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The Wonders of Glass

I love glass. The way it can be molded into so many shapes. It can hold and reflect colour. Light can pass through it to brighten spaces or create sparkles and rainbows. It can be made into something practical that can ease the quenching of our thirst or something fantastical that can inspire our imaginations. It is versatile. It is fragile. It is strong. It is neither a liquid nor a solid – it lies between. Amorphous. Without a clearly defined shape, and yet there are a million possibilities of what it can be. A perfect material for sculptural objects. Its boundless potential representing the breadth of what artists have been able to imagine.


Humans have been making things out of glass for at least five thousand years. Remarkable. I have seen some of these very old remnants of times past in museums and marvel at their delicacy. Marvel that they still exist. What would those artisans think if they knew we were gazing at their everyday items with such reverence all these hundreds of generations later? Unimaginable.


And so, it will surprise no one that we have a little glass collection. Some of these items are the plainest of bits found in the plainest of places. Others were made by skilled artisans from near and far. A small selection bring to mind the greats of the glass making world and its history. And there is even one lone piece of volcanic glass – the only naturally formed glass we own.



We start with blue bottles. Everyone loves blue bottles. This is not a large collection, but it brightens up a windowsill in a room used often, by many. Yes it’s a bathroom window – not exciting or glamorous, but light through cobalt does offer a pleasant visual in an ordinary space. Two of the bottles are dollar store finds, not Bryan’s favourites. They are cheap and low quality but remain from a time when dollar store décor was what we could afford, and are therefore valuable for reasons other than quality or cost. The other three are old apothecary bottles. Bottles that were at one time filled with tinctures and treatments. Beautiful containers for remedies that may or may not have worked, but probably made the consumers feel better. These are common items. Items that represent common ailments and possible solutions. I wonder who used them. I wonder if they worked. I know we all seek for that which will heal us. They remind me of this common pursuit.


I suppose many of our collections are a result of travels – sometimes ours, sometimes other’s. The first glass paperweight to enter our home was thoughtfully brought by my friend Emily from Venice. It is well known that the island of Murano, one of a few in the Venetian lagoon, is a source of remarkable glass. It has been made here since at least the 13th century. This little paperweight contains traces of this tradition within, and reminds me of a beautiful friendship and place. A number of years later, when we were finally able to visit Murano ourselves, we explored its rich history of glass making. Visiting museums and glass shops, watching glass blowers demonstrate their skill. I had a (ridiculous) dream of acquiring one of the spectacular Venetian chandeliers we had seen in many a palace over the years, and I came very close to buying one. Close, as in, negotiating with the seller and working out shipping costs whilst Bryan squirmed beside me. Fortunately I came to my senses and said we’d think about it and return shortly. We never did, for some obvious reasons. Where would we hang a three foot tall, multi bulbed, lime green, hand blown extravaganza that required a significant insurance package to have shipped across the world? Reality set in, and we agreed another paperweight was probably sufficient. I love how this one is cut flat so all the pieces of the multi-coloured glass cane can be seen. These are called millifiori glass because they can look like a thousand flowers. Not quite a chandelier, but treasured nonetheless.


Our final paperweight was acquired in Tallinn, Estonia. We found ourselves wandering down a small back alley that looked like it hadn’t changed in hundreds of years. It turned out to be the location of all the old guilds – what were, and continue to be, associations of craftspeople and artisans. There we found a glassworker in a tiny shop. And we bought another piece of magic. Emerging out of a dark, fiery workshop a small piece of light refracting wonder. A reminder of a long history of craft and transformation.


There is no discussion of glass for the design interested crowd that doesn’t include, in the modern era, the Danes, the Finns and the Swedes. These countries were and are a hotbed of modern design, and the tradition of creating glassware is astounding. A visit to Helsinki a few years ago was incomplete without a trek to the home and studio museums of Alvar Aalto, an architect and designer of furniture, textiles and glassware. It was wonderful to see his home still furnished with his possessions, some of which he had designed himself. One of his most famous designs is a glass vase, the Aalto Vase, first made in 1936. We were able to see a film of its production at the Helsinki Design Museum and it was fascinating to see the whole process of creating the molds, blowing the glass and the final results. These vases are still produced by the iittalla company, so required a long tram ride to the suburban factory to acquire one (on the cleanest public transit system in the world, according to Bryan). These can be purchased all over the world, but there is something special about having got this one at the source. It was also very interesting to see an 1936 original in the Aalto house – with the imperfections and patterns of a wood mold visible and beautiful. They are now made with metal molds, still hand blown, but much more flawless. Something is lost in this perfection, I think, a bit of life or movement, but it remains a beautiful object.


