I love fall and I love fire—both for their ability to transform. Both signal the end of one form and the beginning of a new one. The first morning with a crisp chill in the air always brings a smile to my face. I get to grab a hoodie, a pumpkin-spiced latte, and read in my hammock while watching the leaves fall. Does it get better than that?
I think I better expound on the fire part a bit, or I sound like a bit of a pyro. Fire radiates warmth and coaxes people inward with its flickering light to pause and share stories. I find fire mesmerizing as the flames can dance, vary in color due to temperature, and melt metal and glass. So, glassblowing caught my attention. When Cait texted me about Pumpkin Palooza at Hot Glass Alley, our weekend plans were set.
We had taken a class there before. I loved every minute of it! Our instructor and artist, Saturn, taught us about the different furnaces kept at specific temperatures to allow the glassmaker to perform specific tasks: attach glass to other glass, blow a bubble, flatten a side, or pinch out an unwanted bubble. Once you pick up the glass you have to keep spinning the rod to keep the glass from slumping to one side. We got to choose our colors and made bar glasses. With expert guidance, we were pretty solid glassworkers and still use those glasses.
This time was different. As soon as you walked into the gallery pumpkins nestled in every cranny. Some were opaque while others were completely transparent. I was mesmerized. They even had tiny ones the size of my thumb. How do you work with glass that small? I have no idea. We lingered from one artist’s section to the next. Each one with its own style and color scheme. We settled on a cloudy orange one with flecks of deep reddish brown and a curlicue stem.
They also had demonstrations and with our pumpkin selected we got to watch the professionals. One artist made a vase while another made a glass cappuccino. It often takes more than one artist to complete a project. One person turns the glass while another blows air or helps separate the rod from the glass. It’s choreographed collaboration—they seemed to know where to be next without talking. It’s so easy to order things on Amazon. I started to think about how many things I own are mass-produced. There was something sacred about each pumpkin and piece of glasswork in the gallery. The process to make a single piece was time-consuming, filled with micro design decisions dependent on how the glass responded to the fire and how the artist responded to the glass. Each piece was unique and imperfect and yet retained its human touch even after the glass cooled and set.
Did I need a glass-blown pumpkin? No. But I did need what the pumpkin represented. The connection to a human artist who created it, time with Cait, the energy in the studio of the artists and community gathered to watch them work. I certainly don’t need more things. I do, however, need more intention. What if, when I shopped, I thought less about the things themselves and more about the connection items bring to me and to my home?
