Note: This post was originally published on January 20, 2011. Since then, some of these offerings have changed, and more murrini makers are offering kilnformer supplies, so I thought this needed an update.
I’ve been exploring all the different ways to make murrini cane in a kiln, and having a lot of fun with it. Check out some of these (amazingly long-winded) posts for step-by-step instructions:
Murrini cane in a kiln: Sandwiches, Part I
Murrini cane in a kiln: Jellyrolls
Murrini cane in a kiln: The rod pod
Kinda like peanuts
But I gotta tell you, it’s a lot of work and it’s not cheap. So what do you do if you want good-looking, kiln-fusing murrini that you don’t have to make yourself?
In the first article in this series, I discussed why glass casters should build a parts library of mastermolds. In this article (part II), I’ll talk about the easiest of mastermold-making techniques: The plaster mold.
Silicones, urethanes, and resins–the stuff I make most of my glass casting mastermolds from–can be spendy and hard to find. The moldmaking techniques they require can be time-consuming, with a steepish learning curve.
So don’t use them when you start out; use plaster of paris, or inexpensive bisqueware, instead. There are a lot of advantages to making mastermolds with plaster of paris:
It’s readily available in […]
life, food, stuff like that
“This,” I said eagerly, “Is the very latest Apple Macintosh, the easiest way to learn graphic design on a computer. Even turning it on is simple!” I pressed a button and –bongggg!!!– the screen came to life. “See?”
She burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.
Sometimes fate, or maybe something deeper, drags you face to face with what could have been.
I think that happened to me last week.
There’s a fellow at work that nobody likes. To be fair, maybe I think that because I don’t much care for him either, except that I’ve heard the same story from almost everyone: “No matter what you do, TJ* will screw it up, then blame you.”
"Your burglar alarm company just called; your house is on fire," Mom said on my mobile phone...just as my flight was boarding. Sigh. It's been a busy week, and it's only Monday. Been doing my usual 72 things at once: Houseful of guests (the incredible glass artist and lovely person Carol Carson, with her equally lovely sister and daughter). My sister's in town from DC, staying with my folks. My plane lands back in Glassland four hours before the party I'm throwing for Carol on Wednesday (y'all come!). I'm getting ready for a sculpture show this weekend. The antmind decided that BigBoy, my ginormous old Dell desktop, was a perfect place to raise the kids. You know, I think there's a god of adventure sitting in an office somewhere, and everytime he gets bored he types my name, hits the send button...and here we go again.
(And no, I don’t mean you, Mr. Heath!)
Bob-the-blowdryer died a fiery death on Wednesday. I laid him to rest (in the trash can) and… mourned. Slightly.
Maybe I should explain.
What do the above pieces have in common? They still live with me.
I’ve never really thought of myself as sentimentalist. Sure, I sometimes sob at tearjerker chickflicks or cracking good animation or sublimely elegant algorithms or wonderful UX or hardware that really IS “plug and play” or somebody just being nice for no good reason or incredible art. And maybe I succumb to leaky optics over certain scents or songs or baby animals but…