Category Archives: Work

Winter scene of a wisteria vine in the impressionist style.

I’m fond of whiplash designs, mainly when they depict nature in a mature, perhaps near-death state. Add the element of strong winds through the use of reamy mouth-blown glass from Germany, and one can begin to feel the intention of this window back to when it was an idea, working its way through a series of drawings.

Yesterday, we installed this piece in a barn door high on a hill above the James River. In a place known for high winds, it was the perfect blending of art and nature.

I’ve met some interesting people, often because of the projects I’ve worked on over the years.

This is Josh Greenwood, blacksmith extraordinaire. Among many other accomplishments, he built gates for the National Cathedral, taught blacksmithing courses around the country, developed two hydropower plants, and spoke four languages.

I met Josh when we were both around thirty and creating art for the new Tobacco Company Club.

I have always found it interesting how people connect.

For Josh and I, the whole spectrum of persona, work, and the ability to communicate instantly drew us into a friendship. I also admired his well-controlled intensity. He had such a mind-body connection where his muscles and mind were so developed from his journey in life that he had developed as only he himself could have.

I restored this window in a rental property in Richmond, Virginia, around twenty-five years ago.

I remember how happy I was the first time I saw it, and it continues to make me smile after all these years.

This is the only window I have ever seen that has affected me emotionally in this way. It’s just so clever and thoughtful.

Seven years ago, a university professor visited me with his album cover of the Beach Boys’ Wild Honey and asked me to create a transom window for his listening room using the design on the cover as inspiration.

Our relationship started as usual: introductions, a tour of my studio, and then finding comfortable seating in my office to share our thoughts about his project.

I’m fortunate that interesting people find me to work with. I owe this to the internet, where one can tell one’s story, and people from all over can choose who they want to work with. By the time they contact me, our relationship is well underway.

As we began understanding how to proceed with his project, our conversation evolved into sharing other interesting parts of our lives.

I found the life of an English professor engaging, especially how he had time to study and share his thoughts with his students.

I shared with him how I was the kid in the back of the class who was always asleep or daydreaming.

“Ah, preserving your creativity.”

It’s so rare that I find someone who understands those of us who are so strongly inner-directed, especially someone who is so ingrained in the system. Even with our overlapping approaches to life, there are similarities, just different reward systems.

It’s disheartening when adaptability and conformity are highly regarded, and original thoughts are suspect. This affects our emotional lives and self-esteem to the point that some are unsure of who they are.

I created this center section for a beveled glass window in a home in Richmond, Virginia, around forty years ago.

I look back on this accomplishment and feel a sense of pride, partly because it was well-managed and still serves me well as an example of what I was capable of back then.

I remember the emotional struggle as I worked through the challenges of creating and building such a piece. Starting with a piece of paper and a couple of number 2s, working and reworking ideas is challenging, especially when the outcome is up to me, with no one else offering guidance and support.

Then, I have to build the window, make patterns, cut glass, assemble, putty, and clean, knowing it’s entirely up to me. I’m responsible for the craftsmanship and finishing in time to cover my cost and hopefully a little extra.

We’re all aware of the power of positive thinking, but how do I sustain it throughout my project?

I do so by constantly monitoring my emotions. To maintain an upbeat frame of mind, I think about what a beautiful object I’m creating, one that will be an accent piece in architecture, I call then my jewels.

When I begin to feel sorry for myself for working so hard, especially when there are so many other things I would rather be doing, I know it’s time for self-management, and I am in charge of making the effort to do so.

From day one, I knew I wanted the freedom to manage myself and to find a balance between work and life’s other joys. I consider this one of my most significant accomplishments.

Four years ago, a single mom and her two teenage sons contacted me about collaborating with them on a window for the new home they were building.

The ideas were theirs; I just helped with color and construction.

I’ve thought about what to write about this, but the photo says it all.

I created this skylight around 2005 for a three-story home in Richmond, Virginia. It was a beautiful home in the Fan District built around 1890.

This skylight provided light for the three-story staircase with exceptional woodwork, raised paneling, spindles, handrails, and oak floorboards on the steps—large rooms with commanding ceiling fixtures hanging from high ceilings surrounded by beautiful double-hung windows.

