“When I’m gone …”

Did I write that?

Well, I won’t be gone any day soon, because there’s still a whole lot of hair in my blender, even though it’s been getting a lot of  punishing use these last three months …

See right.

And that’s just a small part of it (unfired at the front; fired at the back). All five workbenches are stacked with painted sections from the tycoon’s 16 stained glass skylights.

Nearly all painted and stained. Nearly all fired.

Very soon, we’ll be leading the windows. (No cementing, thank goodness.)

And then it’s “job done”.

I’ll come back to these skylights in a moment.

For now, remember how, a while back, Stephen showed you a gorgeous face of Saint Peter, which our colleague, Fábio Fonseca, was restoring in Brazil? Well, Fábio has just finished the restoration he was doing on these windows:

Restoration by Fábio Fonseca in Brazil

Now while he was doing this – and this will also happen to you when you get to see a window really close up – he discovered the studio which made the windows:

Mayer of Munich

It’s thrilling when this happens – a living, private and strangely intimate connection with the past …

And I remember how, a few years back, Stephen and I restored these windows by Burne-Jones’s studio:

The east window, Saint Mary's, Whitton, made by Edward Burne-Jones' studio

We lovingly took them apart, and did our business, when all of a sudden, this is what we found inscribed upon one small piece of glass:

The painter's name

The painter’s name. This was so small, I don’t think anyone had ever seen it between the painter (when he scratched his name in 1893) and us (when we restored the glass in 2007).

Which returns me to the tycoon’s stained glass skylights, and this pile here:

At the front, corner-squares awaiting firing

At the back, inscriptions which we’ve painted, stained and fired. At the front, corner-squares waiting to be fired. And I’d like to draw your attention to those ones in particular. Here’s the design:

The design for the corner-squares

Well, examine the glass closely – like someone will do at the end of the 21st century – and this is what you’ll find on just one of them:

Example corner-square from the tycoon's stained glass skylights

It’s our maker’s mark.

Close-up

So, when I in another place – not that I’m morbid or anything! – our mark will still be staring down from high above.

Which is, when you think about it, a large part about what making things is all about.

The tycoon's broken square

And speaking of making things, Stephen just told me he’ll soon be writing to you privately about something he saw last week.

(He was working in London for a few days, so I expect he went to a couple of art galleries.)

He also said he’s finished a short film about a restoration job we did (read about the project here), which he’ll also tell you about. So look out for his message. I’ve seen the trailer, and the film looks really useful: quick and simple, which is how we like it.

Happy glass painting!

P.S. Of course, Stephen can only write to you if you’ve joined the newsletter. So if you haven’t, please do so here.

OK, your stained glass design - what must it show?

Which is not the best question … -

Rather, who is the design for?

Who must the design instruct, guide or persuade?

A committee? A patron? A priest? A businesswoman or man? Their secretary?

A journalist maybe?

Or is it “just” for you, the glass painter?

Yes, the design must be “fit for purpose”, we can all agree on that.

But this means you must first decide which purpose – or purposes – it must be fit for.

So if you have several important purposes which can’t all be met by one version of the design, then you maybe will need several different versions of the design.

Don’t get upset at this – don’t “shoot the messenger” …

I’m just telling you how things are.

Anyway, here’s what we often do. And even if you decide to do things differently yourself, I’ve got a really useful tip for you – just read through to the end. And enjoy the pictures along the way!

This works for us

Now here at Williams & Byrne, we often prepare three or four versions which are each “finished” in their own particular way.

One design .

One design which convinces the client yet doesn’t mislead them.

This is usually a scale design like this one here, with some important details left out; and I’ll say a lot more about this another time.

Often we’ll also put this sketch in context. For example, here’s an outside photo of the church – you see the kind of ancient place it is.

So … here’s our sketch-in-context.

Two design ..

Often we also do a black-and-white version which is only for us – the glass painters. This shows us the main lines and shadows like this design here.

Three design …

Then one in colour, often full-sized like this one here.

Maybe we’ll show this to the client before we start … or maybe we won’t.

It depends. You see, it’s important not to mislead the client, and full-sized colour designs can often confuse the untrained eye e.g. because non-glass painters find it hard to judge colour as we can (it’s our job, after all).

But, even if we don’t show it to the commissioning client, this version of the design will anyway be useful for journalists.

