[Glass Reverie] Drawing out the Essence

[Cyrill]

3rd Day of Summer, 510 A.V.

Cyrill turned the blowpipe in her hands thoughtfully, letting the familiar metal rod roll across her palm and caress the ridges in her skin. Tyar had once told her that a glassworker’s hands had a way of shaping up to fit the pipe perfectly. He had held up his own blowpipe proudly for her inspection and it seemed to Cyrill that his coarse, powerful hands embraced the pipe with inexplicable tenderness. Now, she weighed her own pipe, wondering if she had already achieved that level of harmony with the tool. It felt comfortable in her hand - more comfortable than anything she’s ever held - but Cyrill knew that she still had a long way to go.

She inclined her head to a passing glassblower who was carefully cradling an elaborate bowl. She rarely spoke to her colleagues, but this man was one of her closest friends. They had both been apprenticed to Tyar at the same time and had stuck together during and after their training. The two shared a profound understanding of each other’s glassworks and that was enough – meaningless chatter was unnecessary.

Cyrill approached the vacant furnace, sizing it up with her gaze before slowly inserting one end of the blowpipe into its depth. She could feel the pipe plunge into the liquid glass. She moved it from side to side, rolling it between her hands at the same time. After a few beats, she decided that she had gathered enough glass and pulled out the rod. On its end was a slightly elongated ball of molten glass, burning hot and ready to be shaped.

It was only as she looked at the glass that she came to a decision on what exactly she would be making. She had a couple of orders waiting to be filled, but until she actually saw the raw material she never knew which one she’d take up. Tyar had always told her that each piece of molten glass already had the essence of a finished product inside it. It was the glassblower’s job to figure out what that essence was and bring it out. This time, Cyrill decided that the glass was meant to be a cup. The cooks had placed the order earlier that day, complaining that too much dinnerware was broken during the First Thaw Festival. They had also ordered a selection of small wine glasses and bowls, but it was the cup that really spoke to her.

Cyrill carried the blowpipe to the marver. She put the end of the blowpipe in the center of the long, flat table and started to roll the glass across it. She would occasionally tilt it up a bit, to make sure that the glass was rounding out in all the right places.

She gripped the pipe higher up, away from the rising heat, hefting it into the air at the same time. The basic shape was sufficiently established. Now she would need to form a small bubble within the glass. This was one of the most delicate steps in the process and one that she had trouble grasping when she was only starting to learn glassblowing. Cyrill brought the blowpipe to her lips, drew some air into her lungs and quickly expelled it into the pipe.

[Cyrill]

As soon as the breath left her mouth, she brought the thumb of her left hand up to the mouth of the tube, covering it up. The watched the blowpipe intently, imagining the gust of air travelling down its length and into the center of the molten glass. Suddenly, she realized that she had stopped rolling the pipe between her fingers. Cursing under her breath, she swiftly rotated the pipe with her right hand, making sure that the liquid glass stayed centered.

The bubble had successfully established itself within the glass. Cyrill walked over to the furnace, all the while rotating the blowpipe as she tipped it back into the heat. She couldn’t let the glass cool too quickly or it would become unworkable. Once the glass had been reheated, with the air bubble still intact, Cyrill made her way to her bench. She sat down on the edge, a little song already beginning to snake its way between her lips.

he placed the blowpipe across two metal arms that stuck out from the bench. This way, she’d be able to focus on the glass without having to hold up the blowpipe all the time. Humming quietly, she picked up a flat, metal paddle and tapped it gently on what was to be the bottom of the cup. The little dent would later need to be worked on more thoroughly, but it would suffice for now.

“In a tree by the road, there’s a songbird who sings,” she hummed, barely parting her lips as the melody flowed through. The other glassblowers didn’t show any sign of being disturbed by her humming. The ones who were close enough to hear it had grown accustomed to it and respected it as part of her work process. The man who usually worked to her left had the habit of tapping out a rhythm with his foot and the woman a few benches down would often whisper to the glass.

