Back to work!!
February 17, 2010
I’m SUPPOSED to be working. Instead, I’m petting crystal, which either means I’m a glassist who’s finally gone over the edge…or that the nice delivery man just dropped off a big honkin’ Gaffer shipment.
Lordee, these things are gorgeous. How are you supposed to chop them up?
Weekwhacker
February 13, 2010
Why does there seem to be so little time when you’re facing the future, and so much when you’re looking back?
It’s mid-February already? How did that happen? Eeek. I’ve got to get on the ball. Now. I’ve got a show at Guardino’s in late March/April and another, OGG’s Spring Glass Gallery, at the end of April, and I’m not nearly ready.
I *am* getting stuff done. Dayjob stuff is moving along. And I’ve set up two shows in the last six weeks, one in the Mayor’s office at City Hall. I’m in a third, and I’m working with the Oregon Glass Guild to set up a LOT of exhibit/sales opportunities throughout the year.
Quick note to glassists: If you live in Oregon or just over the border in Washington state, this would be a GOOD year to join OGG. We’re working hard to get your glass in the face of just about anybody with a checkbook.
Folks told me that I (or rather, SHOUT!) showed up on the email blast and home page of one of my favorite blogs, Susan Lomuto’s Daily Art Muse. Very cool surprise that’s sending all kinds of web traffic to my portfolio site, cynthiamorgan.com. I KNEW I should have gotten that bloody site rebuilt–it’s not really ready for visitors. Sigh.
The available kiln has pretty much constrained my work to open-faced relief panels; I can’t fit mold-plus-reservoir in the kiln, not in the size I like to work. SHOUT!, however, whetted my 3D appetite and the fact that I get the pedestals at Guardino’s while Leah gets the walls just exacerbated it. (I’m teamed with the marvelous Leah Wilson for this show)
The show is themed around water. I’m having a blast designing watery stuff and playing up blue, green and straw-colored glasses.
There are 15 people inhabiting this sculpture and eight of them can be seen in this view. Can you pick them out? (Hint: rotate the piece about 15 degrees and half of them will disappear entirely)
And wow–I’m in love with sculpting all over again. Creating in full 3D, not just bas-relief, is as ecstatic as I can get with my hands in clay (the movie “Ghost” notwithstanding).
Sometimes the brain disengages and I just watch the hands. They know what to do. I don’t care if everyone else hates it, if it never sells, if people call it sentimental, old-fashioned trash and a thousand galleries and competitions turn up their noses…it just feels right and I’m having fun watching it.
I’ve finished the silicone for Currents Repose, the sixth piece in the Guardino show (left). With luck, the wax will be done by Monday or Tuesday. She and her 25 pounds of glass are still small enough to fit in Scooby-the-Skutt, albeit with some skullduggery.
The seventh, Currents Breaking, is not. Not by a long shot, so I’m renting a kiln for her. So far, the only thing she’s been breaking is my heart.
She’s also an example of Les’ More Syndrome (say it out loud), named after my friend Les Rowe-Israelson, who WILL expand a piece to fit the available kilnspace and just a bit more. I twit her about it all the time, but it’s clear that, in 3D, I have the same disease.
Breaking started out as a nice, simple curve with wave action. As usual, she sprouted a face, the face became an integral part of the work…and all of a sudden she’s 16 inches tall and requires probably 40 pounds of glass to complete. She poses some pretty problems in casting–I *NEED* to take a class or five in large-scale casting because this make-it-up-as-you-go-along stuff can’t continue–and the one now being siliconed, right, should more properly be called “Breaking II.”
Breaking I was killed by an extension cord, with a lot of help from me. I tripped over the cord while carrying the base coat mold across the studio, smashing it into about 20 pieces. (In retrospect, Breaking might not have been such a hot name.) I had decided to skip the mastermold process and work directly from the clay model–which is dug out of the mold and therefore destroyed. When I make silicones, I never need them again. When I don’t…this happens.
Fortunately, the memory of her was still in my hands, so I rebuilt her from scratch in about five hours. I actually like the second one much, much better, although she’ll be a more difficult cast. I’ve still got the process slideshow online, if you’d like to see her in rotation (I use these slideshows to check my progress while I’m working).
And so Breaking is on her third coat of silicone right now, three more to go before I can make the mothershell. Pouring the wax and steaming out the mold will be a royal PITA. In my dreams these pieces will someday make enough money that I can be a REAL sculptor, one who sends the model to the foundry and lets them do all this nonsense while I just create.
