Tuesday's Apples on Thursday's Plate
14 May 2023
I started writing this post almost a month ago. At the time, the class was in turmoil, and I was uncertain what to say about the semester. Now that it's over and things have calmed down, I think I can wrap it up nicely. Bear with me. There's a lot of preamble and drama to get through.
Prelude: Teamwork
The semester started before it began with an email from the Colonel. He wanted us to focus on teamwork this semester.
The cast of characters in the advanced class is identical to last, so we should all know by now how the Colonel thinks. Turns out we don't.
He started the semester off by coming down with Covid. Not wanting to lose a precious week of glass time, we took the initiative to clean the classroom, which is always the first day thing, in his absence. If he was grateful for this, I never found out.
The second week saw us huddled around a table while the Colonel insisted on Doing Things Differently with the class schedule. With LT1 gone and her replacement unfamiliar with the workings of our studio, the jobs of startup and shutdown were delegated to those of us in morning and evening slots. After much wrangling, All the Glass and I got our Tuesday night, but Thread Sherpa wouldn't be able to join us. We'd be paired with two beginners instead, and the two of us would have to stay late to clean up and recharge the furnace with fresh glass.
I: Warming Up
This is a picture of the handful of tumblers I made out of new frit mixes. The blue blob was one that went south on me. I spun it out into an interesting shape that, upon further inspection, looked too much like a uterus, so I threw it away.
I decided to use the green one to drink out of. One day I thought I heard it crack. A day later I poured some warm coffee into it, and then I definitely heard it crack. I had to throw it away. I kept the little blue one, perhaps to sell later. I boxed the rest up and put them on the shelf outside of the classroom. I marked the box "for student sale."
This being Super Bowl season, the Colonel decided to dedicate our first class night to making the Philadelphia Eagles' mascot. This was the day that I learned the team had a mascot. I learned that its name is Swoop. Last fall, the Colonel made a Phillies cap. Were we going to have to make sports sculptures all the time now?
Our job was to bring him various blobs of glass, called "bits," that we rolled in whichever color he told us to. Here's the head. The Colonel is really good with eyes.
It was while I was waiting near the furnace for my next instruction that I turned around and saw that he'd put up this godawful poster.
The Colonel is good at sculpting.
He said he'd auction it off, with the proceeds to go to our Glass Club, whose funds would pay for supplies and the guest artist he'd be bringing in later in the semester.
He posted the auction on Instagram. Somebody bid $525.
In the same five minutes that we learned of the winning bid, we learned that he's be giving the guest artist $500.
Eagle come, eagle go.
(I've been waiting all semester to write that. You're welcome.)
II: Apples and Handles
I do better when I have a goal.
Over winter break, a friend commissioned me to make her six apples as Christmas gifts. This gave me a year to figure apples out. I didn't want to wait that long, so I watched a handful of videos and found a technique that looked doable.
I also figured I ought to re-learn how to make handles.
The handle thing did not go well. I remembered why I gave up on them in 2018.
On a Saturday afternoon, an extra class, I worked with Alchemy. Rose had the idea that we should all make green hearts to sell for the Eagles' Super Bowl game. I hate hearts and I don't give a shit about the Super Bowl, but I figured I'd try anyway. I didn't look up how to make a heart beforehand. I tried a few in class. They all sucked. I put two in the annealer that I threw away when they came out.
Alchemy brought me bits for handles. I flubbed one so badly that I cut it off while the bit was still hot. When the cup came out of the annealer, I sanded it down.
Then I took it home, gave it the hot glue treatment, and sand-blasted it the next chance I had.
It became my regular drinking glass at home. The rough finish makes it grippy, and there's a little dent where the bottom of the handle used to be that my finger fits into perfectly.
This garbage pitcher got the sand-blast treatment, too, and then went to live in the student sale box on the shelf outside of the classroom.
I did make a mug, with a slightly distorted top (too much pulling while I was shaping the handle), that I decided I ought to use.
Now, back in 2018, Our Instructor warned us that the glass we use is not heat-tolerant. I believed him, and then I tried to drink coffee out of a mug I made anyway. The first day went fine. The second day, not so much. I managed to get it to the sink before all of the coffee leaked out.
Last semester, the Colonel told us that Our Instructor was wrong. This glass could handle heat. I had empirical evidence to the contrary, but, giving him the benefit of the doubt, I figured I'd try again anyway. The first day went well. I even took a picture.
