Category Archives: Thoughts

Creating the art glass windows I make takes a lot of study.

First, I must study the idea, translate it into a drawing, find and select the colors, make a pattern that will meet the mechanical requirements of a well-built window, and study the best way to execute the piece.

Over the years, I have become comfortable with creative processes: thinking and doing, doing and thinking, and reevaluating new information.
They are quick and easy to execute and fit my mental makeup.

As a student, I struggled with focusing, memory, and concentration. I learned later that being born left-handed but raised to be right-handed confused the workings of my right and left brain functions.

As with many of our shortcomings, I have learned over the years to compensate. Creativity in the form of drawing and building things has taught me a better way to learn, in large part because I express my ideas in a way that doesn’t rely so much on my memory but records my progress in a tangible way.

Around forty years ago, I started reading ancient Greek philosophy. I remember one discussion about education: Is education teaching every student the same thing simultaneously, or is it allowing each student to develop in their own way?

I have found a most enjoyable way to exercise. I peddle my stationary recumbent bike for thirty minutes five days a week. Over the instrument panel is a place for my iPad, where I entertain myself with music and stories about other artists and research my latest projects around the house.

Lately, I’ve been watching episodes of America’s Got Talent on YouTube. It is so interesting to me when someone or a group comes out of nowhere with a fresh new routine. It renews my faith in our uniqueness, reinforced by the effort required to pull it all together.

Much of my life is like this. I enjoy and am often entertained by my encounters with others as I maneuver through my day. Whether it’s Tractor Supply, Lowes, or our local pharmacy, taking a minute or two to savor the experience with a kind word or a smile makes me feel good.

Participating in this interaction is one of life’s most pleasurable experiences. There is no script, no canned laughter, just a heartfelt reaction to a spur-of-the-moment encounter.

I have never liked stereotyping people. I’m not good at it, and I almost always feel bad if I do.

Of course, it’s just a part of who we are for many reasons.

When we were working on a lot of church restoration, if I drove up to a church with mostly management people, I would often since I was facing an uphill battle if I wanted to continue pursuing the project. Or, as we say in the country, he must have jumped the fence, or he’s on the other team.

If I pulled up to a church with working-class people, I could barely get out of the truck before they asked when could we start.

As an artist, I sense the stereotyping. We’re often thought of as gregarious and outgoing, but I’m the exact opposite.

The fellow above is Everett, my accountant for the last fifty years. I bet you didn’t see that coming.

Anyway, it’s an interesting and entertaining world in which we live.

John came to work yesterday but was unusually excited to tell me something.

Remember when I first started working here?

We were beveling one day, and when I had something to say, I would turn to you and stop beveling. I noticed that you only stopped beveling when you finished a piece and picked up another.

You said we were only productive when holding the glass on those big rotating wheels. We can talk and bevel at the same time.

That thought has followed me throughout my life, ever since I joined the Navy, worked for other companies, was a police officer, and especially my personal life.

John is one of the most efficient people I know. He is always thinking, thinking, and doing.

Working in a creative environment, we share a common direction, but it is most productive when inner-directed people work as a team.

Around twenty-five years ago, I sought another outlet for inspiration. I grew bored with traditional stained glass designs and wanted fresh ideas.

I found it in jewelry.

Jewelry has an enormous and rich design history, not only of line but of color. I studied Lalique, Cartier, Chanel, and others who looked to antiquity and vintage for inspiration.

Below is one of my favorites by Rene Lalique.

I knew I would only use a small fraction of what I discovered, but I was filing away a wealth of information that would influence my future work.

Twenty-five years later, I see glimpses of line and color I stored away that have now found their way onto paper.

I strongly believe in my unconscious mind and how it communicates with my conscious. It is my “vault” of thoughts and images, ready to retrieve information when needed.

I’m constantly storing information. It is often just a glance from an image or a fleeting thought, but I feel confident it is acknowledged and adequately “shelved” for the future.

When I design a window, I consider how far away the viewer will be.

This concept is often seen in church windows. The background design consists of larger pieces of glass and is repetitive to give the sanctuary a feeling of unity. Medallions are placed near eye level so the viewer can study the details in the message.

I often use this concept in my residential art as a surprise element.

As I age, I find that being creative is much more spontaneous.