It’s also very useful for other clients, especially when they’re deciding whether it’s us they want to commission.

They see it. They agree it’s beautifully done. And this assures them we’re good at what we do. (And if they seem worried about the amount of preparation we intend to do, that’s very useful for us to see.)

Not forgetting – four!

And then there is also the cut-line … That’s just as much a “design” as all the others.

And the rule is …

So how many versions do you need?

There’s no fixed rule. You must decide what works best for you.

Then just do it.

If there is a rule, it’s this – never avoid work on the design … never do anything less what you must in order to do the best work you can.

OK, OK – I know time is money. Believe me, I know how time is money.

But let me tell you something else.

Time is also … time.

Your painted glass might last 100 years or more – so what’s the mad rush to start painting?

Make the design your own – even if (especially if) it’s someone else’s

Even if you don’t do designs like ours, here’s an important quick tip …

When I’m using another person’s design, I nearly always begin by using tracing paper to make my own copy of its lines. Maybe I’ll even do this two or three times … – this is my way of making the image mine, of preparing myself to paint it. (It’s a bit like an actor rehearsing their words.)

And here’s the reason …

If I make a complete mess of the image just copying it on tracing paper – with a pencil, which is really easy – what chance do I stand of doing it well with brush on glass with paint (which is trickier by far)?

So that’s what I suggest you also do … like if you use any of our designs – first make your own copy with pencil and paper. It’s time well spent.

The point is, keep at the paper version until you really get to know the image. Just keep on making traced copies on paper until you have one you really like … – Then it’s yours to paint on glass.

You’ll see the difference.

Preparation is everything. So rehearse the lines and shapes before you paint them onto glass “for real”. Like I said, you’ll see the difference.

Now one last point.

I know many of you also teach others about stained glass painting. Well, my point is, get your students to make their own hand-drawn copy of the lines you want them to paint on glass. Don’t just let them use a photocopy or computer print-out. It doesn’t matter if their hand-drawn copy differs slightly from the original, because their confidence will grow.

A calm glass painter always paints better than an anxious one.

Best,

P.S. In my next post, I want to say something about suppliers. You know, the people you pay to send you the materials you need to do your work. You’ll enjoy this story! Yes, on the one hand, there are good suppiers like PELI Glass and Reusche. On the other hand … well, you’ll see there’s one supplier we use as rarely as possible. And I’m going to tell you why. Yes, you’ll enjoy this story. And the supplier is … – ?

Any guesses?

Until next time! – “How not to look after your customers”!

P.P.S. I also want to tell you what’s important about Damian Hirst’s skull. It’s another very important point about how to value and price the work you do. But that’s all coming up after I explain why we rarely use this particular supplier …

P.P.P.S. Your comments or questions: please write to me directly here this time because I’m away from the studio a lot right now but I always have my iPhone with me. Thank you!

When someone visits us to learn, we always start with silhouettes. It’s never yet mattered how experienced they were, silhouettes always make a good place from which to start.

The reason is, silhouettes require all kinds of skills which the beginner can exercise in a beginning kind of way, whilst the experienced glass painter can push them to their limits.

See, when you paint silhouettes, you deepen your understanding of many different consistencies of paint – light, dry paint for undercoating: then slightly darker paint for tracing and strengthening: finally, thick “melted chocolate” paint for flooding.

So the point is: silhouettes are great training. And if you teach glass painting, you should really think about how to get your students doing them. If on the other hand you paint glass “for yourself”, silhouettes make great practice.

But that’s not the whole point. Which is the topic I want to introduce today. Just briefly, mind …

It’s Saturday mid-day, the sun is shining, and our local 16th century pub is hosting a beer festival in its garden …

The point is, silhouettes make great designs. It’s easy to see why. Yes, stained glass painting is all about colour and transmitted light. But maybe more than that, it’s about light and dark.

Combine colour with light and dark, and you have a winning team.

That’s why, at Williams & Byrne, we regularly use silhouettes in the panels we make.

If you’ve know us for some time, you’ll remember this window we made for the crime novelist Kate Charles and her dauntingly intellectual husband Rory:

Silhouettes of Kate and Rory in their personal stained glass window

And just recently we were approached by the man whose job it is to oversee the computer systems on which our secret agents lodge their tax returns …

Yes, our clients are interesting to talk to!

He wanted five small bird panels.