On the second day I heard the crack. It was the day after that when I tried the green tumbler I mentioned earlier. Coffee 3, mugs 0.
Handles would have to be for pitchers from now on.
Meanwhile, I was also experimenting with the apple shape. I started small, with clear glass.
With All The Glass as my partner, there's no resting when he's working. If I'm not running around getting a bit ready, I'm helping him flatten the bottom of a ginormous piece, or hauling it off to the glory hole while he gets a glass foot ready. Then I'm hauling it again to flash it before a transfer. After that I'm paddling the top to make it flat, or minding the glory hole doors so I can open them when he's ready to spin out. Next, I'm putting the heat-resistant helmet and gloves on so that I can lift the gargantuan finished product into the back corner of the annealing oven. I tease him that he's the reason I lift heavy weights at home. I sometimes wonder how many other classmates could keep up the pace I have to maintain.
After two rounds as his assistant, I end the nights with "whatever." It's usually something small that takes under half an hour.
At the other bench are two beginners, All In and Zero. Like me, All In is coming from New Jersey. He's five years younger than I am, and, from what I can gather, probably makes five times as much money. Within the first few weeks, it became obvious that's he's deep into glassblowing. His partner, a twenty-something art major, is very much not. She comes in late and leaves early, when she shows up at all. This leaves All In to work by himself, only asking us for help when he needs a transfer or to put a piece away. He seems content with this.
After a few clear apples, I aim for color.
The frit mix doesn't look good at all. Vermillion is too orange. The cherry red frit apples both cracked (everything I've made with this color so far has cracked).
I need to use powder to make this work. I don't have the red I need in powder. I arrange with my friend to go halfsies on two powder colors.
One night, All The Glass has to leave early for an emergency. Zero is already gone. I hurry through the piece I'm working on, from a chunk of scrap glass Tall Vase gave me, so that All In can proceed. I don't bother with shaping the top. I end up sending it to my friend in Amherst, MA, along with a vase from last semester, as a trade for a snow-dyed bedsheet.
When it's my turn again, I use the vermillion frit to show All In how I make a cat.
With All The Glass gone, I have to shut the classroom down by myself. Usually, he takes the job of shoveling clear cullet into the furnace, two scoops at a time, then waiting for the temperature to get back up to 2050 degrees. It takes him at least half an hour. I tell him he wouldn't have to stay so late if he'd use less glass. On this night, I'm shoveling, while also sweeping, emptying the pipe buckets of broken glass, setting the annealer to cycle, wiping down the back tables and the marver, and turning everything else off.
Two days later, the Colonel is doing another demo. Before he starts, though, he goes through the list of All the Things We're Doing Wrong. We're used to it by now.
The demo isn't a sports figure, for a change. It's another creepy Art Thing where we bring him bit after bit while he sculpts. When I'm not helping, I'm watching, hoping I might learn something from this.
The following week, I start my time by asking All The Glass to bring me bit after bit on a solid chunk of glass. I'm practicing handles. We get six on before I call it quits. They all suck. I don't try to save it.
The day before, I'd jumped into a free afternoon to work with LT2, who is a master of handles. I made a few pitchers then. None of them made me happy. The little apple had cracks in it.
LT2 didn't want to tell me I was putting the handle on crooked. The pitcher is small and light, and the handle has a decent feel to it. I can't decide if I want to keep it or chuck it.
There are a few more after this one. Most never make it out of the classroom.
The new powders, Tornado Red and Cherry Red Extra, arrive. I use them separately and mixed together. The mix turns out the best, with a stippled look that real apples have. Now that I have the color down, I needed to work on the shape and the stems.
Another "whatever" vase that I'll probably try to sell:
The latest Art Thing to glower at us from atop the Colonel's cabinet:
Another night, another demo. I sit this one out. Of all the things he's made for us, this one is the best. The part that's red when hot is aqua blue when cold.
I now have 10 apples.
I have as many handle fails too. I chop a handle off a pitcher after it comes out of the annealer, then sand it down. That leaves an ugly mark. I'm contemplating what to do about it when Classmate's Partner tells me how much he likes the piece. I give it to him as is. Problem solved.
I sill have this one on the maybe shelf at home. I can't put coffee in it, so I guess it's just gonna sit around looking pretty.
I made this one on another Saturday afternoon, with All In, who signs up for every Saturday afternoon without fail. There are three open slots. He takes one, Glass Ninja takes another, and that's what the calendar looks like week after week. We were at the end of the day. I'd made the vase, pulled a spout, and, looking at the shape, called for a handle at the last minute.