The patina and craftsman’s markings from hand-held tools make me wonder what my life would have been like if I had lived during the construction of this magnificent home.

Skylights like this are subject to shadows as the sun moves across the sky. The light is funneled through the opening above it, giving the window the feeling of rotation.

In 2013, my son Daniel and I created two rose windows for St. Thomas Aquinas Priory in Charlottesville, Virginia.

The Dominican Friars at the Priory pray in the chapel beneath these two windows five times daily. Each symbol instructs the faithful and inspires prayer, which hearkens back to the purpose of stained glass in ancient times.

Each painted piece was fired multiple times and painted using antique processes and techniques. The Dominicans are an old order, and we were pleased to create what they wanted using traditional materials and methods.

At twenty-nine years old, I am most proud of how Daniel took the lead role in this project—meeting with the decision-makers, designing the project, laying out the full-scale layout, choosing the colors, and doing all the painting.

All I had to do was take on the role of his helper.

I spend a lot of time studying my projects to reduce the possibility that they will go in the wrong direction once we start building.

Of course, color and line are primary considerations. It is interesting how important it is to balance the volume of colors through the glass sizes so the window will feel right.

I also have to consider halation, how strong light can overwhelm specific colors, the colors around them, and sometimes even the lead lines.

When selecting glass from my suppliers, I favor the more translucent areas in a sheet of glass, often knowing that I will only use a small portion of the sheet. I store the balance, hoping a place will be found for it later in another project.

I always use natural light when selecting and a light table when comparing how the colors look with artificial light.

After choosing a paper pattern, I spray the back with a light adhesive, select the area I want to incorporate into my window and adhere it to the glass.

Scrolling through my photographs, I see this as one of my favorites.

It is so lush and abundant, as if it were after a heavy rain, capturing movement when it recomposes after absorbing fresh moisture.

The complexity of everything it represents keeps me returning as it nourishes my imagination.

Around twenty years ago, I experimented with combining glass and metal motifs.

This was a design for a powder room entrance. Starting with a garden gate design, I used zinc to represent the ironwork and stained glass for the background. Then, I cut the leaves and extensions for the tops out of flat copper, melted solder over both sides and shaped them with a hammer and anvil.

My first thought about the hanging vines and leaves was to carve them into the glass and paint the etched areas. However, I revised my idea and used a traditional stained glass window approach.

My initial idea was to use small glass tiles around the transom and upper part of the door.

As with many projects in the beginning stages, ideas change and evolve.

I enjoy collaborating with other artists.

This collaboration was for a home near Charlottesville, Virginia, around twenty years ago.

I created panels representing the four seasons, one on each side, for a pool table lamp. I can’t say I’m fond of artificial lighting, but it works here, and of course, I had no choice.

The lamp gave the room a southing feeling, a break from the more formal setting, especially as one leaned across the table to take a shot.

This is one of my current projects. It will be installed in my patron’s bedroom, where he can enjoy the beauty of the evening sky regardless of the weather.

The concept is as if one is standing on one of the overlooks on Skyline Drive overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains.

This is the background.

Now, I’m starting on the foreground, which will be dimensional. With solder-covered copper wire representing branches surrounded by our flame-worked leaves.

I created this window in 2021 for a dear friend and patron who lives in Floyd, Virginia. It was for an interior transom.

Typically, I design vegetation toward the end of the growing season, when plants mature and show great character. For this window, I chose a whiplash design similar to those often seen in fabric.

All of the glass is flameworked. 1/2-inch strips of stained glass 18 inches long are held over a flame of propane and oxygen and annealed for 30 minutes at 990 degrees.

There are no molds or forms, only simple needle-nose plyers, a graphite paddle, and a plentiful imagination supply.

The background is clear pieces of glass assembled to form a backdrop for the finished piece. The pieces, representing colorful leaves moving in a whiplash fashion, are arranged, attached with UV adhesive, and cured with UV light.

I am constantly impressed by how opalescent glass comes alive with color and form after being worked over a flame, especially after each piece is freed from being wrapped in foil or lead as in a traditional window.

I created this window for a home in northern Virginia around thirty-five years ago.

