I don’t have to tell you the universe is a really big place. Heck, most of us consider driving into downtown Minneapolis on a Friday night a long trip, so in comparison, the size of the universe is pretty much unfathomable. But let’s try: In 2003, a team of astronomers used one of the world’s largest telescopes and a supercomputer to count the number of stars in the known universe. The number they came up with was 70 sextillion. That’s roughly 10 times the number of grains of sand on all the beaches on Earth. So if those grains of sand were stars, and our planet was a tiny fleck circling one of them, then we would each be an impossibly small, sub-atomic particle on that fleck. Divided by 10.

Since learning this fact, I’ve found that thinking about the universe can be pretty depressing. If the universe is so big, how can anything we do
really matter?

This is where glassblowing comes in. Whenever I feel overwhelmed by my insignificance in the grand scheme of things (and this happens way too often), I create something: a hand-made cabinet, a well-cooked meal, a piece of art. There’s something about the act of creating that gives me a sense that I’m actually a factor in this expansive universe. After all, nobody else made that birdhouse. I made that birdhouse. If it weren’t for me, those birds wouldn’t have such a lovely home. (Disclaimer: I’ve never actually made a birdhouse.)

The people at Foci Glass in Minneapolis get to contribute something tangible to the universe every single day. Creativity is running rampant here, as several artists are at work on glass sculptures in all stages of creation. The gallery is lined with beautiful, finished pieces. Studio founder Michael Boyd is a friendly man whose influential presence gives the place a great vibe. Boyd not only makes the world of glassblowing seem super cool, but his enthusiasm for it makes everyone want to try it themselves at least once.

For this reason, Foci holds regular beginner classes, which is why I’m here. Todd Cameron, one of several artists who use Foci Glass as a studio, gathers a batch of molten glass on the end of a metal pipe. He then demonstrates how to shape and blow the glass, using various tools and heating devices, until it looks like something that you might see on the coffee table at your trendy neighbor’s house.

Following the tutorial, it’s my turn, and I quickly learn that glassblowing isn’t as easy as Cameron makes it look. After much effort and significant coaching, I end up with a glass object that vaguely resembles a paperweight. I couldn’t be more proud.

 

 

With my first foray into glassblowing a success (albeit a mild one), I ask Cameron if I might assist in the glassblowing demonstration he will be giving at his art show the next day. Exhibiting little regard for his reputation as a respected artist, he agrees.

Despite my inexperience, the hour-long demonstration goes smoothly, as I successfully hold, balance and turn 20 pounds of molten glass on the end of a 5-foot metal pipe without breaking anything. The glass is constantly heated and re-heated using a 2,000-degree oven. I even get to wield a torch and feel like I’m creating something beautiful. In reality, I’m little more than a glorified rotisserie spindle, as it is Cameron who performs the ridiculously delicate task of blowing and shaping the glass. When finished, he has a fantastically shaped sculpture and I’ve got a nice little burn on my hand to commemorate the occasion. I’m not permanently scarred or anything, but I’m pretty sure my big break as a hand model is going to have to wait a couple of weeks.

As I step into an empty corner of the studio to examine my burnt hand, I see my paperweight sitting on a nearby table. Compared to the masterpiece Cameron just created, it’s pretty ugly. But as I look closer, I see that its insides look a bit like outer space, and my thoughts once again drift toward the cosmos. This time, despite the enormity of the universe, I can’t help but smile. After all, if the universe really is that big, there has to be someone out there who wants to buy an ugly paperweight. +

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