These are questions Mel George has been asking herself, as an artist, for years, because if anyone has her heart in two places, it's her. She's not restless, exactly – in fact, she has felt a shift, of late, a feeling that she might finally be settling down.

But although the Canberra she lives in now is a million metaphorical miles from the one she left in the late 90s, as an ANU School of Art graduate, it's still nothing like Portland, Oregon, the city in which she built her career as a glass artist, met her husband, set up a business and called home for 12 years.

These days, she finds herself right where she wants to be in the heart of Canberra's creative community, as curator and exhibitions manager at Craft ACT. She has a fulfilling stint as artistic programs manager at the Canberra Glassworks behind her, and an even longer stint running a successful glass studio in Portland with her husband, Jeremy Lepisto.

But inevitably, the themes that shine through in her work show a preoccupation with having homes in two hemispheres. "In some ways I'm sort of a Gemini, half Australian, half American, and in my gallery in the states I show very different work," she says. "It's a different audience and different makeup. So a lot of my work in the past has been based off that hemispheric switch, and which world am I living in."

Her work, while not necessarily imbued with a signature "look", has themes that have carried through from one year to the next – narrative-based and aesthetically beautiful, if imbued with anxiety.

But let's go back. Like a surprising number of artists, George never dreamed of a creative profession as a teenager. Born and bred in Canberra (she remembers learning to drive in the deadzone that is now the carpark of the Canberra Glassworks), she went to Narrabundah College, where a supportive art teacher asked her the seemingly casual but all-important question: had she ever considered art school? The answer then was, no. Was there such a thing? And then later, sure, why not? She enrolled straight out of school in ceramics at the ANU School of Art, with glass-making as her minor, but quickly changed direction.

"I just could think of a billion things to make in glass and was really struggling to think about what I could make in ceramics," she says. And thus, her path was decided. She graduated with honours in 1998, and left for America with a suitcase.

Of course she had a destination in mind – Portland, Oregon – but she didn't mean, at the time, to move there permanently. She had won a grant from the Australian-American Association – a small amount of cash and a ticket to the West Coast, where the idea was "to further your studies without going to a school".

Earlier in the year, she had had a short stint as an artist-in-residence at the renowned Bullseye Glass Factory, and had longed to return and learn more.

"I'd written to the owner…and said, 'Hey, I've got this grant, can I do anything at the factory?' And she named me every single famous glass artist in the world who was going to come that year and make their work, and she said, 'Why don't you come and hang out with them?'" she says.

She ended up working, more or less for free, at Bullseye for the next year. "I worked longer and harder in that job, which wasn't a job. How did I support myself? I lived really, really thriftily, super thriftily, and I just did some things on the side, cleaned houses," she says, her eyes shining at the memory.

"Basically, to me it was like the equivalent of a graduate degree, because I was working with these top-end artists, seeing their process, seeing how they work, learning the material, I just made a lot of glass, a lot in a very versatile situation."

The year led to a permanent job, as the factory's technical director, a job she held for three years. It was there that she met fellow glass artist, Jeremy Lepisto, who would become both her husband and creative partner. In 2001, the two set up an art and architecture studio together, Studio Ramp, a custom fabrication business working with other artists on everything from large-scale architecture to hospital walls and installations.

"We had a 4000-square-foot studio, it was massive, we worked really, really hard, we started when we were really young. It was great, and it was also really hard," she says.

"But it helped enable us sustain our artistic practice."

But George, her heart ever split in two, began to feel pangs of homesickness.

"I think in some ways, I'd never really decided to move to America, and all of a sudden, I'd gone with a suitcase, and I had this huge studio, I had a house, I had a husband, and … it was just that time when I could see the GFC coming a little bit, and just felt like it's now or never," she says.

Returning in 2009 to Canberra – her family, her friends, a burgeoning glass community – made sense, even though business in Portland was going disturbingly well.

"We couldn't put anything more into our kilns. Every kiln was filled every day, and we either had to step it up and do more, or I don't know, pare it back and just work on our work. We were at a real crossroads about what to do," she says.

It was, she admits, a nice crossroads at which to find oneself, but for the fact that Lepisto was perfectly content, while she wasn't. But when a job came up at the Canberra Glassworks, moving home was a no-brainer.

