You Win Some, You Lose Some

Mood: Slightly Defeated | Post Type: Work Spotlight | Weeks Until Show: 15

When Glass Has the Final Say

Over the last few weeks, working on my larger landscapes has once again reminded me—if ever I needed it—that glass is still very much in control. What the kiln fairies decide is final, however much you repeat a process.

When things don’t go to plan, it’s so tempting to change everything—the set-up, the firing schedule, the temperature. Logic tells you that must be the answer. But I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) that you only change one variable at a time. Which means, after these latest three pieces, I’m going to have to be a little more restrained.

Same Process, Different Outcomes

All three pieces used my four-layer process. All had the same set-up. The only variable I changed was the amount of weight compressing the glass in the kiln. And yet—the outcomes couldn’t have been more different.

The One That Worked

One piece came out exactly as I had hoped. If I’m being picky, it’s possibly 1mm too thin for my liking—but the positives far outweigh that. The colours settled beautifully, the layers held their clarity, and everything felt balanced.

It’s one of those moments where the process works with you rather than against you, and for a brief second you think—maybe I’m getting the hang of this.

Almost, But Not Quite

The second piece was… almost there. But a few large bubbles found their way in. Not the delicate, airy kind that can add interest—but the kind that catch your eye for the wrong reasons. I already know what will happen when it goes back in for its final kiln polish—one will likely rise to the surface, the other may well erupt. It’s that big. Maybe I should name it after a volcano. It’s frustrating, because everything else about the piece worked. It was meant to be a larger piece, but now I’ll most likely have to cut it down to a smaller size.

And then there’s the colour. I had completely fallen in love with the purples in this piece. My mind had already started building a whole series around them. But, as it turns out, the world had other ideas—the price of gold. Many of those rich pinks and purples are made using gold, and with prices rising so dramatically, production has been limited. It’s already around four times the price of equivalent powders in other colours.

So, at a time when I didn’t need more expense, I’ve gone and stocked up—opaque and transparent purples, cranberry pink, violet, fuchsia, salmon pink. But I’ll need to be more sparing going forward. This piece has quite fittingly been named Gold Purple.

When It All Unravels

And then there was the third. An epic fail.

The colours didn’t behave as expected, the layers didn’t sit as they should, and whatever I thought I understood about the process seemed to unravel in a single firing.

My husband rarely gets involved in creative feedback—usually it’s along the lines of “that’s nice” or “that’s good.” I had mentioned this piece to him, and when he saw it (with my smallest viewfinder in place), he said, “that’s not too bad.” Then I moved the viewfinder. What followed wasn’t words—more of an “uurrrgh… I see what you mean.”

Later that evening, I took it to my mum. She sees things differently to me, which is exactly why I value her opinion—even when it’s a little brutal. This piece was also meant to be a larger work. But the colours weren’t right, and there was no happy accident to rescue it. So we marked out the smallest size I make—twice. I may be able to get two pieces from it, but that means twice the work to bring them to a finished state. That conversation also opened up another question: why am I being so rigid with orientation? Why portrait for everything?

The Ugly Phase

It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster—moving from confidence to complete uncertainty in the space of a few kiln firings.

And I do have to remind myself: all is not lost. At this stage, they’re what I call the ugly phase—large, matte pieces with rounded edges, so no real visibility of the layers yet. Sometimes, I plunge them into water, I can glimpse their potential. Minus the third piece—that one might take a bit more convincing.

What This Week Has Taught Me

So this week has been a mixture of quiet satisfaction, mild frustration, and a healthy dose of humility.

Three pieces. Three outcomes.

A reminder that progress doesn’t always look like consistency—even when you’re putting in the work. But I know there’s learning in all of this. I’ll find it when I sit down and write these pieces up in my sketchbook.

This is Episode 22 in my ‘Solo Show Diary’ series — a behind-the-scenes look at how my work develops. You can find my earlier posts here.