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Living in Alaska, I have been lucky enough to see the northern lights more times than I can count, and over time those colors and movements started appearing in my work in quieter ways.

This piece is one of those moments not a literal aurora, but my attempt to capture movement, depth, and the feeling of standing outside and looking up.

If you have ever stood outside on a cold Alaskan night and watched the aurora move across the sky, you know there is nothing quite like it.

The greens. The occasional pink. The way the light seems to breathe.

It never really stays still.

Not because I am trying to recreate the aurora exactly.

I am not.

What I am trying to capture is the feeling of standing outside and looking up.

Why Aurora Inspires My Work

The thing about the aurora is that it changes constantly.

One minute it is soft and distant.

The next minute it feels alive.

That quality reminds me of glass.

Glass is never static either.

A piece looks different in morning light than it does at sunset.

Texture shifts.

Color changes.

Reflections appear and disappear.

That is part of what I love most about working with it.

Choosing Color

When I work on pieces inspired by Alaska skies, I tend to reach for deep blues, layered greens, touches of white, and occasionally small flashes of color that catch unexpectedly.

Sometimes the inspiration comes directly from an evening outside.

Sometimes it comes from memory.

Sometimes it is simply one sheet of glass sitting next to another and suddenly feeling familiar.

I rarely start with an exact plan.

Usually there is a direction, a rough sketch, and then the glass tells me what happens next.

Building Light Into Glass

One thing I have learned is that light matters as much as color.

The same piece can feel completely different depending on where it hangs.

That is part of the fun.

I often move finished work around the studio before photographing it because morning light, afternoon light, and evening light all reveal different things.

Glass rewards patience.

It asks you to stop and look again.

Bringing Alaska Home

People sometimes ask if a piece is meant to represent a specific place.

Usually my answer is no.

But I do think every piece carries a little of where it was made.

Living in Alaska changes the way you see color.

The winters teach you to notice light.

The summers teach you not to waste it.

Maybe that is why so much of my work ends up with movement, layers, and circles that feel a little like sky.

If one of my pieces reminds someone of an evening outside, a mountain sunrise, or a moment they stood still long enough to notice the sky, then I have done my job.

And Copper, of course, continues supervising from the nearest sunny spot in the studio.

Inspired by an Alaska Sunrise

by Cassandra Shea

The Piece I Haven’t Made Yet

Every morning in Alaska feels a little like a private show.

The sky opens slowly, the snow on the mountains catches the first light, and the world goes from quiet blue to gold in a matter of minutes.

One morning recently, I caught myself sketching those color bands at the kitchen table.

Not because I had a project in mind.

Just because sometimes an idea arrives before the glass does.

This is not the story of a finished panel.

It is the story of how inspiration begins.

Glass artists collect moments  colors, reflections, shadows, skies and tuck them away until the right piece asks for them…