I love glass casting.
I love the challenge, the promise, the glory of a satin, cats eye reflective, deep and living, translucent sculpture.
These are some clay originals. While all this information and promise is in each, only two of these became a glass reality. The other two have nothing to say for themselves now but these images. And while they were lovely, something about that destruction fuels me forward.
When I was a kid, riding in the backseat across country, with my sister beside me and my parents in the front, we stopped at a National Park Cave visitors center.
I remember standing at the top of the stairs that led into the depths. A cold damp wind flowed up from the dark and poured over me. I was DYING to go in there. Photos on the walls showed stalagmites and stalactites and it was magical and enticing. Due to travel pressures, we didn’t go in the cave. We had many hundreds of miles to travel and time was running out. There were not hours and hours to spend on an underground tour that day.
Years later, persistently haunted by that moment of standing at the top of those stairs, my husband and I visited a cave on every vacation we had. We visited them all over the United States. In a way, I was forever searching for that cave, that I had been robbed of as a child.
And so, today, when I lose a sculpture I’m so so painfully excited about, I find myself in those old shoes.
Yearning, rather than dissuaded. Excited rather than discouraged. Driven to complete this design I started, no matter how difficult or crazy. I hunger for the eden I glimpsed, dreamed of. I suppose all artists are sharks, seeking renewal, seeking new waters, unable to stop without suffocating. Its a good feeling, to be moving, to be searching with a promise of a garden at the end.