The 1/2-inch thick glass borders beveled on our 1915 beveling machines included zipper cuts. Zipper cuts were popular as decorative items and significantly increased the overall cost.

The center is beveled 3/8-inch glass with a brilliant cut star. Brilliant cutting is when the design is ground out with a stone and then polished with pumice and cerium oxide.

The background is light restoration glass with slight striations to avoid competing with the other accent pieces.

The zinc cames are free floating. By cutting out the center of the came, I can slide it over a portion of the glass that would be almost impossible to cut. A dot of solder on the end complements the line.

Two round jewels at the top and bottom of the oval complete the design.

The beauty of a hallway transom like this is how the light from the ceiling fixtures bounces around the small area, reflecting off all the angles in the beveled glass window.

This window is part of a series depicting the four seasons for a home North of Washington, DC. I created the series in 2020.

I start with an idea sketch to find the glass for such a window, wanting to remain as flexible as possible while searching. This invariably means a trip to my favorite glass factory, Youghiogheny Opalescent Glass Company, in Connellsville, Penn.

Their production is in the back of their complex, attached to a large warehouse in front full of rows of crates of stained glass stacked one row on top of the other. Each glass crate was made in one production run, meaning each crate contains the same color but various transparency levels. I always choose the most transparent because I like how the color comes alive in sunlight.

As I search for the best glass for my project, I inspect each crate, looking for something new. If I find something that has future potential, I will purchase a sheet or two.

Much of the glass I used in this project was from glass I bought, hoping to find a place for it.

This snowy, first-of-winter scene calls for glass found using a highly selective process that requires complete access to a factory warehouse and lots of patience. The time-consuming process carries over into the shop as decisions concerning direction and density are considered.

Sometimes, a project surprises us. In this case, the reflective light in the window on the right evokes the chilling effect of a cold winter night. It actually makes me feel cold as I view it.

Over the years, my focus has been creativity.

I’ve only passively studied the history of art glass. I learned a little here and there. I was inspired as much by photographs of working studios, mainly how they were organized and the men and women who worked there.

In September 2013, I received a phone call from St. John’s Lutheran Church in South West Virginia from someone who wanted to discuss an idea with me.

They were beginning to rethink their cross. It could be more inspirational.

Over the years, I have noticed sheets of silvered stained glass when I visit some of my suppliers. I often wonder how I could use it in my projects one day. I bought several sheets to experiment with and demonstrate my ideas when an opportunity arose.

Everyone was ecstatic with the outcome, including me.

There are times when I get a little carried away and over-design.

Usually, there is a transition in my mind when I can’t find what I’m looking for, and a more playful idea develops, so I move in that direction to entertain myself.

This often leads to new design ideas and a new way of using the materials I work with.

I like the columns on each side of this window. They are similar but different from the ones I’ve seen before. The two connecting pieces at the top are thick, beveled 3/8″ glue-chipped glass to simulate a stone archway.

The window section would consist of various slightly tented blown glass assembled with zinc to resemble ancient architecture, with the family crest in the center.

Various vines, leaves, buds, and twigs attach themselves to the window to give the impression of an abandoned home or one where a lone eccentric lives.

I think of designing this way as I would writing fiction. I am learning through imagination.

1985, we worked with St Peter Baptist Church in Glen Allen, Virginia, creating their new stained glass windows.

Before social media, we would share our progress on large projects using storyboards.

Early in my career, I learned that eliminating surprises, especially in large groups, was desirable. Any documentation approved by the stained glass committee carried a lot of weight.

Before email, I would take photographs and mail them to our patrons, along with a few business cards. This proved an excellent marketing tool as they would share them with friends and pass along our cards. One can’t beat word-of-mouth promotion.

I have carried this practice to all our projects now that we are in the internet era. Although most of our work now is residential, the same principles apply.

The bottom line is that keeping our patron informed is appreciated as a courtesy. Being a commission artist is tricky enough; good social skills are key to a successful project.

I created this fire screen around 1998 for a home in Richmond, Virginia.

This couple had an Art Deco room full of beautiful objects. I’m fond of Art Deco’s lovely lines, textures, and colors. It’s a nice change from so much of my work influenced by Art Nouveau.

I used 1/4 inch clear glass, and brass came. Beveling glass this size requires an enormous amount of skill and strength. I could never bevel glass this size today.