When I look back on my younger days, with all of the to-dos and structures placed before me, I remember how daunting life was. There was always someone directing, evaluating, and labeling me. I often didn’t feel seen as myself but conveniently placed into a category.

Later, I learned that I was being conditioned and socialized to be outward-directed, to follow directions from others.

I understand. An institution’s role is to stabilize, organize, and provide a variety of labor levels for its economic structure.

However, my goal was to place my efforts into the person I wanted to be.

It has taken years to “undo” this mindset, which was forced upon me in my youth. At seventy-five, I think I can safely say that I have erased their influence and wish them good riddance.

My adjustment to our world was painful because of my left-brain—right-brain switch; I have evolved into a very inward person.

My self-development, which I have taken responsibility for, has evolved from reading, observing, and thinking.

I’m especially aware of how extraordinary life is, as we have evolved on the only known planet that can sustain it. We are here for a short time, and the quality of that time is mainly in our hands. And that there are others in this world who would like a piece of my life for their gain.

There are times when I lie in bed and think, “What would I do if I knew I only had a short time to live?”

There are other times I take a more retrospective approach.

One of my favorite exercises is to sit on our front porch and imagine a fifteen-teen-year-old person sitting in the rocker next to me—and it’s me. There isn’t much conversation as the emotions I experience evolve so fast and deeply that words can only simplify the experience.

Other times, I will sit under a tree in our yard and imagine a five-year-old boy walking around. He will come over and sit beside me—and it will be me.

These experiences have become so much of my understanding of who I am and want to be.

It’s not unusual for leaded glass in a residential entryway to have rosettes over the solder joints as a decorative feature.

When restoring a window, we often replace the old lead with new. Unless it has a protective covering, lead is typically replaced every hundred years.

If the window has rosettes, we’ll replace them as well.

To replace rosettes, I find the best original one and make a mold with a heat-resistant material. Then, it’s a simple matter of heating scrap lead to its melting point, and pouring it into the mold.

Sounds easy enough, but the trick is to pour just the right amount so it fills the void in the mold. If it overflows, we have to trim the excess or remelt the rosette and start over.

Either way, it’s not a big deal.

When teaching someone else how to make rosettes, they often ask me, “What if I mess one up? ” I always tell them you’ll mess quite a few up, but that’s okay. Then I found one they made that was near perfect and asked them to make the rest just like this one.

Creativity is fun when one knows they can play around without being judged. Then, they realize they can create what is needed because they have already made one.

I have always enjoyed Career Day.

I’m usually included as an alternative choice for the students who are most likely not to go past high school or even graduate. “You don’t have to go to college to do what Mr. Cain does.” And that’s true.

I wear this distinction with honor.

You may recall from previous snippets that I spent most of my formative years asleep and daydreaming in the back of the class. One of my favorite pastimes was designing a canoe factory. Taking flat sheets of metal through the various stages to form what was a fine way to tread water.

I kept a record of my progress by documenting the process with sketches. With my right brain and left brain in turmoil after being switched from my left hand to my right, I discovered drawing seemed to bring the two together.

As I shared my portfolio for credibility, I discussed my journey and how we all differ. It’s a big world with plenty of room for everyone, especially if you have something unusual to offer. If you have something that interests you, go for it. I doubt your parents or teachers would mind if you spent time working on something you enjoyed and are considering for a career.

Many people ask themselves later in life, why wasn’t I just myself?

I realized something was wrong from my first days in the first grade.

I had trouble understanding what was going on. The instructions were unclear, reading was laborious, and letters and numbers kept jumping around.

In some way, I didn’t know if I was sane in an insane world or insane in a sane world.

I learned that if I sat in the back of the class and didn’t participate, most adults would leave me alone; this protected me from the devastating barrage of failing grades. It also allowed me to live in my little world of daydreaming, filled with creativity.

A specialist came to visit one day, took me out into the hallway, and gave me a series of tests. She discovered that I was left-handed but had been persuaded to be right-handed.

I didn’t understand the impact this had on me as a seven-year-old, but I later learned that switching hands confuses the coordination of the right and left brain. It also affects focus, concentration, and memory.

I rarely did homework, failed almost every test I took, and suffered from the devastating feeling of being a failure. The only positive part of my life was my pleasant daydreaming and knowing the school system didn’t want twenty-year-olds in the twelfth grade.

