Dead chickens and Bernoulli drives

It’s Halloween and we all have our ghost stories to tell, right? Here’s mine.

A long time ago, I managed networks and BBSes (a kind of early online community) for a research group in our local agricultural college. Our charter was to persuade farmers, agriculture teachers and the ag industry in general to use the computer to gain competitive advantage over the rest of the world.

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O frabjous Mac!

If you’ve had the fortitude to slog through my blogposts, you’ve read of my curious addiction to Apple’s MacBook Pro line and how I almost bought one last August.

I didn’t because I’d heard of a couple issues with the MBP and–since I hate buying first generation gadgetry–the high probability that gen2 would fix those issues and maybe add some bells and whistles was enough to make me wait. My mother graciously agreed (thanks, Mom) to let me borrow her laptop for my consulting travels until the new MBP arrived. I promised her it would only be a couple of weeks.

Famous last words–it’s now the end of October.

But Apple posted the announcement today, and about an hour after I read through the new specs I ordered one. I’m not kidding myself about primarily using this thing as a kind of second class citizen in the Mac world, however. I run Windows, my clients run Windows, and I fully expect to continue running Windows.

But ever since I dumped my Macs to take a job with Intel I’ve missed the little beasties. (And felt awfully guilty about that…)

You have no idea how rabid Intellites could be about Macs before they started supplying the chips. I was once visited by a group of Intel IT engineers who had discovered a batch of publication files I’d stored that included .SIT (Mac archive) files. They furiously demanded an explaination. I explained that Macs were pretty standard stuff in the creative world, we had analogous Windows files and the designer had courteously included a .SIT in case we couldn’t find anyone but a Mac designer.

They were shocked (SHOCKED, I tell you!) to hear that the design world used Macs, but settled down when I told them we would never inhale, er, access the stuff except in a great emergency. “See that you don’t,” warned one.

Apple’s helping to save the Intel day is causing some significant culture shift over there, I suspect.

Anyway, I’ve ordered my MacBook Pro, a 15-incher with maxed out graphics and memory plus Parallels, the software that lets you run a dual Mac/Windows environment. By my calculations it should be here early next week. That’ll give me some time to get over the (ulp) sticker shock, and to figure out if I want to just load up the extra license of XP I already have, or wait for Vista.

Can’t wait. Neither can my laptop-less mom…

Studio tour

One problem with being addicted to creating glass art is that it’s not exactly a compact hobby. Coldworking equipment (grinders, laps, rociprolaps, saws, etc) take up considerable space and create a lot of mess, kilns also require some space, and you need somewhere to store extra sheet and frit glass, molds, mold-making materials and supplies, kiln furniture, tubs of abrasive and polishing media, grinder belts, and so on and so on and so on.

And that’s just the “messy” stuff, in my case, the stuff that goes in my garage. I promised myself I’d only use HALF the garage and the car could keep the other half, but lately the glass has established squatter’s rights on the automotive side and I think I’m about to have a nice big coldworking and firing shop with a car parked in the driveway. I’d show you a picture of my setup out there–it’s actually quite usable–but it’s embarrassingly messy right now.

My working studio is inside the house, and it’s taken me about three years to get it the way I want it. It’s not large, and I still have stuff to do (like fix the lighting and add some sample racks), but it’s extremely functional for what I enjoy doing.

The big problem with glass is that it’s heavy, fragile and potentially dangerous. It’s also bulky, and once you cut it you wind up with a lot of perfectly good scrap that needs to be sorted and saved (unless you’re a zillionaire). I also need to be able to see it so I (a) know I have it and don’t waste money on duplicates and (b) can see it when I’m picking out a color or texture and mulling over combinations.

So over the years I’ve developed a storage system that works for me. I keep full sheets (which in Bullseyespeak means sheets about 20×35 to 24X72) of clear and neutral-colored glasses in racks in the garage. I don’t need to see the colors so I used the cheapest wood bins I can find.

I cut the colored sheets in half and store them in the studio, in a clear acrylic bin with dividers that the local TAP Plastics made for me.

I’ve got carpet on the bottom of each compartment to cushion the glass and make it easy to slide, and the fact that they’re clear makes it both safer (if you’ve ever reached into a wooden bin and been surprised by a sharp scrap of glass you’ll know what I mean) and easier to see.

I have a limited space for full sheets inside, generally whatever I need for the project I’m working on right now. I put 8×10 sheets into acrylic magazine cases, organized by color. Small scrap (usually less than 3×3) is also organized by color in small acrylic drawers that rest on the sheet bin.

Larger scraps of clear, black and white are stored in see-through rubbermaid bins (I think they’re originally sheet cake bins) on a shelf. The same shelving system also holds the essentials (tunes), my project and class notes, drawing papers, and BE sample books. It’s a LOT in a relatively small area, about 48″ x 24″ X 90.”

I keep larger colored scrap and leftover glass strips in bigger acrylic drawers on top of base cabinets–they’ll hold up to an 8×10 sheet if I need them to, also divided by color.
The base cabinets also hold my portable photo studio, clays, metals and other supplies and tools.

