I will NEVER drink another glass of water again without paying silent homage to all glass blowers everywhere. Yesterday was my shining glory. I could tell that I was destined to be the 21st century's iconic standard for the fine art of glass blowing. I successfully executed a number of lovely paperweights and flowers destined to become family heirlooms that my descendants would display proudly, telling visitors the story of their talented and artistic great, great, great grandmother.
Okay, so some of the paperweights are not the traditionally recognized shape that so many are used to seeing, but I feel that mine have a special flare of their very own that sets them apart from their more mundane and traditional counterparts. It's true that my first drinking glass looks a lot like something you would find Fred Flintstone drinking from at cocktail hour, but I think it's...rustic appearance gives it character.
The blistering heat of the furnace seemed quite tolerable in light of my artistic triumphs but I will admit that 7 hours of standing in front of the fiercely orange glowing Glory Hole trying to keep a blob of liquid glass rotating at just the right speed to avoid it either flying through the air towards an unwitting bystander, or puddling onto the floor in a crackling goo was a bit grueling, but I felt that my bone numbing fatigue had a certain righteous worthiness to it. I had run the gauntlet and survived. I didn't even get burned this time!
I stumbled home exhausted but jubilant, looking forward with eager anticipation to another day of artistic, and don't forget, Bohemian artistry. I was considering joining an artists colony.
I got up this morning and headed to hot shops daydreaming merrily of the stunning glass blown works of art that I would create today. I pictured museums and art galleries vying for the honor of displaying them amongst other priceless treasures.
...I suspect there is a reason that middle aged women from suburbia don't often take up glass blowing and join artists colonies.
My day was an exercise in glaring defeat and humiliation. I am out of sync with the Universe. We aren't even on speaking terms. My groove is broken, my Karma verklempt. My aura is a muddy gray and black noxious cloud. From the moment I got to the studio I seemed doomed to abject failure. After watching a stunning demonstration on how to create artistic and colorful drinking glasses I approached the sweltering forge with supreme confidence. I was already planning on inviting company over just so that I could serve them lemonade in the uniquely beautiful and artistic set of six glasses that I would undoubtedly finish before lunchtime. I would pass the drinks around and my guests would gasp in appreciation, exclaiming, "Where did you get these stunning glasses"? I would demurely admit that I had made them myself. "Just whipped them up the other day really". I would then bask in their glowing admiration as they went on endlessly about my unearthly artistic prowess.
I dipped my rod in for the first gather, then blew a puff of air into the blow rod and the glass expanded into a perfect little bubble. In it went for the second gather, a harder puff of air this time and a beautiful orb appeared. Step by step the perfect lemonade glass began to take shape. I approached the glory hole for a final heating before jacking the end of the glass and depositing it gently into the aneeler. I have no idea what happened next. One moment I had a perfectly shaped glass, the next I had a hideously deformed mutation. The glass folded in on itself in defeat. No one would ever be drinking lemonade from this glass. Three attempts later, I was mentally cancelling my dinner party. The rest of the day went down hill from there. Three fabulous pieces all fell off the rod seconds before achieving perfection. Others collapsed in on themselves. The pile of mutant glass carnage continued to grow at my feet as one dismal failure after another either hit the ground or ended up in the scrap glass bin. The forge seemed about 1000 degrees hotter than it did yesterday, I grew red faced and sweaty. My focus disappeared and I got more frustrated with each failed attempt. I think at one point my Aura actually started to smell a bit funny.
I wondered whether Derek had actually bought me the class as a means to facilitate my suicide. Maybe he was trying to get rid of me.
Then, in my darkest moment...I realized that I was missing an element of the day that was profoundly important. I was missing the vital lessons that I so desperately need to learn.
I have spent my whole life shying away from anything that I suspected I might fail at. I only took my music to a level that I was comfortable with, being careful never to venture into territory where I had a chance of failure. I have done the same thing with everything I have ever tried. I live in a safe and comfortable place in my head where I can always succeed and I'm never scared. Failure is terrible. It's terrifying. It's...well...Failure.
I remember being wildly intrigued by the outrageous message presented in the cartoon movie 'Meet The Robinson's'. According to this ludicrous film, failure is something to be celebrated as an opportunity for growth.
I decided that instead of wallowing in my failure, I would celebrate and embrace my glaring defeat. I reminded myself that I have only been a glass blowing artist for two days and there might just be a learning curve involved that I had not yet reached. My instructor had pointed out at the beginning of the class that he had been a glass blower for 30 years and still made loads of mistakes. I thought...well, sure...YOU, but not ME. Now I decided that I would embrace each dismal and grotesque artistic catastrophe as an opportunity to learn something more about what not to do. I felt better. I decided to abandon my 6 piece glass set and work on something a bit smaller. Soon, I had cranked out 4 very respectable little glass bubbles just like the tiny oil lamp that I have treasured for a number of years. My aching muscles and steaming skin did not find relief, but my spirits lifted measurably. 4:00 came and the class was at its end. I limped to the car, stiff, sore, hot and sweaty, but feeling like I had conquered something really important. I have taken a step towards embracing failure and ceasing to view it as my mortal enemy. Now that the class is over, I am looking forward to going back to the studio on my own and hope to have many more failures as well as triumphs because it will mean that I am progressing.
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