Good books haunt you, great books transform you.

Polly Atkin’s Some of Us Just Fall: On Nature and Not Getting Better transformed me. No book about disability has ever made me feel less alone (and I’ve read a lot). Polly made my island into an archipelago, and for that I am and will be forever grateful. Reading her books, I knew I wanted to craft a small something to thank Polly for all the light she’s shared through her work.

I don’t write much here about being a disabled artist (I’m a full-time wheelchair-user due to chronic neurological disease) but perhaps I should. Books like Polly’s help me believe that our experiences are worth sharing. Her most recent book (to be released in the US) is The Company of Owls, a beautiful and compassionate account of living alongside her tawny owl neighbors as well as her own chronic illness/disability.

So when my friend and collaborator Kathy Link (author of The Dragon Sonnets) mentioned that she’d be visiting England’s Lake District this spring, an idea hatched. With her partner, Polly co-owns Sam Read Books, a historic and independent bookshop in Grasmere, which also happens to be one of Kathy’s favorite bookshops. Kathy generously agreed to play postal courier and a plan hatched.

Photo courtesy of Polly Atkin. — Photo courtesy of Polly Atkin (@pollyrowena on Instagram).

Barred owls sing outside my workshop at all hours, keeping me company as I work on glass (I imagine that they, too, enjoy listening to WDAV on the wireless). These vociferous owls are the American cousins to the tawny owls who live alongside Polly. Sometimes I imagine their songs echoing one another, connecting us despite distance. Nature reminds me that always, more connects us than divides us.

So as a fellow owl-lover and owl-neighbor, I decided to paint a wee tawny owl perching on a mossy branch. I imagined this as a small reminder to Polly that her words and work matter, and that the light she shares is deeply appreciated. Her words and books are companions to me, as tawny owls are companions to her. We’re all neighbors, after all: human and more-than-human together. This small watercolor I encased in glass, ornamented by glass beads made by my mother, who’s a brilliant flame-worker and painter in her own right.

Read on for the process of making this far flying owl:

Step 1: Paint

Before I started the painting, I cut and ground a piece of thin float glass (also called framing glass) to the desired size. This way, the painting fit exactly, with no worries that the glass size/shape would shift later. After penciling in a loose sketch, I started on the base washes.

This painting is quite small, only 3x1.5” (7.5x3.75cm). Once I’d loosely established the shape and flow of the branch in the background, I started on the owl’s face. Painting the face brings the painting to life for me, giving me direction and an emotional narrative for the rest of the painting.

Being such a small painting, the owl only took me an afternoon or two to paint. I then sealed the finished watercolor with two coats of Krystal Klear for protection. Finally, I scanned the finished painting in case I bungled something while putting it in glass, as I am rather accident-prone.

Step 2: Glass

After triple-checking that the clear glass fit exactly (it did), I found a piece of scrap glass that echoed the colors in the mossy branch. This glass came from my current window-in-progress: a mountain stream transom celebrating my native Southern Appalachian flora and fauna. This is actually the back-side of the glass, but I liked the colors more than the reverse. I am continually looking for good scrap projects, so that I can recycle and reuse as much material as I can, with the goal of zero-waste craft. This not only saves money and is more sustainable/eco-friendly, but also honors the glass, thanking it for being my creative collaborator.

With the painting out of the way (so as not to get wet or messy), I cut and ground the back glass to fit exactly with the float glass. Then came the nerve-wracking part: cutting the painting to fit precisely between the two layers. A sharp x-acto blade helped ensure clean edges and no excess paper would impede the foil.

Normally, 1/4” foil will cover two pieces of float glass sandwiched together, but since the back glass was thicker and textured, I ended up using two strips of copper foil layered over one another and fidded smooth.

Finally, using a minimal amount of flux (to avoid moisture seeping between the layers of glass) I soldered the edges and attached small jump-rings to top and bottom. Silver wire threaded a few of my mother’s glass beads onto the bottom, as well as tiny peridot beads. I’m not skilled at fine metalworking and jewelry, so the result was a tad clumsy, but that means I have more room for growth.

Step 3: Release

Once the owl amulet was cleaned and polished, I packaged it up (along with a wee thank you gift to Kathy) and shipped it cross-country to Kathy’s home in California. From there, she carried it across the pond to the UK, where she gave it to Polly, along with a copy of The Dragon Sonnets.

Shortly thereafter, Polly posted this kind and generous response on her Instagram:

I am humbled by Polly’s compassion and graciousness. I admit that it was a tad intimidating, making something for someone I so admire. I’m grateful as well to Kathy for so generously helping this little owl fly so far.

As a fellow swimmer, I’m excited to read Polly’s latest book, Swimming the Seasons, as soon as it’s released in the US.

I believe deeply that the world needs every bit of kindness we can give. Sometimes, that kindness comes in the form of words, other times in the sharing of a cute cat photo. I’m grateful for it all.