For now, this is where the week goes…
Compound eyes
January 16, 2010
This was a week of contrasts, of suicide bombers and gems, art and armor. A rich week of brainstorming and artstorming and talk, one that brought home the value of new and shared perceptions.
Hey–whatcha workin’ on in twenty-ten?
January 1, 2010
The new year is a time for lots of new direction, projects, ideas, etc. So I’ll show you one of mine, if you show me yours. 
This is roughly 18 inches tall, another one of those “won’t fit the kiln” projects that’ll get silicone master-molded, filled with wax and stuck on the shelf somewhere. It didn’t start out this way, BTW–originally, this was a long, flowing shape for another project, but I discovered a tragic ancestor* and all of a sudden it grew people.
The sculpture that wouldn’t die. Part III. Period.
December 20, 2009
OK, so where are we? Oh yeah. At the end of the first firing of Triangle, this was the tally:
- One destroyed clay sculpture (getting it out of the mold kills it)
- No silicone master as a backup
- One spent plaster/silica mold
- About 8 pounds of unfused frit mixed with talc and hence garbage
- One giant glass donut that should have been a sculpture
Drat. This stuff should really come with an undo button. Fortunately, *I* come with a REdo button, so after a buncha work this is what I pulled out of the kiln:
The sculpture that wouldn’t die, part II (of 3)
December 17, 2009
In Part I, I wandered through a lot of creative angst and a clay sculpture I called “Triangle.” Now, in part II, I pretty much wreck the whole thing in seven deadly mistakes.
The sculpture that wouldn’t die, part I (of 3)
December 15, 2009
Note to readers: I’m going to try to break this up into manageable, readable lengths that stand on their own. I’m not trying to do cliffhangers, I’m just trying to reduce dismay at the lengths of my huge posts…so this is a three-parter.
Sometimes, no matter how often you destroy it, a piece refuses to go quietly. Instead, it hangs around and bugs you until, in desperation, you finish it just for the sake of peace and quiet.
Triangle was one of those. Despite seven disastrous mistakes, it’s finally out of the kiln. Along the way, it taught me quite a bit about what makes my work tick.
Emotives: SHOUT
SHOUTing, part II
December 13, 2009
SHOUT is a big (for me) piece, and probably the most difficult glass casting I’ve done to date. SHOUTing, part I was about the problems I ran into. This post is about how I fixed them.
SHOUT caricatures domestic violence, and as such needed to be large, looming and menacing. I wanted the pieces to interact with each other, at angles that would change the viewer’s perceptions based on how the piece was lit and positioned.
Unfortunately, my little Skutt bathtub was made for glass fusing, not casting, which meant that (a) it was too shallow and (b) probably couldn’t heat evenly enough to support my original design (which connected the figures through a thick glass base with lots of stressful right angles). I could have done it with a work 8 inches tall…but SHOUT needed to shout. (The final piece is a bit more than 24 inches tall)
So I shelved the project, and went on to other things while I puzzled it out.
SHOUTing, part I
December 7, 2009
SHOUT’s finally out of the kiln. Thank heavens.
Warning: Several artists have suggested I’m doing myself a disservice by describing my (many) artistic mistakes in this blog, and my recent jury experiences suggest they might be right. OTOH, this blog has been an invaluable reference for me, and if I stop talking about my artistic dead ends and blunders I’m gonna lose that. So, apologies, but this is a post about a particularly looong project that taught me a lot. Sorry about that.
My studio probably holds the world record for incomplete projects, which drives some folk nuts. “If you’d ever FINISH this one, it’d be wonderful,” they say coaxingly (through gritted teeth), “So…FINISH it!”
Of course they’re right. Unfinished work certainly isn’t gonna help me gallery-wise. But I’m learning that sculpture only gets finished when it’s ready to be finished, for a lotta reasons.
I may need to improve my skills so I can match reality with vision. I may have run into a technical snag that needs rumination. I may need special equipment.
Or…I get well into execution and suddenly have a radically different vision of where this SHOULD have gone. So I put it aside until frustration dissipates and I have enough time and energy to start over.
For all those reasons my most recent work, SHOUT, took almost three years.
SHOUT started as a simple negative-space addition to the base of a boat-shaped bowl mold. It was supposed to be an Oregon mountain range, but Mt. St. Helens mutated into an open mouth, Mt. Hood became a nose…and all of a sudden I was sculpting a face. The face got angrier, escaped from the bowl and turned into an exercise in perspective, as well as a visualization experiment.