It took me thirteen years and five summer schools to graduate.

I’ve been reading about neurodiversity lately, and a lot of understanding is beginning to emerge. However, there is still a lot of labeling, often with negative connotations, which concerns me.

I consider myself a specialist. One who basically found their own way and now has something to contribute. There are many of us in the world from all walks of life. I believe a little understanding would bring about a hidden treasure that would benefit us all while relieving us from much of the tension of being so judgmental.

One of an artist/craftsman’s most critical assets is feeling the material one is working with.

I do not know of a way to teach another how to make a leaf from melting glass. I am aware one can stand over someone and direct them, but it is not until the maker takes the responsibility of thinking and feeling material that they will be able to achieve the many nuances needed to create an ongoing series of objects, each one unique unto itself.

Many of my greatest joys in life have been achieving this flow in myself and seeing the people who work with me develop it as well.

I have witnessed that when a person works on this level, their anxiety level drops, their creativity expands, and they are content.

Achieving this state makes people happy to come to work. Self-actualization is the main reason I became an artist/craftsman, and I can now share it with those working here.

Around eight years ago, one of the provosts at Virginia Commonwealth University asked me to speak to a graduate class in advertising about creativity.

Toward the end of my talk, I was asked if music helps to make people creative. I said no. I would like to correct this notion now.

When I’m working, I find listening to music distracting. Every morning, when pedaling my stationary recumbent bike, I hear a lot of music. I’m especially fond of Dave Mathews’s tune Jimi Thing.

I greatly respect Dave’s creativity in his music and his incorporation of other creative musicians into his performances. He chooses some of the best and blends it all to give us a new listening experience.

How my early morning routine contributes to my day’s work is still a mystery, but that’s okay. I’m surrounded by so much creativity in my daily life that I learned to just enjoy it and “let the mystery be.”

I moved from Richmond, Virginia, to Bremo Bluff, Virginia, in 1981, when I was thirty-two years old.

I didn’t realize it then, but this was the turning point in my life, from putting all my efforts into creating a commercial business to creating an artist studio.

I found a 1906 farmhouse on seven acres that seriously needed repair. It had a falling-down “buggie” barn that I jacked back up and made into my studio. By living off of referrals, I reduced my time to make a living to four months a year.

The other eight months I devoted to restoring my farmhouse, riding my bike, contra dancing, and reading.

I wanted to discover what it was like to be human, so I studied psychology, sociology, psychoanalysis, and transcendentalism. I soon learned that I only have so much mental energy and, of course, time, so I focused on creativity.

One day, I found what I was looking for in a Goethe quote: “Thinking and doing, doing and thinking are the sum of all wisdom. Both must move ever onward in life, to and fro, like breathing in and breathing out.”

This changed my life; I finally found the mindset I needed to be creative.

All of our children worked in my shop at one time or another. They all had business cards and were paid by the hour.

This is Matthew, our middle child. This photo was taken around twenty years ago. My father took me to work with him occasionally, and I still have fond memories.

It was nice spending time with them outside of our home environment. I also saw the value in sharing with them what I did for a living and exposing them to the work environment.

The idea of being paid according to one’s ability to create was very important in teaching them how the business world worked. I also got to share with them creative techniques firsthand.

To this day, I see confidence in each of them, which comes from their ability to think for themselves and use simple processes to solve their everyday challenges.

When in doubt, try the opposite.

Traditionally, one would bevel the accent pieces and leave the background uneventful. Trying the opposite, I beveled the background and used rippled stained glass for the accents.

The combination resulted in a soft, glowing window, where the light played a crucial role in enhancing the beauty of the glass as it shimmers off the background and the foreground.

This subtle uniqueness is what makes art glass such a beautiful architectural accent.

This is a sketch of one of our current projects.

I want to create a sense of what it’s like to stand at one of the overlooks on Skyline Drive overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s a windy Fall evening, and the leaves are beginning to fall. A bright full moon fades the Fall colors of the leaves in front of it, while the rest are various shades of red and orange.

The trees express the harsh life of growing high on the mountain ridge. Their roots squeeze between boulders for nourishment and then cling to them during harsh storms. Their trunks twisted from enduring the harsh winds in every direction.

The next step is to gather similar information from several other projects and then visit
the Youghiogheny Opalescent Glass Co. in Connellsville, Penn. There, We’ll spend hours going through crates of glass to find the colors we’ll need.

