Thursday, July 13, 2006


Don’t worry about your originality. You could not get rid of it even if you wanted to. It will stick to you and show up for better or worse in spite of all you or anyone else can do. (Robert Henry)

Happy Life

Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before, how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way, and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever. (Isak Dinesen)

Wednesday, July 12, 2006


I think that if I lived alone, I would subsist almost entirely on Kashi GOLean Crunch, Cheerios, toast and peaches.

oh, and popsicles.

and grapefruit.

and I would have a chocolate fountain on my kitchen counter...always on....
surrounded by various tasty delights for dipping.

oh, and a banana to go with my Kashi.

Coming Home

Working with glass is so fascinating to me. For better or worse, I've chosen not to focus on one element of glassworking. Instead, I work in stained glass, fusing and lampworking--each of which requires a unique skill set and a much different approach from the other aforementioned techniques.

When I'm working, I really get into a groove. I have a system...a production line, so to speak, for each type of work I make. It's always so interesting to gauge my reaction when I attempt to shift gears from one technique to another. It's hard on me. It's hard to change my focus. And it always seems that no matter type of work I'm shifting to, it doesn't excite me...I don't look forward to it...I struggle.

Take today, for example. Rit and the dogs are out of town for the week, playing at the cottage with Rit's family up north. So, I've been taking advantage of the work time sans interruptions and pretty much stayed in my studio practically non-stop getting ready for a show this weekend. Okay, I admit that part of my diligent work effort has to do with my lovely air-conditioned studio and the lack of air conditioning in the house. With that said, back to my story...where was I? Oh, right...

So, I started out the morning bright and early working on some fusing projects. I thought I would just work on them long enough to get enough ready to fill my large kiln while waiting for my smaller bead kiln to heat up so that I could work on beads.

By the time I sat down to make beads, it was getting close to mid-morning. I hadn't spent time beadmaking since last week. I simply sat and stared at my torch. It suddenly seemed so foreign to me. We used to be best friends. I wanted to spend every waking moment at that torch. And now, I was almost afraid to turn it on.

Crazy. Afraid of what? Blowing myself up? Charring the glass? Making ugly beads? I don't know. It's strange that even a few days away from the torch can seem like years...a lifetime even. It all seemed so unnatural at first...winding the molten glass onto the mandrel, slowly and methodically shaping it, adding enamels and details, watching the interaction between colors and the play of light...

After a couple of less-than-stellar beads, it all came back to me. I suddenly fell back into the groove. The torch, the glass and I became one. It became effortless again. Without conscious thought, my hands moved--molding, shaping, detailing, watching--as I sang to Maroon 5 playing loudly on my stereo. I fell back into myself (if that makes any sense) as I relaxed into the warm glow of the molten glass. It felt like coming home.