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HAS ANYBODY HERE SEEN MY F-I-N-G-E-R-S
?
Is there any other art form that offers such
possibilities to the latent masochist? The pianist may
occasionally stub a finger; the painter poke his eye with
the end of a brush; the ceramacist, In a feeble effort to
compete, drop clay on his foot; - but the opportunities for
mutilation to the worker in glass are limitless.
Like a Bolshevik in a bomb store, the simplest reflexes
are invested with hazard:
A normal kitchen reaction - brushing crumbs off the
table with one's hand will, when applied to glass crumbs,
provide you with multiple puncture wounds of a span and
variety that leave you breathless.
Gazing myopically over a score that you are
simultaneously tapping can propel you into the center of
everyone's attention in almost no time. While one colleague
hunts through your eyeball for glass spray, another can
bandage your hand, while a third - if you have been adept
enough - can apply a tourniquet to your leg. This Tinkers-to
Evers-to Chance technique is almost uniformly successful,
and oddly enough, applies almost exclusively to individuals
who do not appear to be nearsighted at any other
activity.
Just the simple act of bending over can be an artistic
triumph, especially if done in front of the glass bin where
the corner of a large sheet is peeking forth. With luck, you
can practically sever your seat from its moorings and the
oohs and aahs of envious fellow-workers will alternate with
the splashing in your socks.
But, really, you don't have to try for excess; a major
display such as that is obviously show-offy, really can only
be done once, and, after all, what can you do to top it?
Multiple minor injuries are the order of the day, done with
style and classic precision such as:
1. Cut a piece of glass in a perfect square. It looks
great. But you can't resist running your finger around the
edges to make sure they're really smooth. THEY'RE NOT!
2. You can't decide what color to use in a window. Hold
several up to the light for inspection. They won't do. Place
them on the table, one on top of another. Select others. Put
them on the same growing pile of different sized rejects.
Eventually, you will have a beautiful weapon which only
needs a slight nudge of the table to set in motion. This
particular technique not only can satisfy most masochistic
urges, but since you may decide at the last moment that it
is a little too drastic, you can solve your exercise problem
for the day as well.
3. You are removing a large sheet of glass from the bin.
It presents a long crack, which is almost-but-not-quite
complete. You know you can get it to your table before it
falls apart. A sort of race against time. Man versus glass.
Sporting blood.
4. Hidden deep within the scrap glass box is that one
particular piece you need to complete this project. You can
only see a corner of it. Don't bother to clear away the
covering pieces. After all, time is short. So are your
fingers.
5. Though the top bin requires a small stepladder to
select from it adequately, man's arm was built to stretch.
The glass of your choice comes out smoothly and firmly in
your careful grip, while its neighbor transfixes your
skull.
But it's not only glass that can be employed. Many
practitioners of self-destruction prefer the soldering iron.
Grasping it firmly by the hot barrel while pretending to
look in another direction is a favorite ploy which provides
the additional advantage of being able to present to an
appreciative audience variations on some of the latest dance
steps. (Hot solder under a fingernail is a pale imitation of
this technique, but one which has its adherents,
nonetheless.)
Probably the most advanced method was introduced by the
individual who reached for, and drank, his flux instead of
the glass of water by his hand. He just had time to say:
"How delicious" before going into spasms.
But I think what really scares me is the formation of a
pattern that trails ghost-like beyond the studio walls.
After all this, to relax with a quiet glass of beer at home
AND CUT ONE'S TONGUE ON THE JAGGED RIM seems unfair beyond
protest.
This was taken from "The Glass Workshop", Jan./Feb. '69,
Vol.l, No. 1, published by the Stained Glass Club, 482
Tappan Rd., Northvale, NJ
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