I designed this window for Tanden Friends School in 2001.

We sent our children to this small Charlottesville, Virginia, school modeled after the transcendentalist. There were only 220 children in the 5th through 12th grade. Small classes and intimate relationships proved vital to our children’s development. They thrived academically and emotionally, earned impressive scholarships, and now live self-directed, meaningful lives.

We knew we had found the perfect academic community for our children from the beginning. We were all so grateful that we decided to create something special to show our appreciation while they were students.

I started designing the window in early spring with the idea that we could all work together to build it during their summer vacation. At the time, the school mascot was a tree. Around three years later, the students voted to change it to a badger.

We all worked together: cutting the pattern, cutting glass, beveling the two-sided flash glass, foiling, soldering, and finally, the patina and cleaning.

I’m especially pleased with the energy the window portrays, much like the students and the ever-changing colors of the tree, which symbolize their constantly evolving selves.

But what I appreciate the most are the memories and actual art we all created together.

Glass cutting is something I take seriously.

Each type of glass cuts slightly differently, requiring varying pressures on the little wheel at the end of the cutter. The wheel has particular angles for various thicknesses and hardnesses of glass. Each cut requires dipping the little wheel into a small jar with light oil to give it a longer life.

Cutting and grinding glass has the feel of ice to me.

Many years ago, before grinders, I would nip away at inside curves with a pair of glass plyers I had rounded off for easy access. It was tedious and time-consuming. Now, we have water-fed diamond wheels to round out the shapes. The diamond ring also reduces breakage by removing the rough cut from nipping away with glass plyers.

Accuracy to the pattern is also crucial. Each piece fits into a lead channel. If I get a little off, I pay for it during assembly. We also have an upright, wet belt sander to smooth all the edges.

I can usually only cut glass for around four hours a day, and my ability has decreased as I’ve gotten older.

Living alone in the country for so many years, I rarely noticed how my hair looked. I was a bachelor artist, which meant I could push the limits, almost expected to.

I remember remarking to the lady who was cutting it back then that, at the rate I was going, I was going to end up spending close to a hundred dollars on my hair this year.

My mother would have turned over in her grave.

We heat our shop with wood.

Living out in the country, there is always plenty of firewood from fallen and dying trees, and of course, there are always people who sell cut and split wood ready to burn.

I have often found small gasoline engines frustrating to maintain, so this year, I switched to battery-powered chain saws. I’m quite happy with the switch. Battery-powered is quieter, more responsive, and not as messy.

I have a friend who has a very serious wood splitter. When he brings it over, he also brings his four home-schooled children. With the guys in the shop, we are able to split and stack enough wood for a year.

A wood stove is perfect for removing the chill from the air. As the winter gets colder, we move our work closer.

I created this transom for a home in Richmond, Virginia, in 1994.

All the bevel glass transoms I’ve seen in the older parts of Richmond are symmetrical.

Although this design can be considered symmetrical, I wanted to make it slightly different. I’m always looking for a way to break free of the past in a subtle but tasteful way so that my art blends with the furnishing and atmosphere of the area it will be included in.

This bevel glass transom was above an interior door. The exterior was a beautiful sunroom, so not only did it receive plenty of sunlight, but color reflected off the objects on the other side.

Like this one, I’ve left my mark in many subtle ways over my career.

When I started my journey in 1972, I was 23 years old.

One of my biggest challenges was pricing my work. I remember how nervous I would get when giving someone an estimate for a lamp, which is how I started my career.

I was always looking for work, even painting a few houses along the way to make ends meet. At that point, I was happy to just survive, with the possibility of being able to keep building my livelihood.

Most people had no problem with what I quoted them. However, some were quite agasp.

I took this quite personally at first. I would go through all the processes it would take to produce what they had in mind, explaining that I wasn’t building a lamp but creating one to their specifications, that this was the only one, and I would never make another like it.

I even heard one man tell his wife that if they bought the lamp, there would be no new washing machine this year, as a smile grew across his wife’s face.