After that, we will print out full-size patterns, adjust our design, and cut the pattern with pattern shears.

I often tell our patrons that we are more than halfway through a project before we cut the first piece of glass.

“We don’t make them; we create them.”

I like to motor in my 2001 Miata when I have some spare time. Visiting antique shops is high on my list as I travel through the countryside of central Virginia.

Since we have all the furniture we’ll ever need, I focus on “collectibles,” usually in the $5 to $35 range.

I have found some beautiful objects that have great form and color. Some are handmade, and others are early production pieces.

What I enjoy the most is that I can sit in my study and hold the pieces, studying them up close.
Museums tend to frown upon this practice.

A few years into my craft, I was settling into my life’s work. I discovered the concept of the artist/craftsman, where one develops an idea, expresses it on paper, and then creates the object.

This idea I was involved in from the beginning to the end
captured my interest. Although I collaborate with a patron, I am responsible for 96% of the outcome.

As I follow my commissions, I constantly reevaluate color and line development. This happens throughout the day, the next day, and even after installation.

“Am I a helicopter artist?” Am I “overthinking the project?”

The problem, as I see it, is that soon, it will not only be out of my hands but there for many to see for years to come.

When I started beveling, the only historical design influence I could find was traditional. For years, I worked within these parameters, beveling miles of 1/2-inch bevels on 1/4-inch glass.

Boredom began to take its toll. Looking around for other glass to bevel, l remembered one of my suppliers had colored glass in 1/4-inch sheets for storefront applications.

This is one of my first windows in color. It was for a couple here, Bremo Bluff, who “liked me and my work.”

I haven’t used colored bevels much, but like many of my experiments, it is there if the need arises.

It seems like all I do is make decisions. This isn’t a complaint; I like to make decisions. My problem is that my mind wants to keep working on them when I’m ready to do something else.

This creates a short attention span for me. Most of the people around me know this. They know that if they want me to hear them, they should establish eye contact, or my head should at least turn in their direction.

When I was in college over fifty years ago, down in East Texas, how people greeted each other was very similar to how we greet each other today.

However, there were a few people, usually older, focused, and traveling briskly, like myself now, who, when you passed them, would say “All right” and keep walking.

I like that, not all the time, but it has its place.

Sitting on the hillside between my junior and senior years in college, I thought about how I wanted to live my life.

I knew I wouldn’t fit into the corporate world and would not allow someone else to profit from my development. I believe one should work when the work is there and then take time to enjoy the other things life offers.

I had done everything everyone else wanted me to do; now, it was my turn to take control of my life.

I wanted a shop, my product, and, most importantly, to be in control. I wanted to set my hours and dress as I liked, but most of all, I wanted to create a quality product that I was proud of.

I started making window hangings on my kitchen table with a crate of glass, glass plyers, and cutters. I made apples, pairs, cherries, and chickens that stood on one leg. I never knew if my idea would ever amount to anything, but for the first time in my life, I was self-directed and happy.

As I continued to follow my imagination and my resourcefulness, the objects I created became increasingly refined and sought after. Over the last fifty-two years, I have achieved my goal of living in this world while being myself.

I created this window around 2004 for a couple in Virginia Beach, Virginia.

They wanted one of my windows for the wife’s bathroom. The window to the right of her bathtub was the perfect place for some of my art. The window looked out into a section of their yard that was just lawn. I took this photograph outside of my shop for my archives.

We decided on a Dogwood tree. There are two branches, one from a tree to the left of the window and one from a tree to the right. When I first drew the design with one branch, I felt it was predictable. Adding another branch from the opposite direction, weaving the two together, made it more interesting.

One of my goals is to design my art so that it is difficult to memorize, and that each time someone views it, they see it in a slightly different way. The background glass, a clear reamy, blown glass with its subtle striations, gives the illusion of wind blowing through the branches, adding to the mystery.

I gave the window a three-dimensional effect by sculpting the branches with solder and my soldering iron, complementing the leaves and petals. I’m especially pleased with the branches’ lifelike effect.

After I installed the window, the three of us sat around, spending time getting to know each other. Over the years, I have worked with the nicest people, leaving me with many fond memories.

I created this window for a couple in Columbus, Ohio.