So far, it's the only one I like enough to keep for myself.
As for the apples, the shape is coming along, but now I'm having stem problems. Some of them melted flat onto the top. Others were straight, only to break off later. Glue can fix the latter, but not the former.
We have a mid-term critique. The verdict from the Colonel is that I should make the stems "less stabby," and that my handles need more practice.
But my interest in handles has faded. There's something else in the classroom that has grabbed my attention.
III: Bed of Nails
I saw GGP using this bed of nails one afternoon. I wanted to give it a try.
The trick is to roll hot glass over the bed of nails to make divots, then gather over the divots, which trap air.
I don't use the right color, or enough of the right color, the first time I try.
I'm working with Thread Sherpa, filling in for GGP, pulling a double shift on a Tuesday, when I try again. The top gets away from me. I spin it out into an asymmetric vase. It's probably my favorite piece of the semester. I can't bring it to crit, though. The Colonel is disdainful of floppy vessels. He says it's been done and it's over. Flopping is difficult, for sure, but I have even more trouble with symmetry.
That evening I try again, losing control of the top once more. It's the end of an 8-hour day. I swing the piece on the punty, letting the top flow and fall wherever it wants to go. The air bubbles stretch in a satisfying way.
I've asked Thread Sherpa to show me how to make the lattice pattern I'd seen him do. My first attempt fails. I dump it into the student sale box. My second succeeds.
I take an apple into work. I sit it on my office window sill. The window itself is filthy. The building was completed in 2013. The windows have been washed once since then.
I finally have enough decent apples to showcase them all for my friend.
Some have bad stems, though. I'd have to shore them up with UV-cured glue or snap them off and reposition them.
So that's what I do.
There are fifteen for her to choose from.
At first, she picks these six, then changes her mind about the dark green ones when I send her close-ups. I'm surprised that she choses the smallest of the lot, but that makes them easier to pack.
I decide to keep one of the side-stemmed Granny Smiths for myself.
In an attempt to rescue a few bad pieces, I went in on a Saturday afternoon for some sand-blasting. It didn't help all that much.
Into the student sale box this one goes!
I play with the bed of nails some more, lose control again, and make a hat-bowl. A hat-bowl is a sign of failure in the classroom. Out in the world, a hat-bowl is fine.
I go for the lattice again, using some of the powder left over from the apples.
Viewed from the side, the lattice disappears.
I decide I should sand-blast this one too.
Meanwhile, my friend is happy with the apples. Her son, upon seeing them, requests one for himself, "more transparent," he says. I express my doubts about using not enough powder and text her an image of the green bed of nails vase I had to sand blast. She likes it. I tell her she can have it for the same price as an apple. I make her son a more transparent apple.
I make another Granny Smith just for fun.
With some scrap rod from Tall Vase, I play with the bed of nails again. Meh.
IV: Lattice
Then I get heavy into the lattice pattern, failing as many times as I succeed. I've never been good with molds, and this technique requires me to go into a mold twice. That, and I have to turn the pipe counterclockwise on the marver one time and clockwise the other. Being right-handed, I always turn the pipe clockwise. It takes a bit of relearning how to use my hands to get the glass to move the other way.
There's always a good side,
a bad side,
and a meh side.
Okay, two good sides. I'll keep this one.
At the end of the night, I'm too tired to try again, so I make a giant ornament with the same colors instead.
Another Saturday sand-blast excursion fixes the lattice bowl:
I try to make a plate for the apples. It doesn't go well.
The next lattice attempt goes better, but the top is thick thick thick!
The reason I need a plate is that the student art show is coming up. The Colonel told us that the submission would be all online this year, and that he wanted us to bring our submission in for him to look at, like a critique. This leaves me wondering whether I should present something I like or that I think he would like. He's big on sculptural glass, which the apples are. But an apple would be boring. Three or four on a plate, though, would be better.
I text All The Glass a few photos. "Three or four?" I ask.
He says that three is always better.
I don't like the plate, though. I'll have to do better.
The following Tuesday, I'm on a mission to get a good lattice and make a better plate.
I get a good lattice, but the bottom wis far too thin. Even though we put a button on the bottom to shore it up, it still comes off the punty with a giant hole.
Fear not! This is what UV-cured glue is for! This bowl will never have to leave my house, and nobody would be the wiser.
I make a bed of nails plate that goes all doolally on me. It might be good enough for the apples.