Later in life, I realized that some were playing with me, and some just didn’t want to spend the money on what I offered.

Today, I’m comfortable with the negotiating process. I’m in a position to be more flexible in designing and choosing materials. I’m also more sensitive to helping people get what they want, which is essential when working with my patrons.

When I design a window like this, I first create the main feature. Much effort goes into the detailing, so I avoid leaning over into the middle of the window during its creation.

When designing vegetation, I like to make it look like it’s in its later stages of life. This sets the stage for building character into the design, making it more exciting and suggesting motion.

I used iridized glass for the background to give the effect of late evening.

The vines were solder sculptured over finishing nails for strength, so reinforcing bars are unnecessary. I beveled small pieces of crystal to give the window a little sparkle as if ice had collected in the crooks of some of the limbs.

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

Every year, this time is an anniversary for me.

It marks my first deep appreciation for nature’s beauty.

I’m not sure where my thoughts were before, but I discovered the natural beauty around me in my late teens. I believe it developed from my first awareness of freedom of thought.

As my first major in college, I learned the biology of trees, from digging a five-foot hole in the forest floor to identifying species by their leaves and everything in between. Although this gave me an understanding of the science and was crucial to my overall appreciation, the forest’s aesthetics captured my imagination.

The individuality of each tree and its ever-changing crown symbolizes everything I believe in.

When I was 13, my mother took my brother, sister, and me to the Virginia State Fair.

I enjoyed seeing all the young animals, eating cotton candy and “elephant ears,” and riding on the rides that required me to be a certain height.

When I was 17, I drove my first car, an old Rambler, to the fair by myself, where I quickly began to discover areas my mother had managed to shield me from.

I was amazed and entertained by the variety of people I encountered. Some people liked each other, and some people seemed frazzled and distant. Some wore cowboy boots and some sandals. Some wore tight-fitting jeans; for some, their tight-fitting days were probably over. Even though I didn’t know anything about them, I thought that under different circumstances, some of us could become friends. There were others I avoided by moving to the opposite side of the corn dog booth. I was so disturbed by their actions that I accidentally ordered a snow cone.

There were “freaks” there, both human and animal. Some girls older than me seemed rather fond of feather boas and inviting people backstage. Agriculture students slid their hands up to their elbows into a cow’s lady parts and pulled a calf out by their front legs. There were also young adult farmers sleeping on blankets between their sheep.

Somewhere in my past, I remember hearing the word “melting pot.” On my way home, it occurred to me that not only was I beginning to understand the term, but that I had lived the experience.

Now, the reason I’m sharing this story with you is that, well, social media is like a melting pot. You can enjoy, learn, and share the diversity of what we have become, but you don’t have to reach into a cow’s lady parts and pull a calf out unless you want to.

Potatoes grow well in our zip code.

Living in the country, we can purchase a pickup truckload of aged manure for $5.00. Add in all the leaves, straw, grass, and leftover plant matter, and after 35 years, our garden is like potting soil.

Every year, we plant 3 to 4 rows of potatoes. We dig a hole, stuff a handful of straw in the bottom, place the cut portion of a potato with an “eye” in the hole, and cover it up.

Then, the magic begins. Moisture, air, nutrients, and sunlight stimulate the embryo. The mixture is slightly different every year and probably different for each plant. But the point is that all those slight variations are what give us variety in size, taste, texture, and freshness. And that’s why we grow our potatoes.

Now, I’m sharing this with you because, well, art is like a potato.

It’s a mystery – an idea germinating in that three-pound organ between our ears that is teaming with billions of neurons, transmitting signals to each other at 270 MPH. We barely know how it works and have virtually no control over it, but if one gives it a little time and a good environment, it almost always surprises us with something new.

This is not Norman Rockwell.

Most mornings, I peddle my stationary recumbent bike for about thirty minutes. Right above the controls is a place for my iPad, which helps the time pass quickly. I listen to a lot of music, but I also like documentaries about artists.

