While completing a two-month Penland concentration in book- and papermaking (see About Sharon), I spent much of my free time visiting other studios and watching other artisans at work. My favorite haunt was the hot-glass studio, where the intricate dance of each glassblowing team mesmerized me and I came to appreciate the organic, fluid nature of glass. One of the glass studio members, Karola Dischinger, had traveled from her Swiss home for this experience, and she and I quickly became friends. That studio, like some of the others, had two instructors; in this case, the first, Hugh Jenkins, was to finish his teaching after the initial four weeks. Karola approached me on behalf of the glass studio members and asked whether I would make a large journal/album with blank pages, which the studio members could then fill, as a present to the instructor. Naively, I agreed . . . and the experience became one of the most memorable parts of my Penland stay.
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I learned Coptic stitching by tackling this large project–with much help from Julie Leonard, my books instructor! The journal’s cover featured Mexican bark paper and studio members’ glass pieces (murrine). I had the great pleasure of seeing the pages after they’d been filled with writings and drawings. In the exuberance of getting the book done just in time, I failed to take good photos of the finished journal/album, but I do have a snapshot:
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The studio members, in turn, gave me an overwhelmingly generous surprise: a newly made glass piece from almost every person, including the instructor and his son and studio assistant, Evan. And Karola gave me a whole group of her creations. |  |
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After the concentration ended, I wanted to use several small tree branches around which I’d wrapped some of my handmade flax paper while it was still wet. The resulting sculpted branches evoked a certain melancholy, so I pondered that feeling for a while and then found an excerpt from Thoreau’s Walden that relates to winter. That page exactly fit the mood I was seeking, and I found the perfect container for both the page and my sculpted paper: one of Karola’s hand-blown vessels. Another opportunity to link my bookmaking to Karola’s talents came when Karola sent me several beautiful, intriguingly shaped pieces she’d made, with the suggestion that I try those on book covers. The first one I chose became the centerpiece of the cover for a large journal/album for Karola. This friend’s generosity and creativity continue to inspire me.
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My fascination with glass has kept growing, and I’ve written many poems that deal in some way with the history, lore, and mundane but miraculous properties of this substance. Actually, some of the poems have ended up being “non-glass” ones, such as . . .
Fairytale Revisited
Glass Slipper (of Cinderella). A curious blunder of the translator, who has mistaken vair (sable) for verre (glass). —from Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable
Reading that tale of cinder-salvaged
hopes, we could play a game—
Animal, Vegetable, Mineral?—to see
whether the vehicle for the perfect
match mattered. The fairy godmother
must have known something
the translator didn’t. Sable, rich
black or dark brown, would have
conveyed a creature comfort
to those cold, dainty extremeties
and instantly signaled the royals
that the radiant waif suited
their class, the only wearers
of this regal weasel’s silken fur.
How much quieter the ballroom
with animals against minerals:
Handsome Prince and Cinderella
gliding on pelts over polished stones,
warming to skin-on-skin pleasure.
Otherwise, what clatter. Heels
vanquishing melodies. Broken soles
drawing blood if he’d raised her
high but not properly slowed the
descent of mineral onto mineral.
Or blisters. Her poor flesh after
hours of obedience to unyielding
form (healed by some medicinal
vegetable concoction, perhaps).
In the original, a different focus.
Fates resting not on reflective
surfaces but on animal essences
acknowledged happily ever after.
With thanks to Pembroke Magazine, where this was first published.