A clear bed of nails vase is too small to get the stretchy effect I was hoping for.
Also, the bubbles are nearly invisible.
In class, the Colonel scolds us for signing up for extra slots. "I see the same names all the time," he says. "The beginners are timid. They should have a chance."
LT2 argues, "It says on the sheet that signups are first come first served." I'm sitting right next to the sheet. I point to it.
The Colonel statws again he wants beginners to have a chance. "They do," people argue. All I can think of is All In, the beginner from my lab, who, never having missed a lab, has signed himself up for extra Saturdays nearly every week this semester.
V: Rotten Apple
There is an open slot for Wednesday afternoon. I'd signed up for it the previous Thursday.
Rose has no permanent partner this semester. At the other bench are two beginners. She ends up having to work by herself a lot. I know how limiting that can be, and, well, I have a vacation day to burn.
With Rose, I make another lattice bowl. The bottom stays together.
I make a little vase with bed of nails bubbles.
And another one where I swirl white and watermelon green:
I get to class early enough on Thursday to take Tuesday's work outside and photograph it, including the bowl with the hole.
What happened next is something I can't write about without running the risk of getting people into trouble. Things came to a head on this night. All the tension between the Colonel and us that had been building up since September finally exploded. Some people walked out. I stayed.
I set out the bed of nails and roll my clear gather onto it. All The Glass and I shut everything out and focus on the plate I'm trying to make. He brings me a molded foot. He guides me when the plate starts to open up unevenly. We ge it round again. It isn't flat, but it's close enough, and the dip is shallow enough to hold three apples. We put it away.
Registration for us out-of-state auditing students begins on Monday. For the first time in five years, I'm not sure I want to continue. All The Glass is feeling the same way, and we're not the only ones.
I get home earlier than usual. I put three apples into the newest plate. Meh.
I go upstairs and use up a tube of UV-curing glue on the bottom of the poor lattice bowl. A lot of it drips right on through as I work around the edges, aiming the light at the droplet as it leaves the bottle so that it will start to cure as it hits the glass. Eventually I plug the hole.
I tape the flashlight to the glass and leave it on, knowing the battery will run out, hoping the glue will cure in time.
In the morning, the flashlight battery is dead and the glue still a little tacky. I bring the bowl down to the cabinet to live out the rest of its life.
I send All The Glass a text of the repaired piece. He says it would look good with a tea light in it, so I drop one in.
It looks even better at night:
On Saturday afternoon I go to pick up Thursday's plate and Wednesday's pieces. I definitely feel as if something has changed, but whether it is within me our outside of me I can't tell.
I hang around for a while, sanding down the bottom of the plate to a clear finish, the first time I've bothered to go that far. We have some commiserating about Thursday to do. There is gossip: "I heard somebody recorded it."
When I get home, I place some Tuesday apples on Thursday's plate. My plan is to glue them together and submit them to the student art show.
VI: Lattice in a Box Mold
What happened on Thursday is something I'd seen before. I grew up in a household where abusive language and psychological aggression were the norm. It messed me up. To survive, I had to create the tools I'd need to rebuild myself and to interpret and guard against abusive behavior in others and myself. As a kid, I defended myself by mentally checking out. As an adult, I learned to push back in a way that wouldn't escalate the situation. But I'd still find myself no longer giving a damn about wherever I was.
On Tuesday nights with All The Glass and All In, I'm all in.
Thursday nights feel dead to me. I'm be there to pick up my work from Tuesday, but I no longer feel eager to hang around to help with a demo.
Between asleep and awake in the wee hours of the next Tuesday morning, I see myself making a lattice pattern and dropping it into the square mold. When I get to class, I try it.
Things do not go well the first times out. I'm bad enough with molds as it is, and now I have to use two molds three times in one piece. Several attempts don't even get that far.
The tops are so bad that all I can do is to spin them out.
The first one comes out of the annealer with little holes and sharp edges. It has cracks all over. I take it home, but it goes right back two days later to meet its end in the smash bucket.
The second one fares a little better.
I'd used a shop pipe instead of my own. The pipe was full of charred metal. I'm storing various bike lights and charging cables in this one.
Once I finally get the top to work, it's because I didn't blow out the bottom enough. This brick goes to the student sale box.
Finally, I have a keeper.
It's ridiculously thick, but at least it has the shape and pattern I'd seen in my half-dream.