At that point (above), I took a good look at what was then called ShoutingMan, and realized he was spewing a helluva lot of energy to nowhere in particular. I wondered what he’d do with a target, and added a second head: RagingMan.
I cast both heads in BE’s Rhubarb Pink-Green Shift with spears of BE’s transparent red sheet glass. I love the color changes of Rhubarb–you get elusive accent colors wherever there’s a steeply angled thickness change.
I thought it worked well. I’d intended for the faces to kind of jigsaw-puzzle fit into each other. The resulting interaction and negative space between them was strong, but RagingMan wasn’t really raging, he was a foil for his companion. I started calling the second figure “The Reactor.”
ShoutingMan was originally designed to sit flat on a pedestal as if emerging from the base, mouth shouting up. The Reactor changed those plans; I tried suspending him over ShoutingMan, tried positioning them in a simple iron frame…nothing looked right.
I’d been ditzing around with a sea of sensuous, snaky glass limbs as a floor installation; it occurred to me that the heads might look cool sitting on top of them. Getting the figures up onto flexible bodies would give them more importance, and would also let me play with positioning them anywhere in 3D space, providing changing perspectives as you moved around them. Besides, humans have an instinctive fright response to snaky long shapes, which fit perfectly with my intent.
A word on SHOUT’s intent
It didn’t occur to me until The Reactor’s clay model was almost finished that I was caricaturing a domestic violence situation I’d run into years ago. (Weird how your fingers sculpt this stuff long before your brain realizes what’s going on…)What had shocked me at the time was the extreme mindlessness involved, as if the rest of the aggressor’s brain had shut down and only his primitive animal cortex was left. He seemed to have no conscious thought, could barely form intelligible words; he was overwhelmed with a need to fire raging, exploding energy into his target.
I normally talked through problems. In this situation, when I understood that reason was impossible, it literally terrified me.
The SHOUT heads became an attempt to visually map that rage and its response using thickness and color. The energy concentrates around ShoutingMan’s cheeks, where the glass is thick and darkly colored; the forehead, missing a brain, is startlingly thin and transparent.
I drew bodies onto head images in Photoshop (right), tried several different positions and settled on a close, in-your-face position. I decided to give them clear glass bodies so the heads would seem to float.
I had trouble visualizing how the heads should sit, though, and decided to cast prototypes. Good thing; I ran into one technical problem after another that probably wouldn’t have been solved any other way.
Equipment limitations. I usually cast hollow, bas-relief sculpture not because I want to, but because my Skutt bathtub kiln is only 13 inches deep. That type of sculpture has a flat, featureless back that lets me eliminate height-stealing glass reservoirs and cast open-faced.
SHOUT, though, would be tall (26 inches high), of solid glass sculpted in all three dimensions and with a number of compound curves. To stay transparent, I’d need to flow glass into the mold from an external reservoir. The reservoir would need at least six inches; in my kiln, that means I’ve got a working vertical of only about five or six inches.
Ideally, I’d have cast this piece almost completely vertical, and upside down, putting the reservoir on the only flat and featureless area, the base. But that way, even angling the molds as steeply as I dared, I’d need a kiln roughly 30 inches deep. This wasn’t the first time I’d conceived of something that literally wouldn’t fit into the kiln–I’ve shelf after shelf of similar projects, fully refined waxes ready for investment.
So…scratch that idea. I experimented with angling the molds and configuring them for reservoirs on the side, but the compound angles and curves made it difficult to find positions that would (a) fit within that 13-inch limitation, (b) allow me to easily coldwork the reservoir area back into shape without borrowing expensive bandsaws and glass lathes and (c) permit the glass to flow downhill in all directions from the reservoir.
I finally compromised. I eliminated the glorious compound curves down the back of my first clay models, creating a reservoir that traveled down the entire length of the piece.
Not only did that ensure that glass could get to all parts of the mold, it also let me position different colors of glass in different sections: Rhubarb and small daggers of transparent BE Red in the head area, BE Crystal Clear along the body.
Too bad I didn’t much like the resulting casts (right), for a number of reasons.
Clay in the glass. I’d modeled the “bodies” in Hanjiki porcelain, which needed to be removed from the finished mold. It was hard to reach all parts of the mold, and I unwittingly left a few small chunks of clay in inaccessible spots. The clay became embedded in the glass, ruining the piece. (You can see a chunk in The Reactor’s throat)- Two-dimensional. Limiting the curves and angles had also limited my ability to work in 3D, apparently: All the interaction took place in the same plane. It was rather like looking at a two-dimensional piece with a front and back, but little or nothing from other angles.
