A morning of colored glass.
The gleaming pieces caught the sun and the glint of snow through the window. I wanted to handle them all.
I got out all the glass fragments that I’d cut this week, and spread them out. And played.
I made a dozen small pieces, just a few inches across, and experimented with how various layers might look.
And then I dumped all but a few back into their bins for another day’s play.
If you rip up or discard a drawing or painting in a class, your art teacher id likely to scold you. Apparently they think you will someday be glad when you look back on your old, crappy work.
I don’t agree. Hanging onto every piece just makes me self-conscious. Overly precious.
That’s what I like about the construction paper game, and now the colored glass game.
This casual, create-then-obliterate cycle makes me less attached to each piece. Less critical of my failures, but raising my standards with each one that nearly succeeds.
I kept three today. Once they have been fused in the kiln, they’ll be softened and other changes happen (some unexpected). So I like to enjoy their sharper-edged, raw versions as they are now.
This one is wind and joy:
And here is a bluebird with his song (by the way, the amber tones are actually shadows of the black and green pieces):
This one is a part of a drum being born:
Let’s call it art therapy, to keep those art teachers and critics at bay.
I just feel better when I play with colors and shapes. Especially in the morning.
The penny for today is 2015, the year when I began doing this form of art therapy.