Category Archives: Work

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.

The difference between a skylight and a laylight is a skylight function as a roof window, while a laylight is flush with the ceiling of an interior space.
This particular laylight was a substantial 54″x54″ in size.

Since I could control the lighting, I thought a summer nightfall theme with a moon passing over treetops would be interesting. I used dark blues from Lamberts Glass for the late evening sky and various shades of our flamed worked leaves for the tree tops. A simple lighting fixture supplied the moon effect.

Once again, I was faced with how to support the window without the interruption of reinforcing bars. Without reinforcing, the window would not even make it the hundred miles to its new home. I posted my dilemma on one of the stained glass chat rooms on Facebook. One person suggested tying wires from the topside of the laylight to points along the shaft walls above it. Great idea. I first used steel bars across the bordering steel, then attached wires to points throughout the top of the window for temporary support. After the window was in place, I moved each wire from its temporary position to a hook five to six feet up the shaft, then removed the temporary support bars.

I use the word I loosely here. It took four of us to complete this task.

This is an example of the framework I build as a “canvas” for my flame-worked windows.

After I assemble the basic window with zinc, sculpt the branches with solder, and attach wires to give my window a three-dimensional look, all the metals receive a copper sulfate wash to darken them. Creating this contrast is the first step in bringing my art alive. I often think of it as a winter scene.

Along the way, we have been flame-working to create the leaves for not only this project but several others.

On the days I get to compose my composition with color, my mind shifts to another era. I have a real fondness for Monet. I like the way he dressed, how he furnished his home, and his love of color in nature. I am especially taken by how he depicts sunlight changing colors as it flows across flowers and the shadows created.

As I focus on my composition, my mind returns to the work in front of me. The freedom I have in moving each little piece of curved glass around with my craftsman’s hands or a pair of tweezers is exciting and draining at the same time. Often, when I am pleased with an area, I’ll have my assistants attach the pieces with a UV adhesive and cure them with a special light, giving me time to free my mind and return refreshed.

This is a kitchen skylight.

I wouldn’t say I like reinforcing bars in my windows. The general rule for vertical windows is to add one every eighteen inches. I would figure two to three bars on a horizontal skylight like this one, 28″x 40″.

My goal was to create a unique design that would give the illusion of looking through a skylight into the Fall tree tops above, with some of the leaves detaching from their branches and blowing in the breeze. This design left absolutely no room for straight reinforcing bars.

The glass was Lamberts hand-blown from Germany. I have always been impressed that the craftsmen could create a sheet 24″ x 36″ and how consistently the thickness of 1/8″ was maintained. My concern was that there was almost no room for flexing the glass. One crack and I faced a nightmare of a repair job.

I left a small gap between the glass pieces on each side of the broader branch areas to create realistic branches. After wrapping copper foil around each piece and carefully placing them on my pattern, I overlapped small finishing nails in the void and began soldering over the glass and nails to hold everything together. After I had all the nails and foiled glass secured, I began sculpturing the branches with my soldering iron and solder, lending even more strength to my window.

When this phase was complete, I attached copper wires I had shaped like branches and floated solder over them so all the metal would patina the same. After a thorough cleaning, I added my fall-colored, flame-worked leaves and a noon almost dead center.

This window was installed around twenty years ago and has never bowed or cracked.

One of my first commissions with flame-working was a window for a home near Chicago.

I have become comfortable working with people who live long distances and have never visited or met. Communication is quick and easy with text, emails, and a camera in almost everyone’s pocket. Samples sent through the mail and emailed sketches are efficient and leave a communication record that acts as a contract between two parties, especially after paying a deposit.

Most clients come to me with a design concept and color preferences. They often facilitate a connection with the individual responsible for installing my work, allowing us to coordinate the specific dimensions and installation details.

When I ship the work, I build an enclosure and pack the window with bubble wrap. Then, I make a slightly larger crate and pack the first with bubble wrap. Standing on its side, I attach perpendicular boards along the bottom so the entire package will ride upright in the back of an 18-wheeler.

I packed and furnished the crate, and they paid the shipping cost.

This is the window I was assembling in my last snippet.

Fifteen years ago, I created this window for the Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington, VA. The glass was hand-blown in Germany by the Lamberts Glass Company. They make around 5,000 different colors; I have access to around 1500. The glass has striations and bubbles, which bring it to life and separate it from the other materials in the architecture.

When I made this window, I mainly used zinc in my work. I like zinc because it makes such straight lines and nice curves. It also is much stronger than lead, thus requiring fewer reinforcing bars. Back then, a company, Chicago Metalic, had a catalog of around 75 profiles. By snapping them together, I could make wider lines in my windows and lines that came to a point. This made designing the lines as important as developing the glass. I also found the contrast between the two materials interesting.

This window has trees behind it. Trees, with their many leaves in motion, flicker the sunlight on the striations, giving movement to the glass, creating a jewel in the architecture.