The couple now have a home in Queanbeyan, and a separate studio on the top floor of a building overlooking the Brindabellas – "the perfect size for a two-person artistic studio".

So far, so idyllic, but it has taken a while to find a comfort zone. When George finished up at the Glassworks, she took time out to travel back to Portland. As a sign of their commitment to staying in Canberra, she and Lepisto sold their house and shipped the rest of their belongings out here, and she took the time to do some study in Portland and catch up with her friends.

"I knew it was a bit of a bonus time because you don't always get months in your life to go and do stuff," she says.

Lucky she did, because by the time she came home – to this home, that is – the phone was already ringing. Craft ACT had a proposal, to run the inaugural Design Canberra festival last year. She didn't hesitate to say yes, and it was clear things were finally falling into place.

"I've always loved Craft ACT, because of course it advocates for everything I believe in, and I'm really happy working here. So now I feel like I've got in some ways a dream life," she says.

"I've got a beautiful studio where I can make my work, I've got my family and friends close to me, I love Canberra and I think it's a really exciting time. People used to just see it maybe as a transient city, they'd come and go, but I think people are calling it their home now, they're settling, there're young people, they want to stay. I left because I had to go, there wasn't anything for me here. But now, there are so many things for me."

She's even enjoying the "structured time" of her work at Craft ACT, which allows her to wake early and spend a few hours in her studio before heading to the office. It's the time she works best, and suits her disciplined nature. And besides, Lepisto – disciplined in his own way – prefers the night hours to practice his art.

"Sometimes we leave each other little notes," she says, with a sweet shrug. "I have a very blessed relationship."

Blessed indeed, and one without a hint of professional jealousy. In fact, having spent years working side-by-side all day long before going home together, one of the hardest things about their move to Canberra has been the change in dynamics.

"Lots of people ask us whether there were jealously issues, and the truth is that we do such different work," she says.

Lepisto is finishing a PhD at the ANU School of Art. His work is preoccupied with urban landscapes. He's struggling with the realisation that not all places, and least of all Canberra, look like America, putting paid to his notion of creating "anywhere" scenes.

"I've never been jealous of him, I've never felt that he's been jealous of me, we have a completely supportive relationship, I have someone with me who's seen my entire practice, knows my entire work, so I just have this in-house critique person who knows the development of my work, and not many people can say that."

And of course, a lot depends on how an artist measures success. Lepisto has always had success in commercial galleries, while George has leaned more towards group work and teaching. Running Ramp Studio, while challenging, paid dividends for both in their individual practice.

"We just worked all the time, seven days' a week. All the time. So we've always both fostered that idea of not just being an independent studio maker," she says.

"Not that I'm saying that's not fulfilling, but I just look at my artistic career as being that, as well as teaching, as well as being part of a community. And they blur, and now I've got this role here, it's a perfect blend."

She also recently taught a class at the Corning Museum of Glass in upstate New York, home of Corningware, as well as the largest glass art collection in the world. It also runs a studio for both professionals and amateurs – the Canberra Glassworks owes a lot to the Corning model – as well as a massive research library. She encouraged her eight students to produce a self-portrait in the form of a book, and they all stepped up to the mark, with stunning results. So stunning, in fact, that the museum has since acquired all the works, placing in the world's most significant collection.

Craft ACT has also recently re-installed her 2012 exhibition Alphabet, conceived in response to a cross gallery patron who complained that children shouldn't be allowed anywhere near art. George responded by invited 26 Australian glass artists to create a work based on one letter of the alphabet. The result, now on display at Canberra Museum and Gallery, is as playful and filled with joy as the curator herself, even though her own work is filled with questions.

She is preparing work for two upcoming shows – one in her Sydney gallery, Sabbia, and another at her old stomping ground at Bullseye in Portland. And while the two shows are tailored to two different audiences, she can see her direction finally shifting.

"Maybe I am getting more settled here, because for a long time I was making work about where do I belong? Where are my feet? I don't feel like I belong now in either place, even though Canberra is my home and Portland's my home," she says.

"The grass is always greener. It means you just can't get on with your life in some ways. Your heart is connected to places, and when you leave it, you leave a little bit there, so do you ever really feel whole? It's a tricky one. A lot of my work was always about bittersweet longing. But now, I feel like I'm moving in a different direction, into maybe a more current direction."