Here’s David’s black-and-white sketch for one about ravens:

Stained glass ravens

And now see how, with a bit of colour, the design bursts into life:

David's colour sketch for stained glass ravens

All five panels are finished now.

They look like jewels.

We’ll fit them next week and then you’ll see what I mean.

In the meantime, just give some thought to how you can use silhouettes in your own work: whether you’re starting out or looking for new and exhilerating ideas, I promise you: silhouettes will serve you well.

Now to “The Sun” for a pint of Shropshire beer!

P.S. For anyone who wants to learn the technique of painting stained glass silhouettes, you’ll find lots of useful guidance in this download here and on these DVDs.

Stained glass design and its greatest risk

Before I tell you about the greatest risk I face today, let me remind you of this obvious truth …

Namely, that stained glass designs – ours and yours – are used by different people in very different ways.

Yes, as I said, it’s obvious when you stop and think about it – yet the excitement and adventure and exhaustion of designing can sometimes make us blind.

The point is, even though the client is paying, you’re still making him/her a “gift”.

And the thing about gift-giving is, it works best when you give someone what they want.

Just so: in last week’s case, the tycoon needed one thing to know we understood his wants, but we humble glass painters will need something very different to shade and trace his window.

You might prefer new glass but the client wants old glass - the front design is for him, the design behind is for the glass painters

And the tycoon’s bodyguard – big brute of a fellow with a badly mended nose and two fingers missing on his left hand (in case you ever see him) – would have thrown us out of the boardroom if we had forgotten to prepare an ancient-looking version of his master’s ferocious lion.

There! I’ve told you.

Most people imagine lead poisoning is the greatest risk I face with Stephen.

It is not.

It is our various clients’ bodyguards and assorted henchmen if we fail to please their masters!

But let’s now concern ourselves with shared dangers -  dangers we all face, no matter who your clients are. So listen to this useful – painful – tale …

Other dangers we all face

It can’t break your arm. It can’t eject you from a room. But flattery is a terrible danger.

Like when someone says, “Go on, do this for me, I know you’ll do it so well,” and you go and do it, even though it’s not the kind of thing you usually do. So you’re flattered into doing a favour, which, in business as in life, can have very costly consequences.

It’s also possible to be unduly influenced by the prospect of money. Yes, money can certainly meddle with our capacity for hard-nosed and objective thought.

Myself I’ve never ceased to be astonished by how many forms some people are prepared to fill in to qualify for a grant.

They think it’s free money.

Actually it’s expensive time they could otherwise use in better, happier ways.

But they don’t see this. No. They get very skillful at completing forms, and then all Hell breaks loose when grants dry up.

“It’s so unfair,” they say, “Society should support the Arts”. Which is true.

But it’s not the same as saying, “Society should support people who are good at applying for grants”.

Now we are human too, at Williams & Byrne. Oh yes, indeed. Very human. Which means you won’t be surprised to learn how flattery and money have sometimes taken us astray.

But like Stephen said last time, mistakes are important.

In fact they’re so important, we don’t intend to keep them to ourselves.

I’ll start the story now and make my point, then tell you the outcome some other time. Here’s how it began, this tale of the literary agent’s sitting room window …

The literary agent's sitting room window - B.W&B ("Before Williams & Byrne")

The literary agent’s sitting rooom window – part 1

It began with flattery.

The literary agent did not wish to flatter us. It was completely our fault.

He didn’t flatter us. We – were flattered …

Not by his list of world-famous authors, many of whom dine regularly at his house. And, boy, wouldn’t we like a commission from some of them!

Nor were we even flattered by the house itself with its beautiful rooms, gorgeous furniture and breath-taking views.

No, we were flattered – by the prospect of adventure.

But in case you imagine this will become a different kind of tale to the one it is, let me quickly remind you that a glass painter’s idea of adventure is not the same as Indiana Jones’ …

It was the innocent words, “Brigitte Bardot” which did it for me and Stephen.

The agent wanted us to paint Brigitte Bardot on glass.

Brigitte Bardot …

On glass …

Now I’ve done more biblical scenes than I care to remember.

So I was like that lost man in a desert to whom you say, “Would you (really?) like a drink of water …?”

All that research we could do, all those films we could watch, the tales we could tell. (Well, as it happens, we have this one!)