“And the forests will echo with laughter…” The song trailed off as she brought the blowpipe to her lisp once more. This time, she blew long and hard, watching the bubble expand further and further. When she was younger, she would often be unable to stop at the right time – blowing into the pipe until the little bubble burst. Fortunately, she was able to draw her lips away in time. She reached for the tweezers laying be her side. Slowly, she began to work them around the neck of the half-formed cup, preparing to separate the body of the piece from the blowpipe. It was crucial not to push down to hard and break the glass prematurely, so he took her time, knowing that she could always reheat the glass if she needed to. After twisting the neck between the tweezers a few times, she blew into the pipe again, rounding out the cup even more.

Note:The lyrics are taken from Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven".

[Cyrill]

Cyrill tapped the bottom of the piece experimentally with her paddle. Unsurprisingly, it had grown cold. She tilted the glass back into the furnace, being careful to only heat the bottom of the cup. Once the glass was workable again, she methodically flatted out the base. She gave it a nice circular dent, with thick ridges that would support the cup on pretty much any surface.

The piece was essentially complete – all that remained was to separate it from the blowpipe. Leaving the blowpipe resting on the metal arms, Cyrill stood up and brought over a punty. The punty was a long, metal rod that had a little gob of molten glass attached to one end. She held the rod with one hand and slowly rotated the blowpipe the other as the molten glass made contact with the cup. Still holding on to the rod, Cyrill tapped the neck of the piece with the tweezers one more time, all the while putting pressure on the blowpipe. One tap and the neck cracked, leaving the cup free from the blowpipe and stuck to the punty.

She quickly brought it over to the furnace and edged the piece inside slowly. She methodically turned the punty as the lip of the cup heated up without disturbing the body of the piece. It was crucial that she didn’t heat up the piece too much or too little, so Cyrill concentrated all of her attention on the cup. Tyar had once told her to pretend that she was trying to warm up after a cold day. She wouldn’t want to stick herself entirely into the fire or she would burn, but she wouldn’t want to stay away from the fire completely or she would freeze. The glass is as responsive to the heat as we are, only it doesn’t have the sense to move away at the right time. So, you have to help it out a bit. Cyrill couldn’t imagine having a better master than Tyar.

Once the lip of the cup was sufficiently heated, she went back to her bench and placed the puny across the metal arms. She rolled it across with her left hand, holding the tweezers in her right. Carefully, she maneuvered the tweezers inside the small opening of the cup and lifted the edges. The heated glass responded easily – opening up and expanding to make the opening fit enough to drink from. Then, she caressed the sides of the cup with the tweezers, putting the finishing touches on its basic form.

All that was left for her to do was to remove the cup from the punty. Holding the rod parallel to the floor, she tapped the tweezers at the point where the base of the cup connected with the metal rod. She put pressure on the tweezers, using them almost as one would use a knife, to cut away the glass. Then, when Cyrill was sure that the cup had been sufficiently loosened, she carefully flipped the cup over onto the bench, with the rod sticking up in the air. Taking up a flat paddle, she gently hit the top of the punty with it. One more tap, one pull upward and the punty came away in her hand. Cyrill allowed herself a brief smile. Only nine more cups to go.

[Cyrill]

She placed the cup on a rack along with other finished pieces destined for the kitchens. There were goblets, wine glasses, bowls, plates, and some containers that Cyrill couldn’t quite name. Cyrill went back to the furnace, blowpipe in hand. Just as before, she didn’t have an inkling of what the piece was going to be until she withdrew the rod from the pool of molten glass. This one was meant to be a bowl – large and deep, useful for a salad. In truth, Cyrill didn’t know the first thing about salads, but she could clearly picture a sturdy, clear bowl topped off with some leafy greens.

Back by the marver, Cyrill rolled the pipe across it, careful to keep the glass from becoming too elongated. This time, the edges didn’t need to be smoothed as much initially, since there would have to be a lot of work done on them later as it was. She lifted the rod from the table and brought the end of the blowpipe to her lips. With one quick breath, she started the bubble forming in the center of the glass. Her finger swiftly capped the pipe opening, her other hand still methodically rotating the pipe.