I cut glass in the third corner of the room, and that’s where I also store templates, drawings and patterns for past projects that I might want to revive sometime. The cutting table also holds stringer and some rod (which isn’t ideal and I’m trying to figure out a way to mount tubes of stringer on the wall). The cabinets above the cutting table hold chemicals and more delicate equipment, such as scales and circle cutters. I stick casting billet samples, which I don’t need very often, on top of the cabinets.
I got really really tired of storing frit in those cabinets. They were stacked on top of each other, which meant I had to move a lot of jars around to find the ones I wanted. I therefore tended to drag 20 or 30 jars onto my worktable, leaving me no room to work and making cleanup a pain. Worse, having all those jars on the table increased the possibility that I’d accidentally contaminate one color with another (which ruins an $80 jar of frit). So I hunted around for several months until I found a better solution.

I bought 2 media racks, used by video production studios. They’re really shallow (essential in a small studio), hug the wall and because they’re sized for CDs which are about the same dimensions as a couple jars of frit, they are ideal for frit storage. They’re also very strong. They hold 1- and 5-lb jars of frit. I keep the larger (40lb) containers of frit, primarily clear/white, out in the garage.
Now I can sit at the drafting table and easily reach any color I want, use it and put it back–it’s dramatically reduced clutter and cleanup time. I have a cheap little rolling cart that holds bigger pieces of black, clear and white scrap; I put a couple of pieces of scrap granite tile on top and they hold my brushes, dental and clay tools, and pencils/pens. A small pegboard holds all the other tools, masks, etc., that I need.

And that’s pretty much the whole studio. It ain’t grand, but it’s home.

Watercolors

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Five-finger exercise

Just got out of a class where we discussed how the medium influences the art, i.e., since glass has transparency, transparency becomes a significant part of the work. It’s one of those “duh” statements that seem obvious on the face of it but have a much deeper meaning when you think on it awhile.

Nowhere, however, did we discuss how the available tools influence the work, something I’ve experienced on a regular basis. And speaking of that, I’m afraid my work will take a “turn” because I’ve used my Bullseye class discount (ain’t that just like a woman?) to pick up a Bohle repetitive circle cutter. Here’s what it looks like:

 

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Kirstie Rea’s “What Do We Make of Glass?” class

Just finished taking this class from Australian glass artist Kirstie Rea, had some very interesting exercises that made me think. Wasn’t really taking it for the coldworking opportunities–which were legion–but greatly enjoyed the opportunity to share space with some good glass artists. We group-dined at a marvelous but expensive Italian restaurant on the SE side of Portland, Nostrana’s, where I had one of the better capreses I’ve had in awhile.

Most interesting exercise was Kirstie’s version of the gossip game (you know, the one where the first guy whispers something into the second guy’s ear, he whispers what he heard into the third guy’s ear…and by the time everyone in the room has had a go it’s radically different from what was actually said…).

Kirstie asked us to write an artist’s statement–4-5 lines–about a piece we’d like to make and what we wanted it to say. Then she swapped our statements, anonymously, and asked the new owners to read the statement and quickly sketch what it should look like. Then she swapped again, giving the drawing to a third artist, and asked them to make up the drawing quickly, in no more than 3 layers of glass.

I’m not sure if this was supposed to point out how badly we communicate in an artist statement, or that people have different ideas about the same thing, but I found it fascinating to follow the trail from originator to twice-removed.

Here’s mine:
“In her garden, Nature danced a fine twilight line between life as God made it and life…with a few necessary improvements. She’d always felt that if God hadn’t been rushing to create the whole bloody world by Sunday he’d have rethought the plant kingdom thing and seen the incredible opportunities afforded by leaves and roots and fruits. In the world, they were mute feeding stations awaiting winter’s decay. But in her garden they were…organized.”

It’s based on a series I’ve been building casting molds for since late summer, combining plant parts into non-functional vessels. Here’s a photo of the model that I sketched, called hostagoblet for obvious reasons:

This is what the next artist in the chain drew. She picked up on the word “organized” and took it from there.

Now, I meant organized as in unions, as in people (or other living things) who band together to start making decisions on their own, without the straightjackets of management. Organized.

Sharon took it to mean organized as in orderly, as in neatly regimenting everything into its own little cubbyhole, tabbed with the appropriate description, and bundled out of mind in a manila folder somewhere.

Bob, the third link, didn’t see my drawing, so he took his cue from Sharon’s, as instructed. He engraved her drawing into a sheet of white glass.

Bob didn’t have time to finish it, but I may just for the heckuvit. I’ll probably rub spring green powder into the grooves and tack-fuse it just to see how it comes out.

But it was interesting to see how different everyone’s perceptions were, and the variety of PoVs and how they were all pretty successful.

All in all, a good class, with one or two artists I’d like to someday collaborate with on work.

BTW, Kirstie’s Australian TA in the class, Cobi Cockburn, is a lovely artist in her own right and one that’ll be worth watching over the next few years. She’s already won the Ranamok prize for glass artists in New Zealand and Australia, and her work appears to be selling pretty quickly. You can see it at the GlassArt4U gallery in Scottsdale, AZ.