Yet both of us should have known better. You see, even though we don’t have a house style – so long as we’re permitted and also paid to do something well, that’s good enough for us – we should have realized this just wasn’t our style, and never could be. It was just too distant from anything we were used to: it was more like illustration, which is fine for other people but not for us.

But we didn’t listen to our “inner glass painter”.

Worse still, as the agent listed more and more images he wanted for his sitting room, we became more and more seduced … seduced now not only by the adventure but also by the challenge:

The literary agent’s (many) demands …

So first he wanted Brigitte Bardot:

"Brigitte Bardot? Yes, sir!"

Then there was his cat:

"Your cat? Hmmmmmmm ... OK"

Would we also include Henry Miller?

"Ah, that's much better! What excellent taste!"

And Bill Haley?

"As you wish!"

And what about the Yorkshire Rose? (This literary agent is a Yorkshire-man …)

"Well, alright, if that's what you really want - here's a quick sketch"

Now something to remind our agent of his happy days at university - his college coat of arms, that won’t be difficult, will it?

"Yes, we can do that ... but where is all this going?"

“Room for one more?” the literary agent said. “Good! I’d like my own silhouette as well – me as a young man please!”

"Can't see why not - not now, at any rate!"

So all this work, all these designs … and we hadn’t even got to the five large panels at the bottom yet …

We tried and we tried and we tried.

But nothing came together. It was – “all over the place”.

"Sorry, Brigitte - you're amazing but you're not our style!"

And in my heart I always knew we should have been wise to our instinct, we should have refused the bait, we should have had the confidence of our convictions, we should have said:

“Exciting ideas, wonderful ideas, but it’s just not the kind of work that we do well.”

But we didn’t.

It wasn’t the literary agent’s fault. In no way was he to blame.

It was our error of judgment, our beautifully designed error of judgment. Completely our mistake.

Days – weeks! – of self-congratulatory design work in the studio … They bore no fruit. Except this tale!

Thank goodness now we’re wiser. Lesson learned.

And you know what?

I’ve changed my mind.

Give me psychopathic bodyguards any day.

Better them – than flattery!

Best,

David Williams
of
~ Williams & Byrne ~
A.K.A.
“The glass painters who said ‘No’ to Brigitte Bardot”

P.S. Everything worked out fine in the end. We fitted the agent’s windows last week: a completely different theme, thank goodness! Not a Brigitte Bardot in sight … These new windows suit the house. They fit the views. The literary agent loves them. They were the kind of windows that we make well. As I said, lesson learned!

P.P.S. Remember this – the double-DVD is packed with techniques and stunning close-up video of kiln-fired stained glass painting as it’s really done. Plus it comes with a full 60-day risk-free money-back guarantee. 60-days! Get your copy here.

For ourselves (our egos)? Or for the client?

"Who am I for?"

(As promised last time, a return to objective points of interest! Thank you so much for your good wishes. I am reminded how a Japanese journalist once asked us why we taught and shared. Our reply was, “Open doors will keep the studio … fresh“. And you, dear readers, are like fresh air to us: thank you!)

OK, so imagine you come up with a wonderful idea for your client, and now you also worked it up into a gorgeous full-sized – maybe even full-colour – design …

And the last thing you (you, a designer, an artist, a maker, a glass painter, a student – or however you see yourself) will want to do with this wonderful design is … muck it up and kick the !>@?! out of it, right?

Yes, right, but also wrong. Because of course, it all depends.

Goodness me, yes, it’s hard to “wreck” a design. But sometimes that’s what you just must do to show you understand what’s needed.

Of course it’s difficult – because you’ve spent so long on it. And we often want people to see how clever and talented we are with paints and brushes. (It’s only human! Goodness me, how human I am!)

But – mostly – that’s not the point.

Mostly the point is, to show we understand.

Especially when we’re being paid, yes paid to make a window our clients will live with, or worship in front of, or work beside for many, many years to come.

Our own egos don’t matter here – because we’ll be designing and painting other windows (and getting our joy from that) when our clients, their friends or colleagues or fellow-worshippers are still enjoying that window we designed and painted oh! so many years ago.

So sometimes you have to do this with designs: you have to use all your energy to make them “perfect”, then – trash them / pull them back / let them go their own way / muck them up and kick the !>@?! out of them.

Whatever! Whatever it takes to show you understand what the building needs – what the people who use the building need.

