Over the last week or so I have struggled with feelings of helplessness resulting from a family member in crisis, a situation over which I have very little control. I like to fix things, to work until something is set right, and it's hard for me to accept that I can't always control the outcome. After I've fretted, cast about for a solution, and prayed, when I realize that something is out of my hands, keeping my hands busy helps me to cope. Housecleaning therapy is a frequent go-to when I seek to confront sadness or frustration. It's a productive way to wait for clarity while improving the outlook on some small front, with a clean window or an organized cabinet. A few days ago, I could not summon the energy to care about cabinets. Thankfully my husband Pete recognized that I needed a distraction.
"Didn't you buy a bottle cutter?" he asked. "If you get the bottles prepped we can make our pendant lights for the barn. Why don't you work on that tonight?"
Well, of course I did have a bottle cutter, purchased from Hobby Lobby months before and languishing in its box alongside a collection of empty cobalt blue wine bottles. The bottles were gifted to me by a sweet girl who worked a summer job hosting wine tastings at a mountain market. Her dad helped us out with some carpentry and knew we were looking for such odds and ends.
I remember thinking aloud what interesting light fixtures we might create from those blue glass bottles, and yet they'd been sitting gathering dust for over a year. Above the staircase that rises into the loft area of our barn, the old rusted roofing tin on the ceiling has waited patiently, punctuated by one bare bulb suspended out of necessity, and two empty metal mounts, wired and waiting for their chance to shine. Most everything that has gone into our creative space is repurposed- the photo display built from chicken wire and an old mirror frame, the rough white shiplap torn from an old mill village house and nailed to the upstairs walls, the antique Sears & Roebuck oak dresser outfitted with a copper sink, now perfect for storing paper products and cleaning out coffee cups and paint brushes! Sure, we could have gone to Home Depot and bought some pendant lights, but I wanted something fun and quirky lighting the way.
I pictured those two empty spots and thought, why not? If I can improve about eight square inches of my life, risking cut fingers is probably more exciting than anything on TV. I opened the box and extracted the 8 or 9 pieces that would become the bottle cutter.
Similar to my experience with the venus flytrap, I was confronted with several pages of directions for its assembly. About 30 minutes later, with a slight headache and what resembled a Rube Goldberg style can opener, I read several detailed paragraphs on the correct way to make a hairline scratch around the girth of a bottle.
Interestingly, the bottle cutter doesn't actually cut the bottle. It just gives the thing a nudge in the right direction. Sort of like people, bottles get stressed out when they find themselves often in hot water and can crack after one too many icy receptions. It's a matter of creating a breaking point and letting the material respond to conditions. After carefully scratching a thin line around the three bottles I needed-- how optimistic I was!-- I grasped one with my oven mitt, tongs at the ready in case the cut should neatly resolve itself in my stock pot, and started the baptism of fire, so to speak. Again, much like people, I discovered that individual bottles respond differently to pressure. The recommended five seconds in each bath was not enough. Transforming something used and empty into a new version of itself requires sustained influence. I was excited to finally hear a crack as the two halves turned loose, but the neck separated from the base leaving a mess of jagged teeth where my neat little line should have been. Apparently the seam, created when someone molded that bottle from molten glass, was now a source of resistance. That bottle would not have the characteristics I needed to cradle a bulb and cast a glow over a dark path. In fact, out of eight bottles, we were able to get five bottle necks and four bases that did not have deep cracks or jagged breaks. Pete did all the wiring and the hard work. Here is a picture of the finished product.
Designed to hold liquid, now they hold light, With some sanding the bases will be candle holders. The rest of the glass was too flawed or fragile. I started to throw it away, a whole box, but then I saw another purpose in its depth of luminous color, though it will have to be reduced again to be redeemed. If I smash it into tiny pieces, the shards can be used for collage or mosaic. The message I found in the bottle: though it is broken, it can still be beautiful, re-imagined and reformed into something useful again.