Each window we make is unique. To advance my art, I strive to add something special to each project that strengthens our designs and skills.

From the beginning, I knew I wanted the lily petals to be the prominent feature in this window. However, I knew I could not make them from one piece of flame-worked glass. After thinking about this for a couple of days as I worked on other projects, I finally realized that I could use our UV adhesive to bond pieces together so they looked like a full bloom.

I often go through this when I create. I have this thought in my head that to create something new, I must suffer mentally. We’re all familiar with creative people going crazy, cutting off their ear, or not changing their clothing for months.

Remember the movie, Mozart? In it, Mozart was surrounded by crumbling sheet music in the middle of the night, barely able to hold his head up while trying to finish a composition. And so it goes.

The stress of creating art is often more about external factors than the creative process itself. It’s about managing budgets, meeting timelines, dealing with interruptions, and navigating unrealistic expectations. These are the challenges we all face, and it’s in overcoming them that so much of the energy needed for creativity is channeled.

I believe creativity is relatively stressless. It just takes time to bring something new into the world.

It’s important to me that I like and respect the people I work with.

Our small outfit thrives on collaboration. There’s no strict division of labor. Instead, we operate as a cohesive unit, leveraging our strengths to support the one best suited for the task. This collaborative approach is what makes us competent.

John has worked with me on and off for the last forty years. During that time, he joined the Navy and worked for several large corporations, which sent him to and paid for technical classes. He was a police officer for Gordonsville, VA, where he also served as the department’s Chaplain and a substitute minister for his church.

John’s ability to handle challenging situations is remarkable. His thoughtful approach, strength, and kindness make him one of my favorite people.

Last week, driving to Richmond to check on a project, he told me one of his stories about being a police officer.

A lady called me from her work, very distraught over not being able to get her fifteen-year-old son out of bed to go to school, could I help her? I told her I would. She told me the house was unlocked so I could go in and which room he was in.

I walked in, went to his bedroom, knocked as loudly as possible, and hollered, “POLICE! Get up; I’m coming in!” When I opened the door, he jumped out of bed. I told him he had ten minutes to get dressed, brush his teeth, and get his backpack together before school.

He got himself together; I put him in the police car and hauled him to school. I escorted him into the office, where we signed in, and then I escorted him to his class.

Years later, he called me on my cell phone and thanked me personally for doing that. He felt that it changed his life for the better. Nobody wants to be hauled to school by a police officer.

When I moved to the country in 1982, I was back working by myself, by choice. I chose to live as inexpensively as possible so I would have the time to focus on learning about myself, something I didn’t have much time for when I was building my company in Richmond.

I could do this because I had a strong networking system with other artisans who would contact me when they saw the potential for my art when working on their projects. Networking was the norm before the Internet. If someone referred you, you were usually accepted on their word.

Working alone has its ups and downs. Being able to focus without being distracted often left my mind in a state where I lost track of time and was able to gain full involvement in my work. I was genuinely enjoying my work again.

At other times, I was critical of myself. I was slow, unable to find the needed tools, and daydreaming instead of focusing on the project before me.

As years passed, I would find someone to help when my workload increased. It was almost always temporary for a few weeks.

I soon found myself critical of this new person in my shop. They were too slow, didn’t use the proper tools, and tended to let their minds drift. I never said anything to them directly, but I’m sure they could see the dissatisfaction on my face.

One day, it occurred to me that I was accusing them of the same shortcomings I sometimes find in myself. Now that I had a “captive” person to project my shortcomings onto, could I hide them from myself?

Was this some kind of one-way mirror effect so I felt better by blaming someone else instead of myself?

Now, when I see someone doing something that seems “stupid,” I ask myself if this is a part of me that is “below the surface” and that I should look inside to learn more about myself.

In our work, there are many small task, that at times, are quite challenging. In a single window there may be hundreds of solder joints. Solder, a mixture of 60% tin and 40% lead melts at 370 degrees. Lead came melts at 621 degrees. A soldering iron with a rheostat, will give a relative consistent heat, but when in use the temperature fluctuates. Manipulating the two metals with an ever changing heat requires skill and patience.

