Very soon I will be participating in a group exhibition at the Hankyu Umeda Department store in Osaka. I will be one of fourteen artists, all based in Japan, all working with various forms of glass art. If you are familiar with my work you will already know that my focus is on drill engraving and in particular the idea that glass vessels, vases, bowls, glasses etc, hold thoughts, feelings and memories. This is an idea that I explore through short stories engraved directly onto the surface of the vessel. There will be a number of new stories included in Contemporary Glass Artists Vol. 5 here is one of them, called "Accessory to Murder".
Accessory to Murder.
On the shelf in the second hand shop the glass items huddled together.
“So how did you end up here?” A jug asked a vase.
“I was stolen from a hotel in London,” said the vase. “Nice place, mind you, some of the people were deplorable. I could tell you all sorts of stories. Husbands cheating on wives. Wives cheating on husbands. Shady business deals. It was exciting at times. I suppose that’s all over for me now. Boring suburbia here I come”.
At the back of the shelf a lemonade glass shuddered. Its experience of suburbia was anything but boring. It had belonged to what it had thought was a nice married couple who kindly took care of the sweet old man next door. They helped him with everything from his shopping to letters from the bank.
One hot summer day they called over the garden fence and offered him a glass of chilled juice. He looked up from tending his flowers and gratefully accepted, took the glass and swallowed it and then dropped down dead.
The coroners report noted that he had somehow swallowed a huge amount of pesticide. The couple tearfully pointed out that when they handed him the glass he had been spraying his flowers. Had he somehow got confused and taken a sip of pesticide? He had become awfully absent minded these days.
In due course the will of the poor man was read. His savings and house passed to the couple who expressed great surprise. The lemonade glass was not surprised at all. It had never been shown to the police. One of its identical siblings had had that honour. Later when the old man’s house had been sold and the couple were preparing to move to a much grander abode the glass found itself discarded.
Where would it end up next? Somewhere quiet it hoped. Not some where with the likes of the brash jug and vase or heaven forbid anyone like that couple!
A hand hovered over it. The glass trembled.
On the shelf in the second hand shop the glass items huddled together.
“So how did you end up here?” A jug asked a vase.
“I was stolen from a hotel in London,” said the vase. “Nice place, mind you, some of the people were deplorable. I could tell you all sorts of stories. Husbands cheating on wives. Wives cheating on husbands. Shady business deals. It was exciting at times. I suppose that’s all over for me now. Boring suburbia here I come”.
At the back of the shelf a lemonade glass shuddered. Its experience of suburbia was anything but boring. It had belonged to what it had thought was a nice married couple who kindly took care of the sweet old man next door. They helped him with everything from his shopping to letters from the bank.
One hot summer day they called over the garden fence and offered him a glass of chilled juice. He looked up from tending his flowers and gratefully accepted, took the glass and swallowed it and then dropped down dead.
The coroners report noted that he had somehow swallowed a huge amount of pesticide. The couple tearfully pointed out that when they handed him the glass he had been spraying his flowers. Had he somehow got confused and taken a sip of pesticide? He had become awfully absent minded these days.
In due course the will of the poor man was read. His savings and house passed to the couple who expressed great surprise. The lemonade glass was not surprised at all. It had never been shown to the police. One of its identical siblings had had that honour. Later when the old man’s house had been sold and the couple were preparing to move to a much grander abode the glass found itself discarded.
Where would it end up next? Somewhere quiet it hoped. Not some where with the likes of the brash jug and vase or heaven forbid anyone like that couple!
A hand hovered over it. The glass trembled.
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