At the other bench, All In is working solo. Again. He's already bought his own tools, signed up for some summer classes, and is contemplating buying himself an all-in-one studio setup that he could wheel in and out of his garage. That is a lot for someone who has been blowing glass for two months. But it gets me thinking, as I give myself yet another blood blister from a pair of diamond shears that won't cut, that I ought to buy myself my own tools. I'd already compared my hand size with Sage's and found it equal. She'd given me the name of the artisan to made her tools. I contact him and order a full set.
Between fall tuition, a set of tools, and a new bike, I'm out a whole lot of paychecks.
I do sell four more apples to one friend, though, and someone in the bike club buys a bowl I've had up on Etsy since last spring.
VI: Calm After the Storm
On Thursday night, the Colonel is a changed man. He doesn't scold us. He is calm. He makes a Philly Phanatic. I'm feeling detached, but I stick around, mainly because I have a soft spot for the Phanatic. I was deep into the Phillies for the few years leading up to their 1980 World Series win. I had a big, plush Phanatic of my own. The only thing I do to help with this one is to catch it when he knocks it off the pipe, and carry it to the annealer.
We'ree told that next week we are to bring in our art show pieces for a mini critique. At home, I swap out one apple and glue the final three, first to each other, and then to the plate.
This year, the submission form is online. Missing from the form are "Is this item for sale?" and "Price." I'd been going back and forth over whether or not I even wantd to sell this. Would $400 be enough to let go of last Thursday's story? I'm glad that I dodn't have to agonize over it. These are Tuesday's Apples on Thursday's Plate and they'll come home to live with me after the show.
On Tuesday I return to the box mold lattice.
I try the bed of nails and then the box mold. Too much glass, not enough stretch.
When I try again with frit, the result is even worse.
On the other hand, I've often wondered how to get the glass-within-a-glass look. Now I know.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do with these. On a lit shelf, they take on some life. Without light, not so much. The uneven purple bottom bothers me. "Not my thing," Jack says when I show him.
In class on Thursday, we present the work we'll submit for the student show. As we're setting up, someone from the art department appears, holding up his phone to display a QR code. It links to a website with the course review on it.
I go outside, where the cell signal is stronger, and sit on the front steps. LT2 comes out and sits there too. Each question is about the class or the instructor, with five options ranging from "strongly disagree" to "strongly agree." We know what is at stake. Be angry, lose the program. Be kind, maybe don't lose the program.
Back in the classroom, The Colonel doesn't reject anything for those of us who only brought one piece. When people have more than one piece in front of them, he choses one. He gives each of us a paper label to fill out. LT2 has a key to the art building. We traipse in and set our work on a corner table in the front exhibition room.
I go back to the studio and check the calendar. Thread Sherpa will be out on Tuesday. I put my name in, giving myself an 8-hour day.
There are cherry blossoms on the floor on Tuesday afternoon. My new tools arrived yesterday.
I'm working with GGP. Classmate's Partner and Low Key are at the other bench. I start off with a lattice vessel. LT2 has given me permission to use his mold, a bigger one than I had been using. The effect is different, like a loose net. The new tools, which fit my hands and are sharp, make my work a lot easier.
I try again for the lattice-box mold combination. The color I choose this time doesn't work as well. When the top distorts after I cut it, I decide to open it up a little and spin it out. To my surprise, the square walls force the opening into four equal petals, almost like a tulip.
I flub another lattice piece and go for a simple, transparent, long-neck vase.
When All The Glass arrives for the evening shift, I move my pile of tools over to the other bench. I pick up a rod, gather it in coarse frit, roll the thing over the bed of nails, and create a thick vase with much too much stuff going on.
I flub yet another lattice piece. I'm getting tired. I use cast-off scrap from All The Glass to make a little vase.
I wreck a third lattice piece and try again. It's getting on towards 9:00. We're both tired. When I manage to get the bowl's edges to be nearly straight, All The Glass says, "Put it away," and I'm too tired to argue, even though the thing is still a little lopsided.
It looks like a creature trying to wobble away.
At home, I find myself in purge mode again, moving pieces around the cabinets. The blue plate, bound for the smash bucket, is diverted to the back yard instead. It will soon be swallowed by Hostas.
VII: Herumzufurzen?
The following Thursday, the Colonel gives us the class time to blow glass. First, though, he hands out an assignment. "You don't have to do it," he says, knowing half of us probably won't.
"Pick a verb," he tells us. The sheet he gives us had a sample list. We are to choose fifteen, then focus on one. "Make it sculptural," he tells us. "I don't want to see a cup or a bowl or a fish."