- No real tension. I’d wanted over-the-top menace, matching what I’d experienced in real life. Facing the heads precisely together, at an almost perfect vertical, seemed to eliminate most of the tension. Yuck.
- Top-heavy. Physically, the figures would need significant support to stay upright, probably adhered to a heavy steel base. Permanently attaching long lengths of glass to a heavy piece of metal was a recipe for breakage; far better to level and weight the bottoms of the figures so they could stand on their own or with minimal support from a steel base. Besides, once I saw the cast figures, I realized that raging red heads floating on clear supports looked unbalanced and didn’t make sense.
- Transparent Red opacified. A minor but continual problem for me when casting with reds–they seem to opacify faster than any other color, which spoiled the clarity I was after.
- Backs looked out of place. Since the reservoirs had run down the backs, by necessity there was no detail at all in the back–just a flat, featureless surface. The figures’ stylized hair simply ended at the crown of the head and looked odd. The rest of the work was highly shaped and figured, making the backs look like a mistake. I could grind and sculpt them, but only within the straight plane.
Most of this stuff stemmed from the compromises I’d made in mold configuration. Most likely, my faithful Skutt bathtub kiln simply wasn’t the right kiln for the job. I needed to find a deep casting kiln.
Instead, I shelved the project for 18 months, thought about it, and learned. I occasionally updated/added to my wax models (at one point ShoutingMan had an undulating mohawk bigger than the whole rest of the piece, at left). And slowly, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
Bullseye came out with Burnt Scarlet billets that would (if I could figure out how to get the color to go ONLY in the head) give me the swirling anger I was looking for.
Glass foundry owner Hugh MacKay turned me onto glass “bondo,” a mixture of lard and beeswax that both serves as a disclosing wax (to find and fill in imperfections in a wax model) and lets you smoothly spackle the gaps in a broken or imperfect casting, invest and refire. Since it’s organic, it burns out cleanly in the kiln, leaving no trace.
I also built up my skills with inclusions. Instead of trying to cast difficult shapes and color placements in a single firing, you cast the impossible components separately, then incorporate them into your wax model. You invest the entire thing for a final fuse-together casting.
Bullseye’s BeCON sessions helped a lot; a discussion with the head tech from Nicholas Africano’s studio gave me insight into joining components, in effect massive inclusions, in a final firing. I got some mold-building tips from the Australians, chatted about kiln configurations with Dan Clayman, and revisited BE’s dual-kiln casting solution. I went home and tried my newfound knowledge on a few test castings, and started making plans.
I finally had everything to finish SHOUT. In my little bathtub kiln.
Since I’ve now broken 90% of the laws about short, interesting posts, I’ll end here. Stay tuned for the second post.
Casters: Go get this tipsheet
November 13, 2009
Catching up on the backlog of email, I found a note from Bullseye Glass announcing a new tipsheet on lost wax casting for glass. I gotta say it’s one of the best process guides for glass casting that I’ve come across. Even if you don’t use Bullseye glass, it’s definitely one to have in your reference library.
There are probably as many glass casting practices as there are glass casters; if you’ve been casting for a few years your routine tends to consist of whatever works, whether it’s handed-down wisdom, rocket science or voodoo kilngod stuff.
It’s nice to see a guide that doesn’t just say “do this,” as most do, but also says “and here’s why.” Not all artists are allergic to science (even if some of us, like me, get terribly confused).
That said, I don’t necessarily follow all the practices in this guide. It seems centered on artists doing transparent casting; the layered pate de verre I love is a different beast in several respects (especially when it comes to dealing with water in your investment).
And I’d love to see Bullseye (or somebody) discuss other options for binders and refractories. For example, I’m testing hydrocal and alumina hydrate right now which does a lovely job as a facecoat if it doesn’t bankrupt you first. Not much of that here. More detail on waxworking would have been cool, especially with other waxes than victory brown. A LOT of my wax frustrations ended when I learned to employ the right wax for the job.
But heck–the thing’s already eight pages long and it’s free. And that hairspray trick’s very cool.
The nicest part is that this document gives you enough info so that–if you don’t already understand something–you can make a rational choice. And in the end, that’s what good casting practice is all about.
Very nice job, Bullseye. Don’t know who wrote this but please, share my compliments.