Many artists work alone, some in small groups, and some with their assistants. We’re a closely-knit group with much familiarity and support. In recent years, I have found that I need more diversity, not only from my peers but also from artists of the past.

There’s something special about understanding the history of one’s craft. I’m drawn to the lifestyle and the emotional connection.

Working in an old barn, heating with a wood stove, and rain on a tin roof connects me to a time long ago. It stimulates my values and obligation to protect and carry on the values of the past, which are the same as the ones I developed in myself during my lifetime.

How do I know this approach is right for me? It feels right.

I’m primarily relaxed, secure, and content in my life. My creative skills allow me to handle most of my challenges, and those that I can’t or only partially handle, I know that I gave my best effort.

When I first started cutting 1/4″ strips off of sheets of stained glass and working them over a flame, I became fascinated by how translucent the glass became. This was precisely what I had been looking for for years.

I immediately began cutting strips off of sheets of glass around the shop, experimenting with a wide range of colors. Some glass would change color, and some would almost go clear. I soon built a rack in my office to organize my experiments.

Sometimes, realizing the potential in a new idea is enough to “light the fire!”

My first project was this sample hanging, which is still in our kitchen. I gifted it to Marcia, an even more brilliant idea.

I was not a happy teenager.

Tired of having my life micro-managed, I began to withdraw. I wasn’t the type to cause trouble; I never saw it as a productive way to solve problems. I resigned that in a few years, I would be on my own and could live my life as I wanted.

As our children began to experience their teen years, I started to look for creative ways that would have made my teen years more pleasant and productive, hoping to pass them along to our children.

Taking them to work with me was a significant first step. It helped to reduce the parent-child relationship to a coworker one. We were equals, sharing each other’s knowledge for our common good.

We made suggestions through gestures, not words. By watching each other develop our skills, we both learned quickly and felt like teachers as well as learners.

It also made for the perfect time to talk about what they wanted. Did they want to live in Manhattan or a teepee in Montana? What did they look for in friendships, a mate, and a career? How important was money in their lives? How vital were children and spirality to them?

As they began to open up and realize they had some voice in their future, a calmness began to emerge, an inner acceptance of not only recognizing who they were but a positive feeling about themselves.

And this is the most important part: after choosing the most suitable time, tell them you are proud of them.

Sometimes, when building a window, I wonder if I should stop short of my original idea.

When I build a window like this one using my flame working, I always start with the back glass to attach my pieces to. I think of it as my canvas.

This allows me to move pieces around before using the UV adhesive to attach them. After I have attached several sections, I can lift the window to see its development.

This photograph was taken when I used the field around my shop to complete the window. It wouldn’t necessarily work in its final installation.

When I started my journey into being an artist/craftsman in 1972, I had a landline, library access, and a college degree in Sociology and forestry. My only financial resources were money from painting houses, which was how I paid for college. Oh, and I still had my old VW bus.

But most importantly, I had me. I have always been strong-willed, with what is today referred to as grit.

As my skills developed, I began to receive commissions from well-off people. This was quite a change from the environment I grew up in. Some saw a way to embellish their home with a unique object; some just liked me and the effort I put into my craft.

The contrast between visiting some of the homes I was invited to create a piece of my work for and my old farmhouse out in the country was quite dramatic. I remember becoming quite depressed as I would drive home in my old pickup, which, at times, I wasn’t sure it would make it.

It took me about five years to resolve my inner conflict. I attribute much of my change in attitude to realizing my freedom to be inner-directed, or as Abraham Maslow would say, to self-actualize.

When I was in college in Nacogdoches, Texas, I decided I wanted to live half of my life in the city and half in the country, half single and half married. This is the married county half.

I like people. Meeting someone new was exciting and usually led to new experiences and insight into the human experience. It gave me an education about humanity that I couldn’t find elsewhere.

It also helped me to learn more about myself. Watching people’s expressions and body language can often be more insightful than words. Observing how others organized and lived their lives helped broaden my outlook on life.

