Blog
Stories from the hotshop and beyond—reflections on making, embodiment, and becoming.
The day I planned to sculpt my marionette’s legs, I found myself instead unraveling in a moment of pain, time, and memory. In the absence of making, I lived the work—inside a body negotiating trust, trauma, and the unfinished shape of healing.
Learning to work with assistants has opened a new vocabulary in my practice—one that extends beyond my own body. From reliquaries of loss to landscapes of memory, each piece is a conversation in trust, technique, and transformation.
In returning to glass after amputation, I expected to sculpt triumph—but what emerged were body parts: a hand, a foot, forms filled with memory and breath. Glass, like healing, revealed its own truths—responsive, imperfect, and deeply alive.
Streaming my studio wasn’t something I expected to love—but it’s become a new way to share the magic of glassblowing. From tech hurdles to heatwaves, every step has been a lesson in adaptability and creative problem-solving.
Five months after lighting my dragon for the first time, I’ve rebuilt a practice and launched a business—on my own terms. From isolation to connection, each pomegranate I make is both offering and reflection: a symbol of distance, love, and the promise of return.
Glassblowing demands total presence—every shop, every moment, every degree matters. With my mobile furnace, each workday begins in the dark, long before the first gather, fueled by both propane and purpose.