I read right past the fifteen, not seeing it, and think of one: to mangle.
At the bench by myself (so much for teamwork), I roll a clear gather in a pile of scraps cast off from All The Glass this semester. I twist and pull and fold the whole thing over into a sort of knot. It takes me under ten minutes, which is about the amount of time I feel like devoting to this assignment anyway.
Nobody else is clamoring for bench time, so I make another one It doesn't twist as well, so I mash it down, poke some divots into it, gather over it, and flatten two sides for an off-center piece of garbage.
I'm completely calm and detached as I do this. I donn't care. Maybe I''ll try harder on Tuesday if I feel like it.
Tuesday arrives without a plan. Things never go well when I don't have a plan. I let All The Glass go first, hoping I'll think of something in the hour before my turn. I put some rods in the oven. I pour some frit into the scoops.
There are cherry blossoms on the floor again, more this time.
At the other bench, All In and Zero are dropping glass into home-made molds: a copper wire cage and a ring of firewood strapped together with wire. It's their assignment to make molds. "He gives you all the fun assignments," I whine. "He doesn't like us."
All The Glass is pouring his gather into a woven copper wire cage too, but this is a thing All The Glass does regularly. Today his plan is to encase the cage and make something sculptural to fulfill our assignment. "I already sent him my list of fifteen verbs."
"Fifteen?!?"
"That's what the assignment says."
"Wait, what?" I reread the handout. "It says come up with fifteen and choose one," I tell him. "Whoops. I only have one."
"What's that?"
"To mangle. But I'm thinking of changing it."
Alchemy and I had discussed our verbs by text over the weekend. Once again the list of fifteen had flown past my notice. In the end, Alchemy settled on "alchemize," which is a real word. I had replied that I wanted to change mine. I had typed in,
"I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different." -- Kurt Vonnegut
I'd added, "There must be a German word for farting around." Indeed there is. We both found "herumzufurzen." Not knowing a word of German, I have no idea if it's correct.
To All the Glass I explain, "To fart around." It really is why I'm taking this class. I shouldn't let anybody tell me different.
I set two trimmings I'd saved from things All The Glass had made the week before and place them above the pipe warmer. When I pick them up in a gather of hot glass, they explode, but most of the fragments stick to the glass. I attemptd to wrap the mess around a graphite rod that All The Glass has in his massive tool case, but I don't know what I'm doing. I get a lazy curl out of it. I put it in the annealer, and that's that for my verb. (I like it better when I retrieve it on Thursday and find that it stands on its own.)
"I don't know what I'm doing today," I say. "I'm kinda out of it." So I roll a gather in one frit and then another, gather over that, shape it, and drop it into the square mold.
At least this time I get the full length of the mold, but we have to use far too much water and a file to break the piece off the pipe. Fortunately it's a relatively clean break and I'm able to open the top.
All The Glass makes another big piece with another copper-woven cage. When my turn rolls around again, I decide to play with the triangle mold. I haven't looked at it before today, when Classsmate's Partner had it out. "It's really narrow," All The Glass says. I keep my gather small and drop it in. What I get out is a chunky, three-sided box, far too thick and too small to be any good.
(An LED tea light just fits, though, so it's not a total loss.)
At this point, I suddenly remember what it was that I'd thought I ought to do today, a half-formed idea I hadn't planned out at all. I start in on it, the two of us discussing how to go about it. My punty is cold, though, and the piece does a belly-flop into the bucket when knock it off the pipe. "You go," I tell him. That brings us up to 9:00 on the nose. "Next Tuesday we'll try your idea," he says.
I clean the classroom while he recharges the furnace.
After five years of this, I know that my creativity and motivation ebb and flow. With one week of class left, I'm in danger of ending my semester on a low note.
All The Glass isn't even sure he's going to register for the fall. I don't want to pressure him. "Don't let one person ruin somethng you enjoy," I tell him. He's not the first person I've said this to.
The next morning, I walk around the yard before heading to work. On a rock, between the emerging Hostas, sits Spiders on Drugs, an end-of-semester piece from November 2019, our first semester back after lockdown. Sleepless and I had figured out which drugged spider we each were. I'd gathered up the semester's scraps and made an orb. I'd stuck it on the rock with a wad of poster putty, and there it's sat ever since, a reminder that glassblowing should be fun and silly, and that, once out of the classroom, each piece takes on a life of its own.
In my half-dreams that night, I figure out how to do the assignment.