PS…On the hostagoblet:
The photo above is the original, which obviously has a limited lifespan. I coat the constructs with several layers of liquid latex, let them dry, and then cast supporting plaster molds to hold the latex skin. From there, I can use 2-part resin to build a permanent model, one that can be used to build the final molds that will shape the hot glass in the kiln.

Haven’t done the resin cast with the hostagoblet yet, but here’s what they look like, using an earlier piece in the series, hostabowl.

Un-insurance

There was an open cash register (for once) at the local PetSmart, and I hurried over with my purchases–three giant bottles of cat litter crystals. Chinni, my outspoken Siamese, had expressed his deep disapproval of the state of the litter box (I promise you, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of that caterwaul), and I remembered I’d forgotten to change the litter…last Wednesday (it’s Sunday).

Ooops. That’s how I wound up listening to an uninsured checkout clerk on a Sunday afternoon.

I set down a litter bottle and she started talking, out of the blue. “That was my boyfriend on the phone,” she said, (Honestly, I don’t invite these confidences, they just seem to happen) “and he’s got some prescription painkillers I can have for free. Well, that’s ONE down, anyway.”

“See, I don’t have health insurance, and my doctor wants me to go to the hospital for more tests. Every time he does that I have to pay $200 for each prescription, that was $1,000 last time, and each X-ray is another $200 or $300. So I’m calling all my friends to see if they have leftover medicine I can use instead.”

Isn’t that dangerous?

“Oh, no,” she assured me, “I leave messages for my doctor every time I get some pills, so he knows what I’m taking. If I wasn’t supposed to take that kind of pill, he’d call and tell me.”

But…doesn’t PetSmart offer health insurance to its employees?

“Sure,” she said, “But I haven’t been working here 90 days yet, and they won’t insure me until then.”

Well…couldn’t you wait until then to have the tests?

“The doctor says no. Believe me, if I could I would. I’ve been in the hospital three times this summer, with bronchitis and pneumonia and asthma and this stomach thing they still don’t know what it is, and let me tell you, I already owe those guys so much money I don’t know how I’ll pay it back.”

“Oregon Health Plan, they tell you they’ll cover you, but they won’t. Every claim I’ve submitted they say isn’t covered, it’s my responsibility. Well, I take that back, I appealed the biggest hospital bill–$10,000. I wrote them a letter and then I had to write another one when they said no but finally they paid it. But the other bills they won’t pay, and it’s like $9,000 for everything and now the doctor says I need at least five different tests and all this medicine and some of it my friends don’t have.”

I resisted the strong temptation to plow through my medicine cabinet looking for stray medications to give her. But I swear, there’s no better line of demarcation between the haves and have-nots in this country than the state of their health insurance.

When I left Intel, the first thing I did (after doing the shellshock carbohydrate thing for 3 days) was fill out the COBRA form for health insurance, set up automatic payments, and get it going. When Intel screwed up my coverage, I went into high gear, trounced on everyone I could find until they fixed the mistake and I was once again covered.

I have COBRA for 17 more months, am casting around for alternatives and really wondering what health insurance as a self-employed person is going to be like. Intel’s insurance–which pays for all but $15 for medications and doctor visits and covers dental and vision care as well–is very good; I’ve been warned that I won’t find anywhere near that kind of coverage as a business owner, not if I don’t want to pay $1,000/month and accept a much higher deductible.

It’s crazy. My friend Jim took a much lower-paying job, far beneath his usual level, because it offered health insurance he and his partner badly needed. He’s not that unusual, either; several of my friends have left lucrative consulting practices and gone back to being employees because the health and retirement benefits were enough to make up for all the disadvantages of being a corporate drone.

Who knows? I may wind up getting back into harness that same way when COBRA runs out, if I can’t find a better alternative. But at least I had the option, and was lucky enough to be able to pay for it.

My sister’s family of five lost their coverage temporarily when her husband changed jobs. Like PetSmart, his new employer had a 90-day clause. COBRA would have picked up the gap, but at a price so expensive that they opted to “go bare.” Everyone held their breaths that three young children wouldn’t have a medical crisis before the new coverage started.

And even if you are a fully insured employee, it’s not something you can always count on. My friend, an Intel employee and US citizen who’s worked in the UK long enough to also be a citizen there, came back to the States on temporary assignment.She became very ill, but finding affordable, willing care for her was amazingly difficult. Her out-of-country coverage was minimal at best.

My own doctor refused to see her although she’s got signs all over her office saying she’s looking for new patients. When my friend finally did receive care (and a bunch of prescriptions), it proved very expensive. Intel insurance only provided for a $200 allowance for medication…and she used that up with the first prescription. She was out hundreds of dollars by the time she went back to the UK–where all her medical care was free.

At least she could pay for it. My friend at PetSmart doesn’t have that luxury. She is fortunate enough to know she’ll have healthcare insurance in the near future…which makes her one of the really lucky ones.

I grew up in a medical family where our mantra was “socialized medicine is substandard medicine,” but I don’t buy that anymore. I think the healthcare and insurance industries in the US have had every chance to make healthcare affordable for everyone, and they’ve consistently blown it.

Dammit.We have got to fix this.