Flanked by a material:
There is light. It exudes from the lamp; shadows and reflections are cast upon the wall. My eyes follow a blinking line, a cursor. We have to name everything. In making all things definitive what is left to define?
The cursor blinks, my eyes glance through a material, my reflection is faint upon a screen. A transdimensional occurrence is evident, the threshold between me and the blinking is proof. The screen is flat and still except for the cursor and the words that follow. My hands rummage at the bottom, scurrying to portray this as a cohesive thought.
Making is about transference, from my eyes, to my brain and then executed through my hands. I am a glassmaker so it’s not just about my eyes and brain and hands but those who collaborate with me, those I work for or with.
Glass is a communicative endeavor, a struggle. It’s not something you get in a year or five or ten. It is about being an ambassador and a translator for a material. The process of conveying and informing others through the making of glass things is at the forefront of a practice. Action as statement, object as question. What are these transferences?
Material integrity: it’s not about what one can make but what one can expose.
I am not here to be successful now; I am not here to do well now. I have little patience but a material that forces one to constantly wait enables a patience to permeate. The position is esoteric; to explore and be devoted to a practice that is measured in a lifetime.
I reach for a glass. It doesn’t matter if it is half full or half empty, I made it. Beer is fresher in the glass, the pouring from keg, pitcher, can or bottle releases the flavor. The frothy head floats, the bubbles too. A liquid suspended in a liquid.
I, you, we live in a Glass Age. An addictive connection to all things – think about the internet, think of your phone, think outside and through the window, be aware of the light that is on and above you. These are but some of the transferences, this text may exist as another.