Just so the other day …

David had finished the most lovely, clean, bright and readable painting for one of our tycoons. (Yes, we have several tycoons for clients, because it’s important each one understands he’s unique as a person but not as a tycoon. Otherwise they tend to throw their weight around.)

The tycoon's rose window - work in progress

We were about to send it off, and get the contract sealed with that most pleasing sign of commercial trust, a 50% deposit … when we remembered this tycoon doesn’t like “new”. In fact he loathes it: he hates “new”. Sure, things must be newly made, but they mustn’t look like that. They must appear authenticated by time. It doesn’t matter if his “new” things are falling apart with age – if they’re well made, and after 500 years they’d be falling apart, then that’s exactly what he wants. Even though you painted them last week.

Now maybe you already know it’s David who designs and paints, and I – well, I copy. I don’t mind that at all. I have full and majestic admiration for anyone and everyone who has devoted their life to art. But I have not done that. (I am not ashamed, nor am I proud. It is just how things are.) Anyway, so David had prepared this most gorgeous painting.

And suddenly we both thought, to seal the contract, well, actually, we’d need to muck it up and kick the !>@?! out of it.

You’re maybe thinking, that’s not hard at all. “Just spill some paint … Easy!”

All I’d say: it’s very easy doing this to someone else’s work! (Imagine doing it to your own!)

Before the "damage" ... the tycoon's "new" design (diameter 1.25 meters / 4 feet and a few inches)

By the same token it was easy for me to encourage David, to whisper in his ear, to strengthen his conviction that, when he “destroyed” his painting, we were actually showing our client … we understood!

If we are cruel, and I know we often are, it is always to improve our understanding of what it is our clients want: it’s like gladiators vs. slaves in Ancient Rome. We really do attack ourselves. And always because what matters most is – to get the right window in this particular building, with a sense of what this client wants, plus a wise guess as to what later generations might wish to see.

The point is, not to let self-satisfaction ever get the better of us. It’s the window which matters, and the eyes and soul of everyone who gazes at her.

This is what the Tycoon wants - and this is what he shall get!

Is such violence justified?

Extract from this morning’s letter from the Tycoon’s architect:

“Dear David, I am delighted to confirm our acceptance of your quote as listed below … “

Result to David – which it would not have been if he hadn’t “wrecked” (a copy of!) his original design.

And so ends the tale of a terrible mistake we nearly made. Boy, it was such a near miss: we were so pleased with the “new” design and nearly didn’t see the terrible mistake we might have made.

P.S. Of course the “new” design will not be wasted because it’s exactly what we need to do our work.

P.P.S. Next time, more about design because last Monday we fitted some fine windows which the client loves but – goodness me! – it took a huge amount of work to agree what it was we should make. What did we learn from this? Yes, we’ll tell you everything (especially our mistakes). And if you’re interested in design or how to handle clients, it will definitely help and “strike a chord” with you. Until next time when we begin the tale of “The Literary Agent’s Sitting Room Window”. Yes, many mistakes – because people are wonderfully complex.

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Continuing our short series on how we glass painters can sometimes escape – or do I mean, disguise? – the leaden bonds which hold us.

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Mephistopheles Stephen

"Where did I come from?"

How does a stained glass design evolve?

With a precedent, that’s for sure.

All the same, it’s important to know when to stop …

Here’s a small step-by-step gallery from the studio case book.

Leaf through the images and read the captions.

Click a photo to show next.

There’s also a Back button, top-left.

Knowing when to stop

This post is a partial answer to a series of question from an esteemed colleague in France.

Norman – sorry for the delay in writing back! We do take all questions seriously and with great interest. It sometimes takes time to present the full answer.

We’ll say more on another occasion.

For now, we’ll conclude with the observation that ladle and keys are attributes of Saint Martha.

So is a broom.

But we know when to stop …

Horse before the Cart

Right now the next bit is really important to your work.

If you’re going to follow Picasso’s advice and steal, it’s essential you do things the right way round.

Know what you want.

Then go out and find it.

David knew from the dimensions how he had to have a half-kneeling figure.

He also knew there was no way I was going to dress up and model for him on this occasion.

It has been known. My greatest role to date is the Blessed Nicholas Wheeler.

Despite the success of the studio, I am always open to offers.

So we ransacked our art books until we found a suitable image.

I’m so glad we did.

