the rest of the day, and take it out in the later afternoon. Only then will I step back and critically examine what I've made.
Immediately my thoughts turn to Dean and Drake. I told them very sternly that I had to focus this morning. I want to call them. I want to invite them over, or ask them to go on a hike, or anything, really. But I can't. Two weeks. It's all I've got to impress Harrowgate. So I blow a strand of curly hair from my face, and get to work on my next project.
Five hours later I've got three more projects cooling in the fridge, and my stomach is growling rebelliously. I'm exhausted, but it's that good kind of fatigue that makes you want to grin. I wipe my face with a cloth and set aside my pincers. Oh, it's good to focus on glass again. To banish everything away but the immediate and urgent art that's coming to life right before your eyes.
It's after three in the afternoon. I should get lunch. I should stay calm and collected, and only check on my first project when I get back. But it's ready. I know I can pull it out without risking any danger to the glass.
Suddenly nervous, I crack open the fridge door and glance inside. I blink as if seeing the piece for the first time. It's - it's gorgeous. I press both my hands to my face. It looks like a cloud striving to take form. Its base is clear, then smoky gray, and rises delicately to hints of yellow then fiery red at the tips, like a cloud catching fire. Intricate bands of colored glass like a fisherman's web run through it, and the name comes to me in a snap: Phoenix I.
Cautiously, almost tenderly, I lift it out and set it on one of my tables. Sunlight enters the piece and causes it to glow as if it's alive. I step back and let out a squeal of delight and leap into the air. Impulsively I take out my phone and take three photographs of the piece, each from a different angle, and then bundle my images and send them to Julia at Harrowgate. Just a taste of what's to come: Phoenix I.
I lower my phone and heave a deep sigh. I feel content. And weary. And happy. I give myself a hug, then turn my thoughts to lunch. Where should I go? Anita's? Hmm, I could use a strong coffee and a slice of blueberry pie.
I pack up my tools, clean everything that needs cleaning, turn off the furnace, and am about to head outside when my phone rings.
It's Julia's number.
"Hello?" I try not to sound breathless.
"Kiera? This is Julia Castle from Harrowgate. How are you?"
"Fine! I mean, I'm doing well. Thank you. And yourself?" I feel like I've suddenly lost the ability to string words together into coherent sentences.
"Kiera, the photographs you sent me are stunning. The colors. The shape. The energy contained within the glass - I love it."
"Wow." I blink and stare at nothing. "Thank you."
"If your other pieces are of this caliber, then I believe you stand an excellent chance of being selected for our next line."
"Ms. Castle, I don't know what to say." Suddenly, beating Marv seems like a childish reason to be making these sculptures. Suddenly, it's only the art itself that matters. All that drama in New York can fade away. What matters is the future.
"Now, let me ask a question. You told me in our last conversation that you are no longer with Iron and Roses. Is that correct?"
"Yes," I say. "For the near future."
"Are you working with another studio, then?"
"I, well, no. I've come home, and I'm working out of a small place all my own."
"No team?"
"No, no team." I restrain the urge to sigh. I could maybe call up my people in New York and invite them to join me here, but would they come? Would they leave their lives in New York to come to a little town in western Massachusetts? I don't know.
"Well. The reason I'm inquiring is that if you were to win the nomination, then based on your talent and drive, I would like to extend the offer for you to become our Harrowgate Artist in Residence, and to come work at our studio in Charleston."
I draw up short. "But - but I thought
Immediately my thoughts turn to Dean and Drake. I told them very sternly that I had to focus this morning. I want to call them. I want to invite them over, or ask them to go on a hike, or anything, really. But I can't. Two weeks. It's all I've got to impress Harrowgate. So I blow a strand of curly hair from my face, and get to work on my next project.
Five hours later I've got three more projects cooling in the fridge, and my stomach is growling rebelliously. I'm exhausted, but it's that good kind of fatigue that makes you want to grin. I wipe my face with a cloth and set aside my pincers. Oh, it's good to focus on glass again. To banish everything away but the immediate and urgent art that's coming to life right before your eyes.
It's after three in the afternoon. I should get lunch. I should stay calm and collected, and only check on my first project when I get back. But it's ready. I know I can pull it out without risking any danger to the glass.
Suddenly nervous, I crack open the fridge door and glance inside. I blink as if seeing the piece for the first time. It's - it's gorgeous. I press both my hands to my face. It looks like a cloud striving to take form. Its base is clear, then smoky gray, and rises delicately to hints of yellow then fiery red at the tips, like a cloud catching fire. Intricate bands of colored glass like a fisherman's web run through it, and the name comes to me in a snap: Phoenix I.
Cautiously, almost tenderly, I lift it out and set it on one of my tables. Sunlight enters the piece and causes it to glow as if it's alive. I step back and let out a squeal of delight and leap into the air. Impulsively I take out my phone and take three photographs of the piece, each from a different angle, and then bundle my images and send them to Julia at Harrowgate. Just a taste of what's to come: Phoenix I.
I lower my phone and heave a deep sigh. I feel content. And weary. And happy. I give myself a hug, then turn my thoughts to lunch. Where should I go? Anita's? Hmm, I could use a strong coffee and a slice of blueberry pie.
I pack up my tools, clean everything that needs cleaning, turn off the furnace, and am about to head outside when my phone rings.
It's Julia's number.
"Hello?" I try not to sound breathless.
"Kiera? This is Julia Castle from Harrowgate. How are you?"
"Fine! I mean, I'm doing well. Thank you. And yourself?" I feel like I've suddenly lost the ability to string words together into coherent sentences.
"Kiera, the photographs you sent me are stunning. The colors. The shape. The energy contained within the glass - I love it."
"Wow." I blink and stare at nothing. "Thank you."
"If your other pieces are of this caliber, then I believe you stand an excellent chance of being selected for our next line."
"Ms. Castle, I don't know what to say." Suddenly, beating Marv seems like a childish reason to be making these sculptures. Suddenly, it's only the art itself that matters. All that drama in New York can fade away. What matters is the future.
"Now, let me ask a question. You told me in our last conversation that you are no longer with Iron and Roses. Is that correct?"
"Yes," I say. "For the near future."
"Are you working with another studio, then?"
"I, well, no. I've come home, and I'm working out of a small place all my own."
"No team?"
"No, no team." I restrain the urge to sigh. I could maybe call up my people in New York and invite them to join me here, but would they come? Would they leave their lives in New York to come to a little town in western Massachusetts? I don't know.
"Well. The reason I'm inquiring is that if you were to win the nomination, then based on your talent and drive, I would like to extend the offer for you to become our Harrowgate Artist in Residence, and to come work at our studio in Charleston."
I draw up short. "But - but I thought
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