One of my cutting tables is about four feet from a South-West window. This is the window where I place our glass for color selection. Toward the end of the day, the sun’s light intensifies around our work in progress. The colors we have been studying suddenly take on a brightness that causes me to sit and enjoy the few minutes the effect will last. My son, Daniel, and I created this window under such circumstances. After installing it, I was fortunate to capture the effect again on camera.

I created this mural for Mt. Zion First African Baptist Church in Charlottesville, Virginia, around twenty years ago. It is in the pulpit directly behind the minister. My art often takes on a different look, from how it looks when created in my shop to how it looks after installation. I compensate for this by having glass on all four sides of my shop to replicate the light the glass will receive once in place. After installing this piece, I was pleasantly surprised to see the lights in the chandeliers playing on the gold mirror as I moved around

This is a section from twelve kitchen cabinet doors I created around twelve years ago. It is such a joy to work playfully, to move pieces of glass from their historically appointed positions to where they themselves seem to be having fun. Unrestrained angles for zinc caming and pieces of beveled glass that have entirely escaped being restrained by metal strips, wandering off independently. The freedom of thought is the mother of such shenanigans, the essence of art.

It’s not always easy to find a workspace. I like things out where I can see them. Tools, drawings, glass, works in progress—they all fulfill my need for accessibility. Taking time to look for something is wasted time. I don’t like putting things back if I’m going to use them again for the same project. I want to be able to just reach out and instantly have them in hand. This often leaves my workspace, surrounded by the objects I’m using, becoming progressively smaller, requiring me to nudge them out of the way so I can work on the

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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