I have always admired large mirrors behind bars. Some are twelve feet long by four feet high and have a 1 3/4″ bevel.

A team of men made these mirrors with the same beveling machines I use in my shop. Holding the glass at the correct level and angle would take at least seven men or more. A lead man would signal the other men with his index finger what to do next. It would be easy to ruin a large plate without everyone working together.

Then, they would have to polish out any scratches made by the beveling grit getting between the worker’s hands and the glass.

To finish, they silvered the entire plate, which I consider a miracle since silver nitrate is so easily contaminated.

Today, all mirrors this size that I know of are made on automated high-speed machines.

There is a beauty between a hand-made mirror and a machine-made mirror that is worlds apart. It is similar to a piece of furniture made with hand planes or the hammer marks of a blacksmith.

I created this window as a shower door for a home in Richmond, Virginia, around 1994.

The idea was that one was showering beside a slight waterfall, with the water cascading around boulders before finding its way through a series of small pools.

I constructed the window using zinc for strength and packed putty under the cames for strength and watertightness

We created this mirror for a restaurant in Richmond, Virginia, around 1980.

Art glass goes through phases of popularity. Stained glass, beveled glass, and etched glass rotate when people design their restaurants.

I learned early that many people travel to other restaurants looking for decorating ideas when designing their own. Many go to New York, and some even go to Europe. This idea was seen in New York City.

We achieved this effect by etching away the back of the mirror, allowing the light from the pink neon to filter through.

Carving is one of the most challenging processes I do.

It is almost always on a thick piece of glass; in this case, the glass was 5/8 of an inch with a polished OG edge. It’s heavy and seems to get heavier as the day goes on.

A 1/8-inch rubber stencil with adhesive on one side is carefully applied to the backside. Hand rollers ensure the stencil lies flat on the glass. Any air bubbles are cause for concern as they may interfere with the accuracy of the design’s cutting.

Artwork is created and traced with tracing paper. Next, the design is transferred to the stencil by rubbings. Almost always, the carving is done in reverse on the back of the glass so the design can be viewed through the transparent front.

Then, the work begins.

I cut all those lines with an exacto blade by hand. With a geometric design like this one, any variance is quickly spotted. I always hold the handle with the blade in a perpendicular position to create a “clean” line when carving.

Because the design is carved to three different depths, I first mark the deepest and remove the stencil, placing it on a piece of glass in order of removal. I’ll need to replace it later when I carve the other two layers next to it to preserve a crisp line between the depths.

I begin the carving with a pressure pot and compress air with around 60 pounds of pressure. I wear a hood that I can see through and a mask over my mouth and nose.

Carving each area to the correct depth is tedious at best. One slight mistake can ruin the whole project.

I created this tabletop for a home in Richmond, Virginia, around twenty-five years ago.

For years, getting started was the hardest part.

I waited for “inspiration.” I thought I needed to have the image in my mind and then transfer it to paper. I would sit around and ponder various options for way too long.

When I start a new commission, I engage my patron in conversation. They usually have ideas they have been looking forward to sharing with me, so I sit back and listen.

I then share my thoughts, and we evolve into a collaboration.

Putting our ideas on paper has become the most pleasant part instead of the most challenging. I call it connecting the dots.

I work fast, sketching with a light touch using a 0.3mm mechanical pencil. Often, I quickly sketch several lines when I only need one, giving me some choice as to which one I like the best.

I’m not worried about making the perfect drawing but an “impressionist” representation of our idea. This freeform approach also releases the tension I feel from taking the risk of putting our ideas on paper.

It’s also an excellent communication tool to send to my patron when asking for their feedback.

Sometimes, I draw at my drawing or kitchen table just for fun, following my imagination.

I enjoy being a commissioned glass artist. Working in a collaborative environment with others has pushed me into areas I probably wouldn’t have explored otherwise.

But sometimes, it’s just me shuffling graphite around on paper.

As one line leads to another, I have become quite intimate with my various pencils and erasers. They are the tools my mind uses to express itself.

This drawing is one of my favorites.

Asymmetry is rare in architecture. I have some ideas about why: cost, production time, and the difficulty of getting a mortgage. But wouldn’t the world be more interesting if we lightened up a bit?

