Shattered dreams

Play this.

Please.

I've often fancied myself as a potter.

Betcha didn't know that.

And I've had a hankering to work with glass for decades.

So Friday night our local Art Walk found me brushing glaze on a bowl that I purchased from the Cultural Center.

Brush it on thick, was the advice, so I did!

Into the kiln it went.

I fell into a burning ring of fire

I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher.

And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire, the ring of fire.

That baby was hot.

A propane-fueled inferno.

It was my job to scatter sawdust on the finished pieces.

It was a bit scary.

And right about here was where my arm hairs got singed.

Then the dish sat in the ashes for a few minutes.

Et voila!

Oh.

Oops.

My friend at the CC glued it back together for me, but I am disillusioned.

There you have it.

My one attempt at Raku.

I do not like endeavours that stipulate such a tenuous outcome.

So.

I signed up for a glass class in November.

Stick around. It promises to be interesting.