It’s my job to say what is acceptable and what isn’t. Or as one of my mentors was fond of saying, “It’s my name on the sign.” Although, I don’t have a sign, the idea is so much a part of me that I really don’t think I need to label it, or defend it. It’s kinda like a painting of a hunter and his dog with the title “Hunter and His Dog.” Would a more abstract title like “Companionship” elevate the views curiosity, or how about no title at all?

I know how negative thoughts and criticism makes me feel. They depress me and make me feel anxious. They even affect me physically. As I scramble to recompose myself, I think of the wasted time needed to get back to being productive and creative again.

So now, when I look over our soldering, I’ll say, “lets make all our joints look like this one, and that one.”

On each project, we reach a point where we ask ourselves, “Is it finished as is?”

As we gather around, it is like a four-way chess game. Each of us picks up additional pieces and places them for observation. Mostly, we communicate in grunts and groans, like a bunch of Neanderthals tasting something we just cooked but never had before. The emotion in our voices replaces everyday adjectives. We’re guys, and we’re proud of it.

Our journey as artists/craftsmen provides us with the lifestyle we need to sharpen our creative skills. Creativity is no longer a sideline but necessary for our survival and freedom. It allows us to express who we truly are and gives us a deep sense of having lived a life true to ourselves. We no longer need to find our value in material goods, status, or metals and ribbons. We are content with the person we have become.

Around twenty years ago, I became bored with stained glass. The opalescent glass no longer amused me. It was dull and too consistent to be interesting.

I often found myself drawn to nature’s translucency, especially sunlight filtering through treetops. Whatever the season, the ever-changing light and shadows and the flickering of color held my interest.

I explored impressionist paintings to see how other artists interpreted this phenomenon with quick brush strokes, an almost reckless approach that brought a fresh, emotional feeling to the canvas.

I wanted to create windows like they create paintings. I wanted a background of subtle colors upon which I could place pieces of colored glass like brush strokes. I wanted to be able to move the pieces around to compose them before fixing them to the glass. Above all, I wanted to find a way to eliminate having to wrap each piece in foil and lead, which was stifling the light and the color of my composition.

I was aware of flame-working glass, where an artist holds glass over a flame to create art. I set up a small torch, cut some strips from sheets of glass, and gave it a try. Working hot glass is different from “cold working,” but it held my interest and was quicker, considering I didn’t need to make a pattern and hand-cut each piece.

I knew from the very first pieces I had found what I was looking for.

Have you seen the reels on social media where the couple is traveling and the wife—it’s always the wife—is saying, “Shouldn’t we be in the other lane? Do you see the bicyclist? Did you mean to park this far away?”

This is what the life of a commissioned artist is like.

And then there’s the client who says, “Please make us one of your windows for our dining room. We’re going to Vail. Send us a bill.” And, of course, everything in between.

All of these take patience. Total freedom is the hardest. I want them to be pleased, and I want to do something Avant-garde, but I look at how they have furnished their home, and I’m just not going to risk it. The “helicopter” patron isn’t really that difficult; the project just takes longer. I’m so used to the middle-of-the-road patron that I consider it the norm.

If there is ever a time to practice “it’s not what one says, but how you say it,” this is it. I have mellowed over the years because I stay busy and am not constantly on the brink of bankruptcy like in the early days. Also, I have become more sensitive to those in the “passenger seat.”

When Marcia and I travel, I usually drive and she navigates.This allows me to relax, daydream and mentally create. She gets to use her marvelous left brain so we get from point A to B without one wasted second. It works for us.

When I look over my website, our modern-day portfolios, I find it interesting how diverse my work is. I attribute much of this to my collaborative work with so many people.

Between my period of making stained glass window ornaments and starting to create simple lamps and windows, I began to feel the need to be able to draw. I could do simple, mechanical type drawings, but I wanted to express my more creative ideas.

I looked through many how-to books on the subject, along with sketches of the masters, to get an idea of how I wanted to teach myself. I ran across a book at a yard sale: Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. Dr. Betty Edwards offered groundbreaking insight into how to teach yourself. It was on the New York Bestseller list for close to a year.

One of her thoughts on drawing, “It’s helpful if you can “feel” the object” caught my attention. Who can feel the object better than one who makes it?

At the time, I was focusing on beveling glass. I had acquired a complete set of 1915 Henry Lang beveling machines: two large grinding wheels, a 24″ smoothing stone, and a felt and cork wheel for polishing. I could not find anyone to guide me. It took me about a year in my spare time before I felt comfortable showing anyone my work. Now, there are a couple of detailed books.