Or does the way we decorate for Christmas and Halloween satisfy our creative needs?

This is one of my favorite sketches. The glass doesn’t complement the woodwork, but that’s another story.

This sketch stops me in my tracks and triggers thoughts of many possibilities—a collaboration between neurons and graphite captured on paper to share with others.

Flameworking has become an essential part of our art. Four of our current commissions will require thousands of pieces, which we will make one at a time by hand.

When we have time, which is becoming rare, we build our inventory.

When visiting our suppliers, I buy stained glass sheets to work specifically over a flame. First, we cut the sheets into eighteen-inch sections and then into 1/4″ to 3/8″ strips. We group them into canning jars and place them on shelves above our torches.

I’m a big believer in displaying our supplies and tools. Living with them creates a continuous learning environment. I have already done my homework when I choose a color or look for a tool.

Looking closely at this window, you will see small, clear glass sculptures.

Each is three to four pieces of 3/8-inch glass that I beveled on my 1915 beveling machinery and attached with UV adhesive.

My idea was to create a stylized group of organisms appearing as Clif dwellers on an art glass window. The round, clear, beveled pieces represent eggs.

It was a whimsical idea to brighten my day.

I wouldn’t say I like reinforcing bars in my windows.

The general rule is to use a reinforcing bar every eighteen inches. However, I’ll sometimes add an extra one or two, like when the window is exposed to wind and rain.

I’ll use 3/8″ or 1/2″ flat bars in a typical leaded glass window.
They aren’t intrusive when placed perpendicular to the window, but no bars are better.

When I started including branches in my designs, I would leave a space between the pieces of glass on either side, fill the space with solder, and sculpt it to look like an actual branch. This also gave the window more strength.

I’m fond of Canfield’s 60/40 solder: 60% tin, 40% lead. I use it for almost everything. I like using suitable tools and materials; they make me feel better.

Today, this solder costs $24 per roll on Amazon. I remember when I would pay $1.95.

So, I began looking for a way to reduce the solder volume I was using to create my branches. One day, I realized I could fill the voids with various finishing nail sizes, reducing the amount of solder while adding strength to my windows and eliminating the need for reinforcing bars in almost every case.

Around 1980, Jerry Powers and I worked on a restaurant called 5th Avenue in Richmond, Virginia. Jerry designed and I built the windows.

The restaurant owner wanted an Art Deco theme in a row of windows that ran along the wall parallel to the bar, with tables between the two.

We constructed the windows using various textures of clear glass held together with zinc came. We like zinc because it gives us straight lines and strength and allows us to hide reinforcing bars along the zinc.

Occasionally, we get a pleasant surprise after installing our work as our windows blend with their new environment.

A street ran alongside the windows outside the building, which were about nine feet in the air. At night, the light from passing cars reflected through the different glass textures.
But the exciting part is how the angles of the design and the light from the upper part of the headlights would reflect up the design, giving motion from each passing car.

I created this window for a beautiful Richmond, Virginia, home around 2005.

Always searching for new design possibilities for my beveling techniques, I decided to design this window to follow the lines of the home’s architecture.

The owner requested that the window provide a certain level of privacy, so I glue-chipped and beveled clear 1/4-inch glass for the background and beveled 3/8″ glass for the accents.

This window was on the second floor along a hallway leading to some bedrooms. As one climbed the stairs and turned the corner, it came alive as a jewel in the semi-dark area.

I have often seen art glass as a surprise element in older architecture.

This window was one of my contributions.

Around 1985, I was asked if I would like to make two curved bevel glass panels for a custom cabinet in Richmond, Virginia.

Taking on a new process is always a challenge. If I were fortunate, I may break even. At best, I figured someone was paying for me to learn.

I would first need to curve the 3/16 clear glass in my old pottery kiln. This was before electronic controls. I used a small ceramic strip between a three-prong switch that triggered when the heat melted the ceramic strip.

I then made a stainless steel jig with the correct curvature and balanced the flat glass over it. My goal was to find the right temperature to achieve the curve but to stop short of the stainless steel, pitting the glass.

After much experimenting, I was ready to cut the glass to my pattern and begin curving all the pieces.

