La Croix blue fizzy water in the can, giggling little girls for music. The day has come, the day has gone. But what a day it was!
Hi, My name is Brenda and I'm an addict. I went up to Lori Schinelli's Glass Garage at Glass Inspirations today and coldworked one of my roll-up vases from last weekend's workshop on her wet-belt sander. Now I've used a wet-belt sander before--I have an old, green, tabletop one from a well-known vendor and my reaction to working with it has always been "Meh". Lori has a big CRL machine with a 4" X 106" belt, a one-step belt tightening lever, and an automatic water feed. I think I'm in love. It was very hard to tear myself away to go pick up J and a friend after school for a playdate (child? what child?).
Tonight after I get J to sleep I'm going to settle in with another fizzy water nightcap and treat myself to more of Johnathon's book (ah the perks of fellow authorship--advanced copy ;-). The department store (whose fourth-store order shipped today) had better pay up from the first three stores quick--I've got me equipment to acquire and a state-of-the-art coldworking studio to finish!
I am very envious of my fellow workshopper Simone Kestelman for taking a kilncasting/coldworking workshop from Richard Whitely at Pilchuk this summer. While she is in the cool Pacific northwest on the beautiful Pilchuk campus, I'll be in the inferno that is summer Atlanta doing two weeks of kilnformed glass summer camp (the Masks camp). Okay, so I'll be having as much fun as she will, just a different kind of fun.
I close today with a sigh for the joys of an urban studio. If I had been just a bit faster, I could have gotten the license plate number of the silver camaro-like car loaded with hoodlums that idled in front of the studio this afternoon--music (or something that could possibly be called music in an alternate universe) blaring--while waiting for the light at the corner to change. They were so impressed by my yard that they were compelled to add their own decoration to it in the form of a beer bottle in a paperbag tossed and smashed onto the driveway. Heard the "music", heard the glass smash, ran out, but they were too far down the street for me to get the number. I shook my fist impotently and wished in vain for super powers. It did not make me feel better.