Smashing time at glass fusing workshop
IAM the original bull in a china shop. My mother always said I could trip over a bus ticket. I have lost count of the amount of presents I have bought my sister ‘slightly damaged’, after I had a little problem.
On one occasion, I bought her an art deco lamp for Christmas and was travelling back from St Ives with it wrapped and sitting in the stairwell of the car when my big end went with such a force the lamp broke in half. Then there was the time I dropped a huge Venetian glass fish whilst getting it down from the top shelf in my brother’s gift shop in Looe for a customer. So imagine the trepidation I felt when I was invited to a glass fusing workshop at Jo Downs’ gallery in Launceston?
I’m sure you must have seen some of Jo’s work – she is one of the world’s most respected fused glass designers. From her Cornwall studio, she draws inspiration from the glorious landscape around her and her exquisite mirrors, mobiles, wall panels, vases and incredible installations of glass shoals of fish and autumn leaves grace corporate board rooms, hotels, cruise ships and homes
worldwide.
Despite my ‘ham fistedness’, I’ve always had a fascination for glass. Growing up in St Ives, I spent many an hour collecting sea glass along the harbour beach shoreline. It was all put in jam jars in a cupboard under the window of my dad’s jewellery shop at the end of the season and taken out the following year, only to be discarded as it had lost its lustre.
Anyway, with my expectations overpowering my talent, I set off. After a tour around the gallery, admiring the stunning installations, including fabulous kitchen splashbacks and a startling shower cubicle in sea green and azure glass tiles, hands firmly in pockets, I took my place round the table in the studio with several other ladies and one gent.
Some had done the course before, one whilst in the Westcountry on holiday, others were crafters, one claimed she didn’t have an artistic bone in her body and two ladies were there having been given vouchers for birthdays. In fact, one, on holiday from Wales, was celebrating her birthday that very day. Oh, and our single gent had been a road and bridge designer!
Our ‘teacher’, Ruth ProudfootSmith, had previously worked for the Western Morning News and the Cornish Guardian and taught English and art before joining Jo after lockdown. What patience! She talked us through the various techniques using small pieces, different grades of crushed glass (the fabulously named frit and grit), and we all had a go, I was going to say ‘crack,’ at cutting. We couldn’t wait to get our hands on the various jars of myriad coloured glass in all its forms, from the palest of powders to the darkest, glistening beads.
Most decided to go for abstract pieces. Birthday girl was creating Smeaton’s Pier in St Ives and our gentleman… his prized sailing boat. I just wanted to do one of Jo’s huge installations, but due to lack of talent and time and with my husband’s words ringing in my ears – “Don’t bring back any more stuff for tables and windowsills!” – I plumped for a small plaque for the bathroom door. Can’t say that it ‘shattered’ expectations, but it whetted my appetite.
I’m pleased to add no glass was broken (unintentionally) but, whilst taking the milk out of the fridge during the coffee break, and telling everyone how clumsy I was, the whole fridge shelf collapsed on the floor!
‘We couldn’t wait to get our hands on the various jars of myriad coloured glass in all its forms’