It starts with a blob of pigment. Dipped into a furnace full of molten glass. What happens then is, as with all highly skilled craftsmanship, a little piece of magic. Huffing and puffing, toing and froing. Plenty of heat. The roar of burners in the furnaces drowning out conversation. Heat. My shirt sticks to me and I start trying to remember the camera specs. At what point does a digital camera melt?The two craftsmen work in near silence, a dance around the work area from furnace to bench, sensing each other’s movements, swinging their lances(’punteys’) with their points of molten glass in an unchoreographed but much practiced dance. Cheeks puffed, they blow and heat again in the furnace. The globule grows and is shaped by blowing down the hollow bow pipe, and fondled with gloves blackened by scorching. Sparks rise from newspaper pads , the continuous roar of the furnaces, the heat of the glass forming a counter point to the pauses and gestures.
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