Otherwise just imagine the initial sketch design – not sure I’m completely happy as St. Martha …

"The things I get to do ...!"

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“Plating” is the leading up of two or more glasses of the same shape, one behind the other.

Here’s what E. Liddall Armitage has to say on the matter:

“Some artists resort to plating and even tend to boast about it, but it is best avoided” (Stained Glass, Leonard Hill Books Limited, London, 1960, p. 130).

He presents two arguments. First, that it is unsound craftsmanship. Second, that medieval glass is beautiful and never, ever plated.

Before discussing these arguments, we must make an admission of special interest here.

Namely, that the soon-to-be-installed Hereford window is plated over maybe one-third of its area.

Painted, silver stained and plated glass on the glazing shelf, awaiting glazing ...

Even stained glass moves on …

We can easily side-step Liddall Armitage’s second argument.

After all, it is too general. This is now the 21st century. We can all admire medieval glass without being honour-bound never to innovate beyond that which was achieved during the 12th and 13th centuries.

But unsound craftsmanship – that’s a serious charge to make.

Unsound – or not?

Liddal Armitage raises three concerns:

1. There is always the risk of one of the pieces cracking
2. It is difficult to prevent cement from running between the two pieces of glass
3. There is likely to be condensation between the two pieces of glass

Here are our thoughts:

1. There is always the risk of any glass cracking, whether plated or not. Plating in itself does not increase this risk (whereas, of course, poor firing and/or clumsy handling certainly do)
2. It’s easy (although time-consuming) to seal the glass with copper-foil or similar, and thereby stop cement from running between them. Context permitting (see below) it is also possible to use putty, not cement, to give rigidity to the window
3. Most modern buildings, unlike medieval churches, are double-glazed. So, once you’ve settled the question of how to fix the stained glass against the double-glazing on the inside, condensation is not likely to be a problem, least ways when the double-glazing has been properly done

Context

More and more, all of us who design and paint stained glass will have to come to terms with fixing our work against double-glazing.

Yes, it often impoverishes the outside aspect. But there’s no point being precious here. It’s the way the world is.

As it happens, the outside aspect is not a consideration in Hereford’s case: the keepers of the crematorium don’t want people peeping in while others mourn. So we can use the glazing in our favour.

Also, the external glazing exactly means we have little to fear from condensation, so therefore plating is an option (as is hand-puttying, because the external double-glazing is protecting the stained glass from weather and wind).

And why then did we chose to plate? Why might you sometimes choose to plate?

Why plate?

Here’s the commonest reason:

People most often plate because that’s the best way to achieve a very particular shade or tint

This is perfectly understandable. So much glass is machine-made that there is not now the accidental and lovely variety we once found when all glass was made by hand. We have sacrificed beauty for predictability. Plating, in some measure, can restore the subtle vocabulary that modern production methods have lost.

But that wasn’t our reason.

Our reason was all to do with design, painting and silver-staining.

By “design”, we don’t just mean the physical cartoons which convince the client and which serve as our map and compass whilst we are cutting and working the glass.

No, “design” also has a larger meaning here, because no drawing or painting on paper can fully express what must eventually be done on glass in order for the glass to be faithful to the underlying artistic idea.

Here’s what happened with us on this specific project.

As we worked the glass, we saw that some painting simply had to be pushed back further than could be achieved simply by painting on the back of a single piece of glass.

Thus, whilst the traced lines and some shading were painted on the front of the first piece of glass, some shading simply had to be painted on the front of the second piece of glass.

With silver stain, our argument was different.

You see, we have a range of clear, slightly-textured Polish glass which stains exquisitely and with as much subtlety as you could desire.

What’s more, it’s also predictable.

Now predictability is useful exactly because some glass and colours, by virtue of their chemical composition, range from being difficult to impossible to stain.

But, with the help of this clear and subtly textured Polish plating, we knew we could chose whatever colour we needed for the first piece of glass – and always be confident that we could add the effect of silver stain to the second piece.

Installation

Glass on the easel awaiting glazing, and it's "wait and see" for now

This happens in a few weeks’ time.

We’re confident of our assessment. But we’re just the designer-painters. It’s other people who count. And what really matters is the effect of the glass on their emotions.

Yes, crematoria are difficult. Unlike churches, whoever heard of something happy happening there?

So it’ll also be interesting to see if the donor gets his way and is allowed to hold a “swinging party” there – which will be after-hours of course.

