Commissions and Collaborations

Throughout its history, stained glass has been tied to architecture. Even today, despite the occasional gallery show of autonomous works, stained glass as an art form has not strayed very far from its architectural context. There a number of reasons for this: Practically, a structure of glass and lead becomes extremely unwieldy beyond a certain size, and needs to be supported in a strong, rigid framework. Aesthetically, stained glass is best appreciated when it controls most or all of the light in a space. Moreover, there is a wonderful richness that comes from the interaction between a setting and a window designed for it. Add to this the high material and overhead costs of working in the medium, and it is not surprising that commissioned work in architectural settings is a mainstay for most stained glass artists.

As an artist whose work is mostly commissioned projects, I feel pleased and lucky to be able to make a living at stained glass. Nevertheless, like others in my field, I have had to find a balance between the constraints of the commissioning process and my own need for artistic integrity and creative freedom. This is not often easy, as clients, architects and the building itself all make demands, which must at least be considered, if not accommodated.

The most challenging commissions for me are those that involve working with ideas or images supplied by others. Sometimes this comes about through choice, as when I decide to incorporate other artistic elements to achieve a particular effect. Other times, choice has not really been a factor.

One such commission was a stained glass project our studio did recently for the clerestory windows in the resource center at J.W. Watson Public School. The project began when an architect saw a presentation of my work and asked me to design for the site.

The assignment was deceptively simple - create a work which would provide a joyful and colorful environment, and which would express the idea of hope. So far so good. But there was a wrinkle; a condition of the project was that it would require participation by the schoolchildren in the creation of the window.

As much as I enjoy children, I could not at first imagine how this could practically be done. Designing a window with 500 helpers was out of the question; and the alternative - involving them in the cutting and glazing - was unthinkable. The prospect of hundreds of students traipsing through the studio, leaning against glass shelves and poking at cullet boxes, had me decidedly hysterical. At that point, I was ready to say no.

However, on thinking it over, I came up with another approach. This would involve gathering drawings on paper from the students, and transferring them onto selected sections of the window.

As I began to think it through, the first thing I realized was that window would need to be based on a strong image, which could unify the many types and sizes of drawings I expected to get. In my design I used a rainbow image, with an iridescent arc reserved for the incorporation of drawings. After working through the technical details and doing some test panels, I presented my ideas and the preliminary design to the board administrators, school principal, art consultant and the architects. The response was good, and I got the go-ahead. The planning began.

The logistical requirements of the "Rainbow Project" (as it came to be called), were nearly as daunting as the artistic ones. The project would need to be organized with the precision of an airlift, and yet be a pleasant, creative and fun artistic exercise for 500 students. After several weeks of collaborative planning, the preparations were complete.

On the assigned day, the entire student body gathered in the school gymnasium for a massive assembly. I made a slide presentation about stained glass to the students, giving them a little of its history, and the techniques used, and showing them slides of several projects I have done. Art consultant Wayne Rose and I then described the proposed project to the children and distributed paper and thick black markers. We asked the students to create a picture - specifically, a line drawing of something that gave them happiness. In the busy chatter that followed, I could see taking shape all around me the many different visions that the theme had inspired in the children.

Once the children had done their drawings, we gathered them up, with the help of the art consultant and teachers. Back in the studio, I arranged the drawings on the cartoon and began preparing the glass (see "Technique" below for process). In bringing the drawings into the piece, I made sure to incorporate them all, rather than making selections based on "good" or "bad" art. While it wasn't easy to make them all fit and work together, I think the result more than made up for any of the difficulties.

In terms of techniques, this window was a traditional lead-glazed piece with sandblasting; but in terms of artistic development, it opened up some new doors for me. As a unique example of client demands shaping the art, it made me think about the relationship between artist, building, architect and client in the commissioning process.

Life would be simple if we were just given a project and complete artistic freedom. But this very rarely happens. Architects, clients, and others who will be using the building each have their own ideas of what they want for the window. Architects, for example, may expect the window to modulate and color the light in a particular way. Clients will have preferences as to whether the piece should be abstract or figurative; bold or subtle. Often they have an image or concept they want portrayed in the window.

