During my time at Kent State, I explored several different avenues to satisfy both my creative spirit and intellectual curiosity. One of those paths led me into an entry-level course in glassblowing — a fiery initiation into the world of hot glass.

Inspired, in part, by my father's paperweight collection, I saw this as an opportunity to learn a new skill — one that didn't rely heavily on drawing, but still offered a tactile and expressive outlet. I never imagined I'd become a glassblower. But once I felt the heat of the furnace, once I faced the challenge of shaping molten glass, something began to awaken. It was subtle at first, but undeniably seductive — a slow, deliberate pull into a world I hadn't known I needed.

Of course, there was a part of me that hesitated. Glassblowing was, to some, the fine arts equivalent of underwater basket weaving — the kind of major people mock when talking about impractical degrees. And the pragmatic voice inside me was loud: Is this really sustainable? Will this lead anywhere?

But nothing else I'd studied — not even the intellectual draw of Comparative Religion, which had deeply shaped my philosophical thinking — came close to the excitement and presence I felt in the hot shop. It was hot, sweaty, demanding work, and despite objections from family and loved ones, I found myself reluctantly committing to a fine arts degree in glass.

I can still remember the apprehension I felt while discussing this decision with Eric, a graduate student at the time. He had faced the same doubts in his undergrad years — wrestling with the fear of chasing an art degree that might not lead to "real work." To play it safe, he earned his bachelor's degree in another field but continued to repeat glassblowing classes out of sheer love for the craft. That passion led him to full-time work at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Michigan, where his skills as a gaffer flourished.

Back then, opportunities in hot glass were limited — outside of seasonal work at amusement parks or the occasional tourist destination, the job market was scarce. It wasn't until after 2005 that the field began to shift, with more glassmakers, students, and production studios gaining traction and visibility. For many of us, if you didn't move to the West Coast or train under an established artist, the opportunities were ones you had to carve out yourself.