The Saturday before my birthday, K and I spent the afternoon in the city: we visited the glass museum, sat on a park bench watching tourists, drank hard cider in the corner of a favorite bar, then grabbed dinner with good friends. It was a perfect day.
I still dream of the swirly glass. This was of course not my first Chihuly rodeo--I fondly remember the time my parents took us to the glass museum in Tacoma and we watched them create giant displays with the flick of their wrist. I took a class my freshman year of college in the building that had the classic chandelier in its lobby. The first time K visited Seattle, we sat a table away from Chihuly himself one late afternoon while eating pasta. Just us and him. I didn't approach, it was enough.
The museum twists and turns like the strong arms who form the glass. Some rooms dark except for the back lighting shining through. Others bright and airy. It spills out into the garden, the Space Needle proud and tall behind. Everywhere you look, patrons are snapping pictures, hoping to capture the experience with their lens. I tried. It doesn't compare. Even the coffee book we bought afterwards isn't just right. You'll have to see it with your own, talented eyes.
All throughout, boards tell the story of what inspired every piece. You are reminded of the past shows--San Francisco, Venice, Japan, Singapore, and stop and think about how lucky you are to experience it right here. Not to mention he is from here.
K mentions to me that this is something he would have never seen if he hadn't met me. I tell him you are very welcome.
Happy glass hunting.