Notes from the Fire: Glassblowing and Alchemy of the Self

I’ve been blowing glass for almost 13 years now. It has its ups and downs, like any trade. But glassblowing isn’t just a craft—it’s a crucible. It tests you, tempers you. And whether I realized it or not, I’ve been doing alchemy this whole time.

When I first started, I was a slow learner. I doubted myself constantly. Compared. Obsessed. I was trapped in what the alchemists called the nigredo—the black phase. It’s that stage of dissolution where everything feels stuck, dark, heavy. You question your path. You beat yourself up for not transforming fast enough.

But fire teaches patience.

It wasn’t until I stopped thinking so much, and started feeling—watching the glow in the glass, letting my hands move without my mind interfering—that something changed. I didn’t transcend. I didn’t “level up.” I just surrendered.

The glass showed me: you can’t force transformation—you can only allow it.

Even now, things still break. Pieces shatter mid-process. And when that happens, it stings—not just in your hands, but in your sense of worth. You think, “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” But that’s the secret: glass always breaks.

And yet, we begin again.

That’s the true alchemy.

It's not just about mastering flame and form. It’s about refining the self—burning off the impatience, the self-loathing, the perfectionism. Every time something breaks and you choose to keep going anyway, you transmute lead into gold. You don’t just become a better glassblower—you become a clearer version of yourself.

This is the Great Work. Not in a grand, cosmic sense. But right here, in the little, daily rituals of trying, failing, and lighting the torch again.

Glass is unforgiving—but it’s honest. And if you let it, it’ll show you not just how to shape beauty, but how to become it.

"The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are." -Carl Jung