12.23.2025

If you’ve scrolled through social media lately, you’ve probably noticed: glassblowing is having a moment. Every week, it seems like another hot shop pops up offering classes to make seasonal favorites—pumpkins in the fall, snow people in the winter, hearts and flowers for all those romantic occasions. Suddenly everyone you know is holding a fiery pipe, leaving class with something vaguely spherical and feeling very proud of themselves.

I love glass art. There’s something magical about the way light dances through vibrant colors, turning even simple shapes into translucent treasures. The breakfront in my dining room is basically a shrine to abstract glass art, and I get so much joy looking at it every single day.

Recently, two friends invited me to join them for a glassblowing experience. How could I say no?

Class 1: Pumpkins

Class 2: Snow people

Now, when I say “we made pumpkins and snow people,” let’s be honest: “we” did most of the heavy lifting. The instructors are the true wizards. My main contributions included holding the pipe, nodding earnestly, and gazing into something called a glory hole (spoiler: it’s a furnace, not nearly as scandalous as it sounds, but every bit as hot and dramatic).

I did get to roll some glass, which felt less like artistry and more like trying to wrangle a sticky, glowing marshmallow with serious commitment issues.

Fortunately, the experts guided us through every step, rescuing our projects with the calm confidence of people who have seen beginners do literally everything wrong.

What I Learned (Besides “Don’t Touch Anything Orange”)

1. Glassblowing is a team sport.

Every vase, pumpkin, and snow person survives thanks to a sweaty, trust-filled waltz performed by the instructor and student. Timing matters more than you’d think—hesitate for a couple seconds, and your perfectly shaped creation starts to look like a melted potato. Fortunately, instructors have a sixth sense for impending catastrophes. They intervene milliseconds before your snowman starts to "melt", resulting in drops of molten glass dribbling onto the studio floor.

2. It’s about finesse, not force.

Glass behaves like honey—if honey could remove your fingerprints. There’s an art to spinning, blowing, and shaping that takes years to master, but even in your first class, you gain a new respect for that dance between heat and cool, motion and stillness, panic and pretending you absolutely meant to do that.

3. Glassblowing is hypnotic.

Everything else melts away (pun absolutely stays) when you focus on the molten orb at the end of your pipe. The whoosh of the furnace, the hum of the studio, the anticipation as your piece begins to take shape—it’s unlike anything else. For a few moments, you live completely in the present. It’s meditation, yes—but with more fire and much higher stakes.

Why You Should Try It

Maybe you’ve never thought of yourself as an artist. I hadn’t either—until my snow person emerged from the annealer looking quirky, charming, and absolutely mine.

There’s something ridiculously satisfying about holding a piece you helped create, especially when that creation required real skill, real heat, and real trust in people who say things like “Just keep turning—faster! No, slower! Perfect!”

And the best part? You walk away with a keepsake that looks nothing like anything in a store. When people ask where you got it, you get to sigh casually and say, “Oh, that? Just something I made at the glass studio.”

How to Get Started

If you’re even mildly curious, check out local studios offering beginner workshops. They provide the gear, the guidance, and a constant reminder not to touch anything glowing orange.

You do not need to be crafty. You just need curiosity, a willingness to learn, and the ability to laugh at yourself when your first pumpkin looks like a startled pufferfish.

Just remember: fingerprints belong on finished glass, not on anything that sizzles.

*"Light My Fire" is also the title of a song written by Jim Morrison and Robby Krieger, performed by The Doors. 1967.