She edged her fingers a little closer to the glass sphere, checking to see how hot it was. As soon as her hand was close to the base of the glass, she snatched it back with a muffled hiss. She had assumed that she would need to reheat the glass at this stage, just as she did with the cup. However, since she hadn’t spent as much time at the marver, the glass was still sufficiently hot to be workable.

She placed the blowpipe across the iron arms of the bench and looked longingly at the basin of water standing some feet away. The fingers on her left hand were beginning to blister.

Fortunately, she spotted one of the yasi passing by. This one was one of the older kids who showed some potential for the trade, so Cyrill could turst him not to mess up on a simple task. She kept turning the pipe with her right hand and beckoned to the boy with her left.

His eyes lit up as he hurried over to her bench, either eager to help or to escape whatever assignment the Master glassblower had given him.

“Rotate this for a chime,” Cyrill said to the boy and headed to the inviting basin of water.

If she had left the blowpipe just sitting there, the hot glass might have started to sag to one side, throwing off the symmetry of the piece. She plunged her left hand into the cold water, all the while reprimanding herself for making the rookie mistake of getting her fingers too close to the hot glass. She let her fingers soak in the water for a few seconds, throwing a withering glance to a fellow glassblower who just couldn’t seem to wipe a smirk off his face.

She withdrew her hand from the water and wiped it unceremoniously on her byrda. Back at her bench, the yasi was doing a good job of turning the blowpipe and even looked a little upset when Cyrill shooed him away.

[Cyrill]

She took up a flat paddle – larger than the one she had used previously – and patted the bottom of the bowl-to-be with it. The flat spot of the bowl would need to be significantly larger than that of the cup – better for holding salads that way and whatnot.

It was time to expand the bubble again. Since the bowl needed to have a wider opening than the cup, she blew into the blowpipe at longer intervals, making sure her breaths were strong and lasting as they left her lungs. She kept on blowing until the bowl had gotten sufficiently wider and rounder. This time, she was careful to use only her eyes to judge the hotness of the glass. She carried it back over to the furnace, heating the bowl at its base and neck.

It was time to start the separation process. She twisted the neck of the bowl with her tweezers, squeezing and prodding at it until it was only loosely attached to the blowpipe. She grabbed the flat paddle again, tapping at the base again to make sure it would stand steadily on a flat surface.

The piece was essentially complete – all that remained was to separate it from the blowpipe. With the blowpipe resting on the arms, Cyrill grabbed a punty with a wad of molted glass at its end. She prodded at the bowl’s base with the punty, making sure the sticky glass had attached itself firmly to the bowl. She made a cutting motion with the tweezers across the bowl’s beck and smiled a little as the blowpipe detached itself from the bowl.

She hurried over to the furnace, with the puny held firmly in her hands. She heated the lip of the bowl and brought it back to her bench, carefully sticking a pair of tweezers inside the bowl’s small opening. Once again, the same melody found its way to her lips and she let it take over for a while as she worked.

“A songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiving.”

Just as with the cup, she started caressing the edges of the lip with the tweezers. The process took a tad longer than last time, seeing as the opening had to be about twice as big. She tapped the perimeter of the cup with the tweezers, adding just a little to the already completed form.

“In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees.”
And the voices of those standing looking.”

She lifted up the punty from the arms and flipped it over onto her bench. Carefully, she began to cut away at the glass with her tweezers. For the final touch, the tapped the top of the puny with a flat paddle just as before, leaving it free of the bowl.

“And the voices of those standing looking…” her voice died away in a whisper as she brought the bowl over to the rack.

FIN

[Gossamer]

. Character: Cyrill Experience: 5 XP Glassworks, 3 XP Singing, 1 XP Teaching Lore: Lore of Making a Glass Cup, Lore of Understanding How a Blowpipe Becomes Ones Own Additional Note: I love the way your threads read. And when I peeked in at your CS, I was amazed at how lovely it is. Thank you for your writing and letting me read it. .