“I just saw your work in Ventana Monthly” an acquaintance said as we crossed paths on the mountain trail. My focus switched from the surrounding nature, quickly to asking, “what work?”
see article here

“Glass”

Having the ambient sound like that of an idling jet airplane, a glassblowing furnace burns, keeping the raw material molten 24/7, the flame has a constant feed from a two inch gas line, the needle on the gas meter in a steady spin. Working temperature for glass is around 2100 degrees plus or minus. The temperature is raised to 2400 degrees for about 8 hours while filling (“charging”) the furnace with silica sand, potash, soda, and lime (“batch”). Maintaining the correct temperature during this charging process is critical in order to sustain a high quality glass. Tending the furnace is the foundational concern for a glass studio, yet only a small part what is behind the actual creating.

From practical making of tumblers, perfume bottles, vases, etc. to “impractical” work of sculpture, wearable glass, and “the glass canvas”, the work has been a labor of love for me. Loud noise, heat, and hard work fed me for about 14 years, until I sold my equipment/studio in 2009.

My version of having children was the nurturing of a studio and the work it produced. My nest is now empty, though the pieces live on.

Out in the world, the glass pieces have their own lives in private collections, museums, municipal collections, hospital collections, etc. A kitchen window filled from top to bottom with reflection of the colors I’ve chosen, an altar-like setting honoring the work. One piece was broken at the fault of an earthquake within a week of going “home”. Another art show an entire shelf of “crème de la crème” vases were wiped out. In fact as I remember it, at each art show at least one piece would somehow get broken~ “The sacrifice”, I would casually comment.

The Ventana Monthly article is advertising an event this weekend May 21 & 22, 2016 to benefit Focus on the Masters. “Where Art Lives” A self guided tour to homes in the community that house art. Many pieces that I have created are living in these collections.

When you go on the tour please be sure to say “hi” to the kids.

Get your tickets here

Startled by a large dark mass in the distance. I get closer and see, no it isn’t a bear
-it is THE bear-

The one that stopped me short

thought, word, action
blame, projection

protection

-one swift swipe of a well hibernated paw at the cave entrance-

Self/Others
Humiliation

Words, sounds, expression

stuck in the throat.

I once made a pact that I would do something.
As I write these words I am fulfilling that agreement.
It feels lame.
An excuse.
All of those great ideas blown by.
Why didn’t I catch them.
Make myself sit.
Now on this eve of September 30th.
A true challenge.
I admit it.
I accept it.

I, Teal Rowe, have published four posts in September.

Thank you for holding me to it.

A long hallway, the way out was a doorway that had been tiled down to the opening size of a shoe box.  Clean, colorful, Moorish tiles.  An exquisitely crafted tile job down to the rounded edges of a sill that lined a gap just too small for me to fit through.

A super compassionate woman at an information window said that the small portal was the only exit.  Thinking there was some trick I would use to fit through, I wanted to finagle a way out.  I went back and forth in my mind, figuring and looking at the opening to see if my ideas would work.  I think the woman sensed my shut in irritation as we were dialoging, until she kindly assured me that there was “no other way”.

In a surge of discontent I conjured up the power to loudly scream “BULLSHIT!”- simultaneously a door appeared.

I opened that door to find another door, then another, and another- I finally saw oak trees through a large, beautiful, open, glass door.

Moral:
Through obstacles in the way, through other peoples truths, sometimes one just has to call bullshit and go for it.