Next, I beveled all the glass with a half-inch bevel. If I had beveled first, the angles would have been distorted.

Finally, I made a slightly larger curved platform than the finished piece and assembled the window with zinc.

In 2004, I collaborated with Sean Flaherty to create this icon for St. Thomas Aquinas’s Chapel in Charlottesville, Virginia. I did the craftsmanship; Sean did the painting.

I tried painting early in my career and learned that I didn’t think I would ever be good at it.

Painting is a complex craft. It involves choosing colors and brushes, mixing the medium, coordinating firing temperatures, in this case, acid etching, and having an innate ability to see and create. It is also very time-consuming; there isn’t much time for anything else.

Sean was one of the best and had my highest regard, not only as an artist but also as a human being.

One can not change an icon. In a way, it was nice not to have to go through all the challenges of creating an original work of art. Selecting the appropriate colors and applying our skills made this an unusual but pleasant experience.

I stop by every few years to sit in the pews and meditate. I’m especially fond of the significance of the trees in the outside yard surrounding Mary and Jesus. It is one of the best displays of both worlds I have ever witnessed.

This window was created last year for the transom over the entrance doors to Stella Maris Catholic Chapel in Ocracoke, North Carolina. Stella Maris translates to Star of the Sea.

In the beginning, we and our patron explored many possibilities. Drawings, glass samples, and quick mock-ups became routine for several months.

Reflecting on my younger days, I realize that I might have found the process of ‘jumping through all these hoops’ frustrating. However, experiences like this have taught me that such challenges often lead to our best work.

There are five stages in beveling. Rough grind with coarse grit, smooth grind with fine grit, smoothing over a stone with water, polishing with cork and pumice, and finishing up with felt and cerum oxide.

When we finished with the large stone, the glass still had many small facets, mostly from being handheld. By skipping the cork and polishing the facets with felt and cerum oxide, we could give the star a little extra sparkle.

I collaborated with Missy Scott on this window around 2004 for Grace Episcopal Church here in Bremo Bluff, Virginia.

We created this window for a gentleman in memory of his wife. Missy and I worked together on the design; she painted, and I did the craftwork.

I’ve only created a few memorial windows in my life. They are very touching moments that only require me to listen. The donor comes prepared with many memories; my job is to execute them in glass.

The couple were local farmers. Genuine people whom one likes from the first time you meet them.

I thought the husband’s—perhaps they had discussed this earlier—choice of St. Frances was perfect. Even the rabbit, a regular visitor to their garden, held much symbolism for them.

I created this window for a couple’s home in Oregon in 2018. It was for a landing window on the second floor.

The glass is Lamberts, blown in Germany. I like how the reamy glass gives motion to the window, depicting wind blowing through the branches, detaching leaves, and carrying them to faraway places.

I separated the spaces between the branches to give the window character and depth. To support the window, I layered various lengths of finishing nails in the spaces where the branches go before solder sculpturing.

I enjoy making windows like this. Free form is much easier than a geometric design and more realistic and exciting.

This was my first church—Amelia Presbyterian in Amelia, Virginia, completed around 1978.

At this time, I was working with an artist, John Dale. John was the artist, and I made the windows.

I was twenty-seven years old, strong, and perseverant. By this time, I knew this would be my life’s work and that if I were to survive, I would have to start thinking as a craftsman and a businessman.

I was also challenged by learning to work with another creative individual.

There were many problems to solve, most in unfamiliar areas. Working on such a large scale made it difficult for me to figure out the cost. This was when I decided that the project would always come first; I could always work overtime, often barely making enough to survive, but always doing my best was my priority. I figured someone else was paying for my education and was most grateful.

Since then, I have never kept my hours, had an hourly rate, or asked for the price of materials. I now charge what the project is worth, which is my way of figuring compounding interest.

I created this window around 1990 for neighbors who liked me and my work.

I beveled the glass on my 1915 Henry Lang machinery. Holding these small pieces against the force of a 30-inch iron and stone wheels turning at 200 rpm is one reason I have strong craftsman’s hands. Curved fingers also developed as I held the glass against the force of turning wheels.