All these views must be respected and carefully considered, but they alone cannot make up the design. If the artist has made compromise after compromise, trying to accommodate everyone's wishes, the final result will look as if it was designed by committee - which it has been. Instead, the artist needs to manage and reconcile the demands of the building, the site, and the people involved, and still create work which reflects their own vision for the space.

In my initial presentation for a project, I tell the architects and clients how I work - and part of this is letting them know, as diplomatically as I can, what our respective roles will be. At this meeting, I tell the clients that I may come back with a design proposal they did not expect, and I usually do. But the design I come back with will be my carefully considered and honest artistic response to the site.

As I draw, I consider the requests and suggestions that were given, and work them into the design as I can - but only where they will strengthen it. Throughout the process, I am constantly aware that the ultimate responsibility for the art is mine.

Given the different pressures already present in commissioned work, you may wonder why I would even consider adding anyone else to the mix by voluntarily collaborating on a project. (Sometimes, in the middle of these projects, I have wondered the same thing). One reason is that in some cases, the addition of another artistic element can help resolve problems presented by the commission, as for example, when the architecture calls for an additional sculptural element in the framing.

Another reason can be found in the creative benefits that can result. Other artists bring different viewpoints, techniques, or vision to the project, and this often adds an exciting dimension to the final result.

Whether collaboration happens through choice or necessity, I have found that success in these situations depends on certain principles, which are just an extension of those I use when working within the commissioning process. They are: incorporate the work of others in an appropriate and meaningful way; maintain a strong vision; and maintain ultimate artistic control over the project.

In the Rainbow Project, the strong design helped me to set and maintain the artistic structure for the piece; the drawings made a wonderful addition to the piece, which acted as an interesting pattern from a distance, and as an exciting level of detail close up. They served to enhance the work without dominating it.

The Rainbow Project has blossomed into further commissions for schools - all specifically designed for their unique sites. At Thornhill Public School the entranceway, built in the 1920's, was transformed with "Rise and Shine", a theme based on images of the sun and a theme of "eternal time". The unifying image here was based on a clock, which playfully incorporated slivers of timepieces, roman numerals, the Babylonian timetable and an astrological clock. Student drawings were incorporated in a part of the piece representing the "celestial universe".

An important lesson for me has been to see the excitement and pleasure with which the children greeted the artwork at both of the schools. Once, at Thornhill Public School, I was talking to staff in the entranceway when a young girl stopped to look for her drawing, which was of her school sitting on top of the world . After a time, she found it, and she took great delight in pointing it out to her classmates.

This sense of ownership was wonderful to see, and it came about thanks to the particular situation and requirements of commissioned work. By reconciling the demands of the commission with my own requirements for artistic integrity, I was able to create an artistically genuine work that was also meaningful to the community.

Technique

The site for the project was 7 clerestory windows for the resource center of J.W. Watson Public School. The work measures 5' high, and totals 23' in length. The stained glass design employs a graceful arc which echoes the curved exterior wall of the resource center.

Architect Virginia Jaeger arranged for the 7 columns positioned along the curved wall to be painted in a spectral progression as an extension of the window design.

In the window the coloured vertical strips pass through the spectrum using a variety of antique glass, mixed with the occasional rolled texture. The primary consideration was the tone and purity of colour. Cast jewels and crystals were used at random intersections.

Varying diagonal lines sliced through the long horizontal work to create uneven shifts and momentum. A thin line of heavily textured iridescent glass runs along the sandblasted iridescent arc, with unexpected stops and starts adding another layer of dimension. The moon, stars and childrens' drawings in the centre panel were created through sandblasting on blue flashed glass. A vinyl masking was used as a resist.

To create the "rainbow" of childrens' art, the line drawings collected from the students were collaged on the cartoon (full-size drawing) on the workbench. A sheet of clear, iridescent glass was cut to size and placed on top of the drawings, with the iridescent side down. The drawings, which could be seen through the glass, were then painted directly on it, using white glue. The glass was then sandblasted with a light frost., and the white glue resist removed with warm water. Finally, the sandblasted pieces were glazed into the leaded work.

Once in place, the piece works in two different ways. From a distance, the drawings create a lacy, patterned effect in the iridescent glass. From up close, the individual drawings can be seen and enjoyed as an interesting level of detail. They are an essential part of the window, but they work within the given artistic structure without dominating it.