Here’s an interesting story from our our colleague, Ebel Rispens, who lives in Groningen in The Netherlands.

It’s in response to our recent post about sunlight and stained glass design.

Ebel writes:

It’s a fact that Piet Mondrian never ever made or designed a stained glass window.

And do you know why?

He refused to have anything to do with stained glass because he thought it was one of the ugliest things that anyone could do with colours …

Well, I am sure we’ve all seen some stained glass windows which make us wish that Thomas Cromwell were alive today.

And I am also sure it’s sometimes fun to make provocative and witty remarks.

Yet I only need to walk around some of the art on display in London’s Tate Modern to remind myself why we are glad to practice a craft.

As with mainstream art, so with the craft of stained glass: it’s often the content and the design which appear to transcend rational appraisal, and – worse – simply become the victim of fashion.

But at least there are clear standards about whether a stained glass window has been skilfully painted and assembled.

At least the making is subject to objective scrutiny and judgment.

And at least this process of making something well is something which demands to be enjoyed for its own sake – even when it happens to be your livelihood.

The Journalist Rings

Bless her, she’d been asked to write an article for next February’s Homes & Gardens (and she’d rung us five months early because she knew how busy we get …):

“I’m writing about buying and using stained glass and I’ve been looking at your website with great interest …

(What a lovely journalist, I thought.)

… I need to find out about the various options available to buy, and also who can restore them …

… Can you help me please?”

Her voice was friendly enough, but I must admit I was immediately on my guard.

Like you, I’ve seen plenty of cases where words have mysteriously changed their context, or had their qualfications left out, and that’s the last thing anyone needs when the subject’s stained glass restoration.

So we proceded as gingerly as Kennedy and Khrushchev discussing missile placements on the lovely island of Cuba.

And one of things we talked about was how stained glass can be re-sized.

It’s a familiar problem.

A piece made for one particular setting has been removed and must now be made to fit a new setting.

And I was duly reminded of this classic example from our casebook of stained glass adventures and challenges.

The Loving Couple

Some time back, our client approached us with two magnificent pieces of painted stained glass. Here’s one of them:

"Please make me 60 inches taller!"

Naturally, this elegant gentleman was accompanied by a demurely blushing damsel.

The task:

To transform these two pieces, each one measuring 12 inches across by 18 inches high,  into a pair of stained glass windows, each one measuring 26 inches across by 78 inches high.

Now, to perform this kind of operation, you have to respect the spirit of the original, whilst also taking into account the new location.

If I tell you that the new location was an ornately gilded dressing room within an 18th century mansion across the sea on mainland Europe, then you’ll see that a great many options were swiftly ruled out.

Our client being a person of considerable influence, we gave the matter our deepest thought.

And then we remembered our priceless book of leaded light designs from 1615.

Our personal copy dates from 1895. Here’s the splendid frontispiece:

How we found inspiration in an ancient Manuscript (and you can too)

Let me translate:

Book of sundry drafts

principally serving for glaziers

and not impertinent for plasterers and gardeners

besides sundry other professions

Surely this 400-year old collection of leaded lights would prove to be our inspiration!

We spent a happy hour reminding ourselves of these exquisite designs.

And then we came across this one here:

"Eureka!"

We were away!

The first task was, with surgical precision (not to mention our ruler and set square), to use the original scale drawing to map out the full-sized cut-line. (Those of you who’ve mapped out “simple” diamond quarries will know that a job like this takes time and patience.) You can see here how, in the middle, we prepared a space for the original stained glass (from which we had taken a “rubbing”):

The full-sized cut-line

The second task was, with equal care, to cut the glass. Here we used glass that was made specially for us by our nearby glass blower. (Machine-rolled glass would all have been too uniform and lifeless.)

Finally, the assembly: with a geometric pattern like this one, the leading had to be exact …

Careful leading for ...

… with neatly abutting leads (or else the soldering will fail):

... a client of considerable Influence

Once cemented and polished, we had a look:

Finished

Our lips began to quiver. Our eyes went moist. We knew the day would soon come when we would be obliged to return the glass to its rightful owner.

It never gets any easier to say goodbye!

At least these windows had once been ours to look at.

Original Designs from 1615

It’s no exaggeration to say these designs are extraordinary.

Just imagine if more stained glass windows had such richness and complexity.

Are you interested?