The background is blown glass from Germany. I wanted to separate the bevels from the background. It’s hard to see here, but the soft striations of the blown glass were a nice contrast to the clear 1/4″ glass I used for beveling.

Drawing the design either works quickly or becomes very challenging. I’m always working on several projects at a time, so if one isn’t “flowing,” I can move around to solve other design problems. This approach keeps me productive or cost-effective, as some would say.

I find it interesting when I quote someone a price and they respond, but it’s such a small window. I usually respond by saying, “But there is a lot going on there, and it’s the only one in the world like it.”

Saint Andrews Episcopal Church in Burke, Virginia, contacted me three years ago. They had a donor who wished to gift the church a stained glass window, a significant contribution to their upcoming fifty anniversary and in remembrance of the donor’s daughter.

When I arrived, I first noticed that every exterior window in the church contained stained glass windows. These were contemporary windows with vibrant colors, mostly depicting the evolution of the world and the Christian faith.

During the first meeting, the artist, donor, and stained glass committee engage in a thorough evaluation process. I believe that everyone involved is crucial in contributing the best ideas to move the project forward.

Of course, these things take time. I have found that the road home sparks many ideas. Over the coming days, the projects reappear many times in my mind, usually in slight variations, sometimes in comic relief.

At our next meeting, a few ideas are shared and politely acknowledged. By this time, I had formulated my concept. I carefully planned my words and organized my thoughts for delivery. In my mind, I often have the image of rolling a large, beautiful pearl across the meeting table.

How about we create a window beside the entry doors in which Jesus welcomes the parishioners into your sanctuary?

I created this mirror for a home in Richmond, Virginia, around 35 years ago.

In the 1990s, I bought a resilvering company. People would bring us their old mirrors with faded or peeling silver, and we would strip them down to the transparent glass, polish the backs, and spray silver nitrate onto them. After drying, we painted two coats of backing.

What is so challenging about silvering mirrors is that there can be almost no contaminants. One small spec and everything you’ve done has to be removed and started over again.

One day, I had the idea that if I contaminated the solution before spraying, I could create an antique effect. After experimenting, I developed many shades of “antique mirrors.”

After beveling the glass for this mirror, I silvered the large glass in the center with my lightest solution to draw the individual in and make it functional. I used darker and darker solutions as I worked my way to the borders as if shade from my carved trees, giving a tunnel effect.

My patron suggested I use these tiles she had collected in our creation. I’m quite taken by how I stressed the roots, squeezing them between the tiles to give the whole project a lifelike effect.

What’s a Virginian without a coat of arms?

I created this heraldry for the front door of a home in the Fan District in Richmond, Virginia, around 25 years ago.

One can not change heraldry but only embellish it with the finest materials, stunning colors, and, of course, craftsmanship.

I used blown glass from Lamberts in Germany. It has the deepest, richest colors and that marvel, flash glass. Flash glass is two layers of glass of various colors in one sheet. The beauty of it is that one can acid-etch or sandblast one layer to expose the other. This allows for delicate designs in an area of color without lead lines. Lamberts also accepts painting well for shading.

Just handling a sheet of this beautiful material encourages me to do my very best with it.

Around thirty years ago, I created this window for Grace Episcopal Church in Bremo Bluff, Virginia. It is one of my favorites.

In my never-ending pursuits of always trying to bring something new to my art, I studied old jewelry designs for the borders. The cross was a given. Then all I
I had to do was tie the two together.

I glue-chipped the background to keep the design all on one plane.

After installation, we installed a chandelier behind the window. As one walked around the sanctuary, the lights danced around on the bevels, giving the window, as one person remarked, “a spiritual feeling”

Around 1996, I made the beveled glass door and transom for a couple in the Church Hill area of Richmond, Virginia. If you look closely, the bevel widens from the center to the borders, creating a variable bevel.

I used 3/8-inch glass instead of the traditional 1/4-inch to match the heavy historical door and molding. There are places in Richmond where one can find beveling on 3/8-inch glass, but I have never seen variable bevels before.

I’m sure I didn’t charge them extra for all the time that went into this project, but I chalked it up as a learning experience and good marketing.

The requests for carving are sporadic. I probably haven’t completed five projects in the last fifty-two years.