I was also protective of my time. I was on a mission to figure out what I wanted in life, and I thought it was unfair to others to enter into a serious relationship without knowing myself.

In my forties, I would go Contra dancing in Charlottesville on the weekends to socialize. Over the years, I made many wonderful friends and had many meaningful experiences.

One night, I was standing in line waiting for the dance to start, and I happened to glance down the line and saw the most adorable woman. I remember saying to myself, “Wayne, I think it’s all over,” we’ve been together ever since.

Have you ever been curious about people who rarely throw anything away and scabage for things that may be useful in the future? They usually have a plan or belief in their destiny.

I’m that way with my 1915 beveling equipment. It has five large wheels on cast iron bases and numerous attachments for special angles and effects. While most bevelers have adapted to the new diamond wheels, which are faster but give the glass a machine look, I stay true to the old wheels and grits and polishing compounds for a proper authentic look in my work.

This is my contribution to salvaging, maintaining, and making available a way of the past for the few who appreciate the marks of a craftsman.

John has a very similar approach to work and life. We incorporate many techniques that require a unique tool, jig, or gadget to help us make our work exceptional. Most of the time, we want to save money for something other than new equipment. This is where our collection of found objects comes into play.

Need an anvil? John shows up with a cut-off railroad rail. Need a steel table to weld on? John found one years ago and stored it in his garage.
An old oversized beach umbrella for a hot July day? A make-shift tool for removing oil filters? A cut-off ladder, hammers like I have never seen, and old pipe wrenches that actually work.

I’m especially fond of the miniature tool kit he carries on his belt. If you have a problem, John can fix it. The man is a walking mechanical engineer with tools.

Most beveling is on 3/16″ or 1/4″ glass with a 1/2″ bevel. I have beveled “miles and miles” this way for my projects and custom beveling for other studios.

I promised myself back in college that I would never go through life doing repetitive work, or, as we called it back then, being a “clog in the wheel.”

Being true to myself, I began beveling different thicknesses and colors of glass, pushing my skills with different angles. Soon, it seemed natural to work this way, creatively.

I arranged them in a carrying case 18″x 24″ and displayed each piece in a foam rubber cutout with black velvet as a background. It was an excellent addition to my presentations, portfolio of previous work, and drawings of how this new style of beveling could be used to create one-of-a-kind art glass windows.

One of the things I enjoy so much about my work is color.

Some glass artists say that glass is moody. It changes with the light throughout the day, influenced by the colors around it. It can also be both reflective and expressive.

This study combines both—a partial window in front of vegetation. The lines blurred into
abstraction, creating a kaleidoscope effect.

But more importantly, I find it interesting as I wrestle with the composition and its interplay of color, giving me a new visual experience.

When I moved to Bremo Bluff forty-two years ago, I promised to devote considerable time to Reading.

I have always liked the idea of carrying on a “conversation” with an author who otherwise I wouldn’t have the opportunity to because of unavailability or the difference in our life span.

I started by reading books cover to cover. I soon learned that most books contained several good ideas and evidence to support them but were time-consuming.

After acquiring a new book, I began exploring the index and table of contents to find information relevant to my interests. This approach worked rather well, moving me closer to efficiently educating myself.

Then, I began to look for a single idea—something new that would enrich my life. I needed not only the idea but also time to savor it, to roll it around in my mind to see how it would benefit me and how I could embellish it with my life experiences.

So, now I educate myself through snippets—ideas balanced with thought. I don’t have quite the volume as before, but I have more depth.

We created this window for an indoor space in a home in Bremo Bluff around 2022.

We took the bottom photograph outside the studio to document it in natural light, while the one above was in reflective light.

I’m especially pleased with the moon in the upper window. Its color works so well with the reflective light on the petals. The bottom moon is reminiscent of a ghost moon.

Extending the branches with copper wire that we soldered over to resemble natural branches allowed us to extend the blossoms for a three-dimensional effect.

I always recommend a dimmer switch or a small chandelier to add character and movement to a stained-glass window, sometimes giving a room a lamp effect.