty. The vent fans were off. The hotshop was quiet.

"That's a wrap," I texted the workshop group along with the photos. "See you in fifteen weeks."

*****

I'm enjoying the quiet. My mind isn't racing with visions of what I want to make tomorrow or the next day. I have my Sundays back. I am never, ever going to blow glass every Sunday again. I'm not signing up for two workshop slots ever again either. It's too much time, too much to take home, and it's exhausting.

That said, half of what I made this semester is either discarded, given away, or ready to be handed off or sold. 

The crates are on the back patio, screened in from the elements and behind latched doors. It was too easy to scan the shelves, pick off a few more pieces, wrap them up, and nest them in with everything else. The Cerulean Blue vase went that way, and a couple other things I've already forgotten. I drilled holes in the bottom of Moss Green Creep and a scrap bubble cup, packed them up with an annoying bowl I made a few years ago, and sent them off to a friend in Massachusetts who deocrates her yard with found objects. Other pieces went to college friends. The once-crowded give away/sell shelf now has five pieces on it. Above that are some others that haven't made their way to the permanent collection. Better news is that there's room for one more semester before the need for a one-to-one exchange happens. 

The balloons are back home. At least one orchard orb weaver has spun a web on it.

Last fall's yard glass pieces now have flowers surrounding them.

The afternoon sun shines through Covid-era ornaments on the back patio, leaving colored shadows on a bench:

For my birthday, Jack bought a little of everything from my wish list. Among the rods is Cerulean Blue and a bag of scraps that I can practice with or trade. My goal for the fall is to get better with rods and play with color combinations again.

Word is we have a new instructor, an artist with an MFA. May she be a far sight better than the last MFA to come through our doors.

And with that, I will publish this post and do my best not to think about glass for the next twelve weeks.