This is a sample I keep around to show what we are capable of. I wasn’t pleased with it, so I remade another for the project I was working on.

I now use it to show prospects what one of our rejects looks like.
It has turned out to be a very viable marketing approach.

Around 1989, I created this fused piece for a couple in Duck, on the outer banks of North Carolina. It was for a couple of kitchen doors on the third floor of their beach home.

I had never created a fused project before.

Fusing requires using formulated glass so all the colors are compatible. After cutting to my slightly oversized pattern, I overlapped the cut lines and fired to around 1150 degrees in my old pottery kiln.

After installation, we discovered that as the sun moved across the room, the light would hang on the cut lines for a few minutes and then jump over to the following cut line.

I created this window of Kew roses for a couple in Southwest Virginia around 2019. Made of many small pieces, we create from a 1/4-inch strip of stained glass over a flame.

It wasn’t easy to hold such tiny pieces while the UV adhesive cured under intense light.
My son Daniel was working with us then and came up with the idea of positioning them in Play-Doh to hold them in place for gluing and then attaching them to the background glass.

I believe this window represents the perfect evolution of the creative process.

When I work, I focus on every move I make, trying to refine my craftsmanship and critical eye for color. It becomes a balancing act of moving swiftly to bring a fresh, natural look to the piece while meeting the demands of construction.

These aren’t necessarily opposing
forces; they take time to learn to work together. And that’s what I like. The more thought I put into a project, the better it becomes, and each project after it.

I created these two side lights for the home of a White Hall, Virginia, couple who owned a beautiful vineyard in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Another beveling technique I developed around that time was to bevel steep, short bevels to give the illusion of ice on vines. As one moves around the room, some bevels begin to reflect light while others fade away.

I consider this style to be my kinetic art.

All of the pieces of glass are held together by solder sculpturing the vines. I darkened the solder with copper sulfate to bring out the sparkle created by the bevels.

I created this window around twelve years ago for a couple near Boston.

The sheer bulk of this tree still amazes me. I feel like I could reach out and climb in its branches

When I design trees, flowers, and other vegetation, I like to draw them as if they are at the end of their lives, with all their “scars” from living a full life.

From my imitation, this tree lived a life of kids climbing to as close to the top as possible, wildlife eating its bark, and some bending of its branches to show the right path to take.

To achieve this illusion of a three-dimensional effect on a flat plain is quite an achievement that I’m genuinely proud of.

Around 2008, a retired couple in Charlottesville, VA, began collecting some of my work. They lived in a small condo with many art pieces accumulated over the years. After downsizing into their new home, their living space had become quite crowded.

One day, they contacted me, wanting to share an idea. We would like to have another one of your windows, but we don’t have another window.

As the three of us made our way around their living area, we all spotted a space along a wall that had potential. I had an idea, but I knew I would have to show them examples before any of it would make sense.

I ended up creating a “window” using all iridized glass. Most iridized glass is made in the factory when the sheet is still hot. After spraying with stannous chloride, the glass has a reflective metallic finish of different colors.

The three-dimensional pieces in the center are called turtlebacks. They are made of hot glass pressed in a mold. Tiffany made them in his factory, along with much of the glass he created for his windows, lampshades, and mosaics.

Around 1978, the Tobacco Company Restaurant in Richmond, Virginia, was turning its basement into a disco lounge. The owner had a design for the wall behind the dance floor, 40 feet long and 9 feet tall, of a Victorian restaurant and couples dancing. The only reason I can think of for him selecting this design is that he liked to decorate with stained and bevel glass from the period, and he thought it would fit right in.

Sometimes, a design may not seem appropriate for the occasion, but it makes the customer feel more “High class” and willing to spend more money.

I used a regular 1/8″ mirror for the silver and spray-painted clear sheets of glass gloss black to resemble a black mirror.

We cut all of the glass with a regular glass cutter. There was no grinding or edging, so accuracy was of the utmost importance. We wanted a “clean cut” because we wanted the light from the disco lights to run along the edges of each piece of glass.

We placed each piece on the plywood support wall with two dabs of mirror mastic. This project took several months with five of us working on it.

For the next several years, I made considerable money repairing broken pieces from disco dancers who accidentally or intentionally broke pieces.