Very recently, we found ourselves in yet another junk/antique shop in a small town near Ottawa. The kind of place that has multiple sellers in one store, each booth crammed with all sorts of bits and pieces. Everything from your mother’s old mixing bowls, to your grandmother’s china, to piles of old records and more than a few Coke bottles. By chance we happened across an entire shelf of glassware that we were both immediately drawn to. It was obviously Danish. Complete with the tiny air bubble in the stem of each glass. There were all sorts of sizes – champagne flutes, brandy snifters, claret goblets and tiny cordial glasses. We snatched the claret goblets because we thought we’d use them, and went on our merry way. When we arrived at home, we did a bit of research and found that these were made by the Danish company Holmegaard, established in 1825, and were the Princess design. These glasses, designed in 1958, are a wee bit more valuable than what we had paid, so we were very pleased with our find. But there were more at the shop. And that was hard to forget. So, we got in the car the next day, drove for an hour and bought the rest of what was available, thirty three glasses in total. I had big plans to sell some at greatly inflated prices, but haven’t been able to part with any. For now we will use them – for whatever beverage we desire, dictated by the various shapes or not. We also decided the four tiny cordial glasses would go to our dear friends Lou and Catherine for their 25th Wedding Anniversary. Because they are the most gracious of hosts – always generous in their entertaining, providing spectacular meals and special liqueurs following. When I look at our glasses, I remember that a small part of the set resides with friends. They are linked. They are special.


There is a place we visit every summer. Well, not last year, and not this year. Closed borders make it impossible. But it is a place we love. A small coastal town on Cape Anne, just north of Boston. One of our favourite activities when in this charming area, is to peruse the many antique shops. On our last trip there, we were out for an afternoon stroll and Bryan spied something in a shop window. We went in. He looked, continued around the store and then returned to his original discovery. He’s much less likely to commit to a purchase than I am, so I had to suggest he ask for a price. He did and made the quickest decision I’ve ever seen him make. What was this eye catching delight? A purple vase, of course. Everyone loves a purple vase, right? I was mildly surprised, and not. It is a beautiful piece of glass, this time Swedish in origin, again with that perfect bubble of air in its base. We had seen demonstrations of the process glass blowers use to insert the bubble when in Helsinki, and had marvelled at the ability to do so. Designed by Ernest Gordon, a British artist who relocated to Sweden in 1954 to work for the Åfors glassworks for a short time during that era's explosion of new design ideas. This wonderful object captures the artist’s skill, a period of immense innovation, and memories of places we love in its purple sheen. Light flows through it and it tells this story. And we see it, remember it, and hope for a time when we can return, peruse and discover treasures like this one again.



Many years ago, we took our first trip to Paris and London. It was a memorable experience in many ways, and we decided that a really good souvenir was in order. I had received some money as a birthday gift from my in-laws, and thought a good use of it would be this purchase. I really wanted something that reminded me of both of these great cities, and finally came upon the perfect solution when we arrived at Harrod’s in London. For the first time. What an experience. We wandered for hours – top to bottom. We had high tea in the Georgian Restaurant (yes, it was a splurge), we perused the antiques (yes, they are real), we looked at watches and jewels and we browsed the floor with china and crystal in price categories we didn’t normally see. When we came across the Lalique section, wheels began to turn. René Lalique was a master glass designer of the Art Nouveau period. His work is stunning. The Lalique company continues to operate, and we were very fortunate to be able to purchase a small piece. A beautiful turtle stole my heart – representing Paris, through its design, manufacture and heritage (although not old, and therefore a bit more affordable than the pieces Monsieur Lalique made himself!), and was purchased in an iconic London establishment. What a perfect souvenir. One that has been followed by three more pieces on subsequent trips – some purchased in London, some in Paris. Tiny pieces of beauty that remind us of our travels, our love of design and the givers of generous gifts.



I promised a piece of volcanic glass, and here it is. A small sculpture bought in Mexico City a number of years ago when I was there to sing at a performance of Handel’s Messiah. We had a day off in our schedule, and the choir had arranged to visit the Teotihuacán pyramids outside of the city. It was a spectacular experience. Climbing up a pyramid on very uneven steps, some short, some knee height. Seeing the city built thousands of years ago, a remnant of one of the largest of pre-Colombian cities. Fascinating. One of their primary exports was obsidian – a volcanic glass. Our group was dropped off at a shop selling obsidian carvings and silver jewellery as part of our visit, an obvious tourist trap, but part of the whole experience. I found a small sculpture to my liking and purchased it. I watched one of the people working in the shop carve his name on the bottom – an artisan signing his work? Who knows. It seemed strange that he would do it then and not when the sculpture had been completed, but perhaps he wanted to demonstrate how hard this material was and what tools were required to make an impact. I have my doubts as to his involvement, but it doesn’t matter. It reminds me of this archeological wonder that I was truly fortunate to visit. It reminds me of the thousands of years of human culture that can be found if we choose to look. It reminds me of cultures lost, cultures forgotten, cultures ignored. It reminds me of the lengths to which artists will go to leave their mark, to tell their stories, to share with the rest of us, to open our eyes and hearts.


Each piece of glass tells me something. Amorphous, yet filled with definition. Magic.

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