I was at the Art&Food Festival hosted by BurnNLearn when the sun began hanging low in the sky, casting an orange haze over the carnival of color and chaos that was unfolding before me. A glass-blowing competition—a bizarre yet strangely poetic spectacle where molten glass danced in the hands of artisans, and I, a willing participant in this psychedelic circus, was deep in the clutches of a particularly potent strain. As I settled into my folding chair, clutching a cold beverage, it quickly became clear that my state of mind was more akin to an altered dimension than any earthly reality.
The competitors approached the furnace, and as I watched the fiery furnace glow, I felt as if I were staring into the heart of some cosmic entity. The glass blowers began to coax a glowing glob of molten glass from the furnace. With a blowpipe like an extension of their souls, they manipulated the materials with a grace that made my own attempts to operate a remote control feel positively barbaric.
I took a hit from my trusty joint, the smoke curling into the air like a lazy dragon. Suddenly, every flick of the wrist and every puff of breath from the glass blower seemed like an incantation, a ritualistic dance with the elemental forces of creation. I wondered if he was channeling some ancient spirit, perhaps the very essence of fire and earth, crafting something beautiful. Or maybe they were just trying to win the prize…
As they twisted and turned the glass, shaping them into things that resembled creatures from a hallucination—a fusion of sea urchin and cosmic jellyfish—I couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. The competitors looked equally entranced, lost in their own world of molten glass and intense focus. But here I was, sitting at the edge of this artistic battlefield, blissfully baked and completely unable to determine whether I was watching a competition or a collective day dream.
The judges, perched like sentinels on the sidelines, scrutinized the pieces with an intensity that bordered on comical. I could see them whispering and nodding, as if deciphering some deep truth hidden within the folds of glass. Meanwhile, I was struggling to keep my thoughts from drifting away like bubbles in a bong.
Then came the moment of reckoning—the reveal of the final pieces. The crowd gasped, an orchestra of oohs and aahs that resonated through my very core. I was struck by an overwhelming sense of camaraderie among the spectators; we were all part of this shared experience, bound together by our appreciation of art, fire, and, of course, weed that had led me here.
In that moment, I realized that being too baked while watching a glass-blowing competition was not a hindrance; it was an experience. I was seeing the world through a lens of creativity, where every flicker of flame told a story, and every bubble of glass held a universe within it.
As the final piece was judged and the crowd erupted into applause, I understood that this experience was a reflection of something deeper—a celebration of life, art, and the strange beautiful chaos that binds us all. And as I took one last hit from my joint, I knew I would carry this moment with me, a shimmering fragment of memory that would warm my soul long after the glass had cooled.
This was my little celebration to the wonderful world of glass blowing, where creativity ignites and brilliance is born from fire—an adventure made all the more surreal through the haze of a well-deserved high. Until next time, keep your flames bright and your spirits lifted.
Keep it weird,
