Hot Mess Part Twenty-Six: Lives of Their Own

Two Dozen Handblown Glass Ornaments on One Tree

30 January 2022

Once class is over, the pieces I've made get to have their own lives, away from the scrutiny of my peers.

My end-of-semester ritual is to clear out as much glass as possible. Whatever isn't going into one of the cabinets, into the yard, or above my desk at work, has to leave the house one way or another.

Several pieces made their way around the country, and I was glad for photos of their new homes.

One of the two jellyfish is now in Upstate New York, serving as a reminder of jellyfish-infested Ironman waters.

For that, I had to write "Bwa-ha-ha!" in tape on the bottom.

A vase welcomed an old friend relocating to northern New Jersey:

An early feathering attempt flew across the pond to suburban London:

Another feathered vase is living a lot closer to home, one town over.

I'd shipped a big box of rejects to a crafty and creative friend in western Massachusetts. What she did with them does not disappoint:

With the pieces I like tucked away on glass shelves, I needed a way to remind myself to spend some time looking at them. All the shelves have lights, so I put them on a timer. In the evening, the lights go on, and I try to make a point to notice them.

Each piece is an adventure I want to remember for the next time.

Each ornament I made from scrap threads turned out heavy, so I put them all outside, where the morning sun hits them just right.

Meanwhile, some old glass pieces had to make way for new ones. I set about drilling holes in preparation for sculptures that either I or my friend in Massachusetts would make.

I hung the bowls from a line of plastic-coated wire. 

Eventually I moved them from the corner to a more visible part of the porch window screen.

A few days later, I shortened the distance between the bowls. 

Four orbs now live next to where the dead tree was.

Another orb mysteriously shattered after almost a year in the yard. I wasn't upset. Its loss means there's room for something else here.

The porch windows are full for now. I did sell a few giant ornaments, but there were already some waiting to fill the space.

When I decorated the Christmas tree, I used almost all of the ornaments I'd kept in the cabinet and in clear glass bowls. Having them out like this let me reorganize them by color. It also suggested I really don't need to be making more of these for myself.

Our first snowstorm put hats on all the outside ornaments.

Our next-door neighbors are heavily Catholic. They have plaster saints in their back yard. Me, I have a statue of the many-headed Saint Vitreous.

Plain Jim offered, "St Vitreous: Patron saint of those who find fault with their own work, even though others enjoy it immensely. Usually pictured frowning, with the shards of his cast-off, despised creations at his feet. Miracles attributed to St Vitreous often include the grudging admission of the artist or craftsman that, "yeah, I guess that one was really OK..."

To which I responded, "Each head says, "The next one will be better."

I have a second bottle tree, much taller and thinner, where I stuffed the early-semester practice vases that I hadn't thrown back into the melt bucket.

As the ground froze, the tree tilted more and more to one side. I ended up removing the top branches and straightening the center post.

The giant ornaments are proving to be winter-tolerant.

Winter is also the only time we get direct sunlight in the kitchen. It lights up the window sill glass.

At work, a colleague looked at the threaded vases above my desk and said, "They're so pretty. It's so relaxing to look at."

I laughed and said, "It's not relaxing to make!"

Why am I doing this again?

Never mind that. Class has begun again. On the first day we cleaned the room, as we always do, moving everything into the courtyard first.

 

On the second day we did our warmup exercise, the dreaded one-gather-one-reheat challenge. I sent three to the floor, but I did make five that succeeded. I didn't keep them, though. I knocked them off the punty straight into the melt bucket. I have enough crap at home already.

Then I set about making a practice vase. As I cradled the bottom in wet newspaper, rolling the pipe on the rail as I filled the piece with air, I remembered why I'm doing this.