The annual student art show and sale is on a rain-soaked Sunday. We aren't expecting much in the way of attendance.
Rose and LT2 had already set up early. When I get there at noon, I hang around in the classroom with Classmate's Partner and Handle Master, then walk next door to the art show before things kick off at 1:00.
Sage's piece, "Diversity," is in the hallway by the front door.
Rose had built Cinderella's Ride out of spare lamp parts from her mother's business.
Inside the bowl is her fish.
In the main exhibition room, one is greeted by this:
My apples are in the back.
Alchemy's "Homage." To whom?
Handle Master likes to use pipes people have just finished with, ones that still have colored glass stuck to them. Normally, we let them cool in a bucket until the glass falls off. Handle Master likes to take the pipes while they're still hot and melt the colored glass into clear to get random patterns. This one turned out beautifully.
We've all wanted to do this to our computers at some point:
Glass Ninja, because of course.
LT2:
This one is called "Mad Cyclist."
Woodworking:
One of All The Glass's copper mesh pieces:
Tall Vase worked long and hard to get the papaya slice to look the way he wanted it to.
GGP was making birds for a while:
Classmate's Partner probably has a hundred of these little pitchers at home. Only a few have little men sitting on the handles.
My job is to take money from the sale and to record each purchase. Sage and I toss in some small bills before the sale begins because the cash box is empty. I'd also made a little card with my Venmo and Zelle information on it so that we wouldn't lose any sales to lack of cash or change. Over the course of the semester, I'd donated several small boxes of rejects to the student sale pile. Looking at the spread, I realize how much I'd shoved aside. I find eleven of my pieces in the spread.
Classmate's Partner and I set our work on a table next to the main one. Neither one of us has brought much, figuring the rain would keep most people away. What we hadn't counted on was Handle Master's invitation to his exteneded family. When they come in, they surround him and our tables.
Down the hall in the glassblowing studio, Glass Ninja, Tall Vase, and New Grace are assisting the Colonel. It lookslike any Thursday night over there, except with a different audience. When the Colonel takes a break, the other three take over the demonstration. The Colonel definitely has his favorites. It was clear early on that Tall Vase and New Grace get more respect and attention than the rest of us.
There is a bronze pour in the room next to us. That draws a crowd. I've only ever been able to peek over people's shoulders. I have no idea what goes on during a bronze pour except that all involved are covered head to toe in silver suits.
Sales are steady for the three-hour event, thanks in no small part to Handle Master's family. I sell one of my starter apples from my table and trade another for one of Classmate's Partner's vases. A lot of people seem to like the lattice bowl I have on display until they see the $50 tag. Hey, I worked for that thing.
By 4:00 we've brought in $340 for our glass club. It'ss my job to enter the sales into a spreadsheet. Out of of curiosity, I add up the sales from the pieces I'd donated: 6 pieces sold for $110 total. A third of the day's sales were from things I'd considered too crappy to list on Etsy!
After we wrap and box everything that didn't sell, I go over to the glassblowing studio to try to grind down two of the mangle pieces I'd made on Thursday, neither of which have any hope of standing on their own. I give up trying because Glass Ninja is shutting everything down for the night. I pack the pieces away and walked out into the rain.
IX: Verb Change
And now we are in the final week of class. I grind the mangled thingies down to an acceptable position.
On my phone is a forgotten list of things I'd wanted to make this semester. One of them is a vase to represent spring. I'd made one a year ago. The colors were right, but the shape didn't fit with the rest of the seasons. At the end of last semester I tried again twice. At that point, I'd forgotten how to make a long-neck vase and failed both times.
But when I was mangling on Thursday, I was also helping Glass Ninja. I watched him pull a neck and remembered what I'd forgotten.
Now that I know what to do, I try again and get the shape I'm after. When I put the vase in the annealer, it looks as if the colors might work out too.
All The Glass decides to spin out a bowl. I'd need to open the inner doors of the glory hole for him, and then slide the outer doors sideways. As I do this, a chunk of plaster falls from the top of the door. We'd already had the bottom of the left inner door go tumbling earlier this year. LT2 fixed that over spring break. When I text him about the calving iceberg, he assures me that the new doors he is making will be ready for fall.
I spend the rest of the night making long-neck vases out of glass scraps I'd collected over the semester and from frit combinations I hadn't tried yet. I take two trimmings from a bowl All The Glass was making and used that to wrap around a graphite rod, random weirdness for now, good practice for pumpkin stems later. I do it again with frit.
