“I can’t live in a room without a window.”
-Ruskin Bond
I’m not sure when I started noticing windows, but there is something magical about them. Their ability to make light dance – letting it in, shining it out. The way they embellish our houses and buildings – creating interest, breaking up space, providing hints of what lies behind. They offer views and protection, allowing us to be both a part of and shielded from all that surrounds us. They are glass. A material that is magical in and of itself. Born of intense heat, cool to the touch, capable of exhibiting all the colours of the rainbow. Windows. We look in, we look out.
There was never a plan to collect windows. It was entirely accidental, or in some cases, circumstantial. I do remember going for long walks when I was young, through old neighbourhoods in Winnipeg, and being enamoured with a variety of windows that had managed to survive most people’s upgrade attempts to handle the cold of that particular climate. Every so often, there would be remaining examples of leaded glass or even stained glass – and they were beautiful. I dreamed of living in a house that had windows like these, oblivious to the reality of maintenance and energy efficiency. The first window I recall buying was found at a garage sale around that time. I was supposed to be looking for more practical items, but was distracted by a window that had been removed from one of these old houses. Hiding behind a pile of junk, not priced or among the rest of the household items being sold. I asked how much is was and was met with a surprised look – they had not even considered that anyone might wish to purchase this bit of scrap. Ten or fifteen dollars later, and I had my somewhat less than practical acquisition. It hangs on our wall to this day.
Windows are routinely discarded following home renovations. Some end up in the garbage, others in junk shops, others are deemed antiques. Over the years, a few of these rejects have made their way into our home (well, into our shed would be more accurate...hiding...somewhere...). There are two that we picked up out of someone’s garbage at the curb on a walk one evening (not the first time we’ve been garbage pickers, probably not the last!). There is the one purchased by the side of the road for a few dollars on a drive in the country. There is one that is barely intact, having had a run in with a falling hammer in my parent’s garage (the entire story of this incident is unclear). I wish I knew the stories of these windows – who looked through them? What were they thinking, feeling, seeing? Somewhere in that glass are reflections of real lives and all that that means.
Windows provide protection. In a variety of ways. A few years ago, we arrived home from a vacation and as we settled back into our normal routine, felt that something wasn’t quite right. It took a little while to figure it out. In our absence, the city had altered the bus routes and installed a bus stop right outside our front window. Our house is in a fairly urban neighbourhood, is very close to the street and, therefore, is very close to the stop. The oddness we were noticing was the sound of a bus stopping every twenty minutes or so. Now, a bit of noise one can get used to, but that wasn’t the problem. The door of the bus happened to open exactly in front of our window, meaning that every single person getting off of the bus would look directly into our living room as they disembarked. A wee bit disconcerting when relaxing on the couch whilst watching a movie. We realized quite quickly that something would need to be done. I suppose most people would draw the curtains or close the blinds. But that seemed less appealing than the vision I had for using stained glass to ensure privacy while adding something special to the room.
The great stained glass window search commenced. It was a whirlwind adventure on a Thanksgiving weekend that took us through every antique and architectural salvage operation within two hours of our home. We searched and searched. The challenge was finding something that was large enough to block peering eyes, our front window being bigger than we realized. We finally arrived at the wildest antique establishment we’ve been to, in the middle of nowhere, certain they would have something. Wild, meaning mountains of stuff. Inside, outside, in piles, in barns – in a house that gave the impression that it might collapse if one more item was added. After some perusing, we found a beautiful window – wired to the outside of the house. A deal was made, mission accomplished. Well. Not quite. There was one more place to go. In a nearby town, we walked into an old church that had been converted to an antique shop and there it was. A stained glass window of the perfect size and shape. This one had been removed from a decommissioned church in Prescott, Ontario. It had been reinforced and restored, as the lead was weakened in its removal process. It was perfect. These two windows now grace our home. The large church window protects our privacy, but has also given us unexpected moments of brilliance when the sun shines through. The smaller one now hangs in my piano room and has been yet another source of conversations with young children who love its colours and glass jewels - sometimes asking if they can touch it. I don’t know how many eyes have gazed at these windows over the years, but I assume many. We share with those spirits, many from long ago. We wonder who had the skilled hands to craft these bits of glass into such beauty. We marvel at the multiplicity of what were essentially practical items, created to both function and thrill with their beauty.
When I first went to university I was introduced to a whole world of architecture and design that was new to me. A world filled with innovation and ideas. One of the greats that I learned about was Frank Lloyd Wright. Bryan was, and is, a huge fan of this man’s work. Over the years we have been fortunate enough to visit a number of his buildings, experiencing for ourselves his genius and creativity. One of his great skills was designing stained glass. Many of the homes he designed were filled with windows meant to represent the elements of nature that inspired him. Many years ago, I was able to visit a friend in Chicago where Wright had worked early in his career. This visit was made possible by my very generous (and easily drawn into an adventure) mother who provided the means of transportation, and came along for the ride. That trip is a treasured memory. One of the places we went while there was the Frank Lloyd Wright Home and Studio in Oak Park, a suburb of Chicago where there are a number of Wright homes. As we finished the tour and wandered through the gift shop, I spied a window. They had commissioned a local artisan to create a replica of one of the windows in the house. I knew it was a perfect gift for Bryan and somehow managed to convince my mother to shell out the cash to buy it – I suspect I said I’d pay her back, although I’m fairly certain that never happened. It wasn’t long after this trip that Bryan and I became engaged. This seemed the perfect occasion to give him this window. Not quite his engagement ring, but rather his engagement window. It is with us still, unbroken, simple in design, a constant reminder of what we love and what we share.
The final window I wish to share is extra special. It was made by my dear friend Emily Berg. I’ve known Emily since she was a child – at some point she even came to me for some piano lessons. But, she has become a treasured friend as an adult and this window reminds me of her. Many years ago she made this window during a difficult period of her life. What talent. She has a story that goes with it that is not mine to tell, filled with pain, trauma, love, care and mourning. Somewhere along the way, she agreed to sell me this exquisite creation – because it needed to be kept safe and it needed to live in a home that cared and understood why it was so very special. What I love about this window is the river of glass running through it. Each little pebble of glass a different colour – filling the room with both those wonderful sparkles that sun and water can create, but also the impression of deep darkness that can sometimes fill our selves when the sun doesn’t seem to shine. It changes with the weather, it changes with the season, it changes with the time of day. It can be dull and brilliant. It has bits that are jagged and sharp, and others that are smooth and well rounded. It speaks to me about the complexity of our lives and the infinite possibility of finding beauty in the whole, even if some of the bits are unbearable. It is very, very special to me. I sit beside it every morning and begin my days in its glow. If there is nothing else to look forward to, I can always turn towards its breadth of splendour.
We surround ourselves with special things because we must. They open our eyes to memories, beauty, sadness, recovery, pain and joy. Windows have always represented a way to see the world, both literally and metaphorically. These windows we’ve collected do that for us. They provide safety. They make our rooms feel larger in every sense. Opening up our spaces to experience more than what is there. Providing views beyond our own devising, views other eyes have seen and shared.
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