Living in the historic Fan area of Richmond, VA, I spent many evenings walking the sidewalks studying stained and bevel glass windows. Auction catalogs and a trip to the Corning Museum library were also productive.

I took my newfound knowledge of “feeling the object” and a drawing pad and dedicated twenty minutes a day to sketching bevels and beveled glass windows. I dated each day, taking my progress very seriously. It took several months before I was ready to show them.

Computers were not around then. I used tracing paper, flipping the symmetrical designs around until I completed the design. I began to enjoy shuffling graphite around on paper. A smudge stick gave my drawings depth and character.

If one looks at a symmetrical design often enough, the brain memorizes it, making it just another object in architecture. I became fascinated with asymmetrical bevel glass windows, which the mind doesn’t memorize but sees differently each time.

With my newly developed drawing skills and putting a different angle on almost every kind of glass I could find, I developed what I believe is a new direction for the art of beveled glass windows.

My mind likes to work 24/7. It probably has 15-20 of these “snippets” in the works now. It’s not nurotic it just has a good work ethic.

I learned many years ago that when an idea appears, I write it down and let my subconscious go to work. My subconscious doesn’t like having an unsolved problem. There are 86 billion neurons traveling between 156 to 270 miles per hour, and they live right next to each other. When some of those neurons have an idea, they flash it into my conscious mind. By flash, I mean a nanosecond or less!

I always have a piece of paper in my shirt pocket along with a pen. I have no idea how often I have stopped “dead” in my tracks, pulled off the road, or told someone I’ll call you back. Fortunately, my subconscious has a memory. A problem, often a design project, flows much easier if revisited a month or two later.

I have become fond of living this way, following my subconscious around. Sometimes, I appear spacey, laugh loudly, and talk to myself. However, the people I’m close to understand, and I am slowly educating them that the old wives’ tale of talking to themselves is false; it’s the other way around.

My mind, which consumes 20% of my energy, may or may not need a break; I’m not quite sure, but the peripheral areas do. Over the years, I’ve learned that I need a change of scenery and wind in my face to recharge.

When I was in my thirties and early forties, I rode my English road bike through the hills and valleys of our county roads, past forests, pastures, and fields of corn and soybeans. Along the way, I found pasture breeding quite interesting. After the initial introduction, it was the cows that initiated bovine romance, not the bull. Remember, I’m trying to redirect my mind to slow it down.

In the winter, I would bundle up in sweats, stocking hats, and scarves that would flap in the breeze. I felt a kinship to Nanook of the North. No matter how much I put on, the cold air seemed to always find a way in. In the summer, I only wore short nylon workout shorts. When I was in my full go mode, bent over the handlebars, I became the “man who rode his bike naked through the countryside.”

Now, I use a stationary recumbent bike for 40-50 minutes two days in a row, with one day off for cardio and my much beloved 23-year-old Miata for wind in my face.

I was 34, and John was around 18 when this photograph was taken.

John showed up one day a few years earlier with his shop teacher from Buckingham High School. He had just cut his foot on a rock while playing in the James River and was hobbling around on crutches. I don’t know the whole story, but somehow, the shop teacher thought an introduction between the two was a good idea.

At this time, to survive financially, I was beveling glass for other studios and my commissions. Beveling is tough work. Holding a piece of glass over rotating iron, stone, cork, and felt at a certain angle took focus, muscle, and a big chunk of perseverance. I also explained the merits of efficiency to John, largely by connecting the dots between his production and what I could afford to pay him.

John caught on quickly. Strong, smart, and with the ever-present need to put gas in his truck, he proved to be a real asset. We got along great, two bachelors who understood that this was a special time in our lives—a time to be taken seriously, or as seriously as two young fellows with no dependents could muster.

I’ll never forget the day we were both grinding away. John turned to me and said, “You know, Wayne, this is art!”

All of a sudden the sky lightened up, the pain in my hands faded away, and the stress I was feeling left my body. Was I having a “peak” moment? Was this nirvana? I knew about mind over matter, but how could it escape me when I needed it the most?

From then on, everything I do is art. Washing dishes, mowing the grass, cooking, gardening, feeding the chickens, and above all, my interactions with my fellow human beings.