As the calendar edges toward its final days, many of us find ourselves looking back. The end of the year invites a natural pause, a quiet turning inward as we take stock of what has passed and what we hope lies ahead. In the glass studio, this reflection often takes on a physical form. The scraps left on the workbench, the half-finished experiments, the pieces that surprised us and the ones that cracked despite our best efforts—each one tells part of the story of the year.
This is the season where the pace begins to slow, not just in the world outside, but within us. The long nights and crisp air bring a kind of hush that makes room for remembering. We recall the challenges we faced, the risks we took, the colors we fell in love with, and the moments when the kiln door revealed something that made us smile. These memories gather like flecks of light in glass, small and sometimes sharp, but capable of catching brilliance when turned the right way.
It is also a time of gratitude. Not the loud, performative kind, but the quiet kind that settles in as we stand over our workspaces and realize how much we have grown. We are not in the same place we were a year ago. The edges may be smoother, the palette more daring, or the willingness to fail more present. These shifts often arrive without announcement, but they shape us deeply, just as heat shapes glass.
The end of the year does not demand grand resolutions. Instead, it offers an invitation to honor the process. To see our creative lives as something ongoing, not bound by a date but marked by momentum. In the space between holidays and the coming of January, we can choose to create with freedom. We can make something simply because we want to, not because it needs to be displayed or sold or perfected. This is a time to rediscover the joy of making without pressure.
For many, this season also brings connection. Friends and family gather, and gifts are exchanged. Handmade glass, whether ornaments, keepsakes, or small treasures, carries more than beauty. It carries intention. The act of giving something made by hand is a gesture of presence. It says, I thought of you while the glass was still powder and fragments. I held you in mind as the colors fused and the edges took shape. In this way, our art becomes a vessel for meaning that words sometimes struggle to hold.
As the year comes to a close, allow yourself a moment to stand still in your studio. Let the silence speak. Look at the projects that remain unfinished with kindness, not judgment. They will be waiting in the new year. Let this season be one of gentle reflection, of creative rest, and of renewed commitment to the work that calls you forward.
The glass will always welcome you back. The kiln will warm again. And within you, there is still so much waiting to be created. May the end of this year be a soft landing and the beginning of the next one rise to meet you with light.