At home, I put all the mangles together and stare at them for a while. I have a vague idea of how to put these all together. I'll have to wait until today's twisties are ready though.
One scrap thread, probably from something All The Glass made, although it could be one of my colors, was one I'd pulled out so long and thick that the only thing I could think of using it for was decoration in the yard. It sort of has a head like a bird. So I shove it into the ground in a spot where I figure it won't likely be trod upon or stab anybody.
I go in again on Wednesday afternoon to work with Rose. She brings me bits for handles again, because maybe my verb will be "to handle."
It's horrid. It goes from the annealer to the trash.
Searching throug my box of scraps, I find a cast-off chunk of color on clear from one of All The Glass's threaded vases last semester. I put in the heating box, pick it up, and make a vase from it.
I'm playing with color combinations again.
And, as is my end-of-semester tradition, I'm picking up random pieces of threads I've collected.
I also make one more giant ornament for the expanding collection.
X: It's All Different Now
It's Thursday. The Colonel gives us the night to work with each other. Before we start, we go over our club finances and he extracts from us a wish list, which he duly writes down. There are big things we need, too, like an additional glory hole (because the furnace is not a glory hole, yet we use it as one), and a new furnace (because it's been worked to death as a furnace and glory hole). These are things we can't ask for right now, though. There's no money and there's no permanent dean.
All day there have been rain showers and sun. While we're milling about, waiting our turns, a rainbow appears above the courtyard.
In between raindrops and rainbows, I photograph everything I made on Tuesday.
There was green in this springtime vase. It got swallowed up by the blue, I guess. Now it looks like blooming trees instead of flowers.
This one fell off the punty while I was trying to trim the top. We put another punty on, but it was too hot and slid off-center. The best I could do was to push the top in and put it away. I'll have to cut the top completely off if I want to rescue this.
Here are the twisties to add to my collection of, of what? Doodles?
When my turn comes, I make another long-neck vase with a color combination I'll explore more in the fall.
The sunset reflects on the clearing clouds.
With the glassblowing lenses over my glasses, the view is much more dramatic.
The end of the semester is in the annealer.
I stop by the classroom on Saturday afternoon after a bike ride. Today is the final day of glassblowing. The annealers have suddenly shut off. Tall Vase and New Grace are on the phone with LT1 and maintenance while Sage watches and Glass Ninja works, with All In assisting. Alchemy sits at the other bench, fuming that the day might be wasted.
By the time I'm finished grinding down my vases and polishing the top of the one I've cut off, the annealers are back up.
The vase is underwhelming. I didn't use enough underlying color. It gives me ideas for the fall, though.
I'll find a use for this former vase.
When I get home, I work on my final project. With carefully-placed UV-curing glue, I assemble Dinner Is Served.
Jack informs me that there was a toothpaste tube avalanche this morning, sending a repurposed vase we'd been using as his razor holder to the floor, chipping the top.
"Not a problem! I have a replacement!"
Well that was easy.
Thursay is final critique night. I've got Dinner Is Served carefully packed in a massive box, and a pastry box full of cookies on top of that. All The Glass and Thread Sherpa have supplied pizza. Glass Ninja has wings on a hot plate. Someone sliced some blood oranges.
Everyone is in a good mood. The Colonel has a makeshift pedestal with a black backdrop, and after each person presents their piece, he takes a picture of it there.
When it's my turn, I confess that I'm not sure what my verb is. "It was 'to mangle,' then it was 'to fart around,' and now I think it's 'to doodle.' Maybe it's my response to the representational art of the apples. Anyway, I'm calling it 'Dinner Is Served."
The Colonel carries it to the pedestal. "I think you did the assignment," he says. After crit is over, I take pictures of my own,
I'd thanked Thread Sherpa for teaching me the lattice trick.
When I got home, I sent him a picture of all the good ones.
There wasn't a need to purge after class this time. I'd been organizing all semester long, saving a shelf for pieces I'd sell or give away, and placing the keepers elsewhere when they fit. Everything I'd rejected was already gone. Soon enough I'll take some time to put the new pieces on Etsy.
Now, though, it's time to go out back and look for spiders.
I'm hovering around the butterfly bush, looking for that lynx spider I failed to get a good photo of last night. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
It's a text from All The Glass:
"I signed up for the fall semester."
I send back celebratory emojis.
He writes, "Partners again on Tuesday night I hope?"
"Absolutely!" I reply. "There's a universe in that furnace. Let's go dig it out."
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