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LINO TAGLIAPIETRA: MAKING A GLASS SCULPTURE AT HAYSTACK MOUNTAIN SCHOOL July 3, 2007 Photos and notes by Daniel Kany If anyone could manage to take a survey of glassblowers around the world, there is no doubt that a majority would agree that Lino Tagliapietra deserves the title he is so often given of "greatest glassblower in the world." This is to take nothing away from what others have done for the International Studio Glass Movement (Dale Chihuly's success at bringing glass to the world's attention, for example, is clearly unparalleled), but rather it gives due credit to a man who has changed the world of glass not through any direct communication to the public, but rather by his work, his teaching, and his extraordinary artistic achievements. Lino was the maestro who really delivered when the International Studio Glass Movement was finally, really ready for master classes. Other maestros had come before to demonstrate and teach a little in the United States, including Lino's brother-in-law, Checco Ongaro, who in 1978 came the year before Lino first did. But none developed anything close to the symbiotic relationship that Lino did with the glass community based in America. We tend to think monolithically of Pilchuck as the well-spring of the Studio Glass Movement and it may well deserve that reputation more than any other fixed point, but between 1968 and 1970, over 100 glass programs were started in the United States. Pilchuck's first summer was in 1971. In other words, it is logical to say that the American Craft movement that began to blossom in the 1950's was the real birthplace of the Studio Glass Movement. Working in clay, turned-wood, fiber and other craft mediums, artists in America were inspired by the Abstract Expressionist painters to express themselves as directly as possible through their mediums. The appeal of glass was obvious to many arists, most of whom worked in clay: the direct involvement with the material and the primordial mix of minerals and fire could hardly be denied. While they had virtually no idea what they were doing, America artists such as Harvey Littleton were desperate to get moving with glass so--as Americans so often do--they found a way. It is important to note that in this context, the glass movement in the United States started with artistic expression in mind rather than craft technique. In fact, the rallying cry for so many was Harvey Littleton's pronouncement, "Technique is cheap." Brave, bold and inspiring, the phrase was a call to arms for would-be glassblowers in America. Of course, in my opinion, Littleton probably set back glassblowing in America by twenty years with that utterance. But while at times I wish he had never said those words, the presence and accomplishments of what has become the International Studio Glass Movement are undeniable. Even if we could mess with the fabric of time, maybe it would be better not to change even a thing. Haystack Mountain School of Crafts was one of many programs founded in the 1950s. Today, Haystack has quietly achieved the reputation in the glass world, along with Pilchuck, Penland, UrbanGlass and a few others, as one of the premier glass programs in the United States. The main reason for this might be the fact that Lino Tagliapietra has been coming to teach at Haystack since 1986. But Director Stu Koestenbaum has for the past 25 years brought extremely talented glassblowers and teachers from across the country and around the world. Between the facility, the staff of the school, the quality of the teaching and the quality of the students, Haystack has quietly created one of the bright lights of the glass world on the beautiful coast of Maine. Located on Deer Isle, anyone can see why Haystack is such an appealing site: it is as gorgeous as Maine gets. It is private and has the feel of the traditional Maine basis for the arts: it is a place where artists can work--a place where they can be both inspired and free from distraction. To the right are photos and notes taken while watching Lino make a Mandara, a uniquely complicated glass sculpture with his Master Class at Haystack on July 3, 2007. The Mandara is a difficult piece to describe. Technically, it is made by making a reticello out of two multiple-incalmo bubbles (see the notes for definitions and descriptions of the techniques). Visually, it a sculptural work in blown glass in which one, two or even four layers of glass interact. This might sound confusing, and maybe seem not to make sense after looking at a photograph of a finished piece, but there are a few things to keep in mind. First, glass is one of the rare materials that works with both light and color. Think of it this way: when a painter adds all of the colors together, she gets black. When a theatrical lighting director puts all of the colored lights on an actor, the light appears white. When light reflects off a glass sculpture, it acts like paint; when it is transmitted through the glass, it it acts like light. When looking at a glass sculpture, one oftens sees two versions of color theory simultaneously. Lino is acutely aware of this and uses the range to great effect. When the light is reflected, it is often off of a single layer of glass, but not always.... The Mandara works, however, are made of two layers of glass directly fused together in the blowing process. So if light passes through a section where yellow is over red, then we would expect to see orange. In the Mandara, however, there is always the other side of the glass vessel, so unless seeing the yellow and red through a clear window, there will be additional factors as well. Moreover, one of Lino's signature approaches to glass is his use of cane--for color, rhythmic and optical effects. As well, the seams where the incalmo bubbles join together are not even and so have lensing and optical effects: they can gather or reflect or magnify the light and color that travel through the piece. After some serious mental gymnastics, you might think you have a handle on Lino's range in the Mandara sculptures, but the maestro again has more options. Lino's use of coldworking--the grinding, incising and cutting of the surface of the glass once it has been cooled to room temperature--is also without peer. Many see Carlo Scarpa (who was in turn inspired by Emile Galle) as having introduced the cut surface as a major quality of Venetian glass, but Lino has taken this to new places as well. In part because of the scale and visual complexity of his work, Lino has presented himself with more compelling options than others may have had. I would say, however, that it has more to do with the fact that Lino left the Venetian mode of production work to make unique sculptures. Complex cutting of production work is cost prohibative, and as prices of glass works like Lino's have come in line with other major forms of sculpture, it has become more financially appropriate for Lino to invest in the coldworking of his pieces. The cutting of a single can take up to a week. On the surface of the Mandara pictured on the right, different types of cuts can be seen from the longer, parallel inciso cuts to the more stacatto-feeling battuto cuts and some soupier, loose cuts as well on the left shoulder of the work. For some of my clients and friends, it might seem ironic that I have posted images of the process of making such a piece since I so often try to convince viewers not to get caught in the question of "how did he make that?" With paintings, for example, the process is not so exciting or mysterious (Morris Louis excepted), so it is inevitably easier to experience the painting as intended; that is, as a composed, visual experience. With glass sculpture, and Lino in particular, the sculptural experience can become much richer when the "how" question dissolves and the viewer begins to take the visual experience on a much more direct and unmediated level. When this happens, Lino's work is particularly strong: he develops and maintains a subtle but extraordinarily compelling phenomenalogical relationship to the viewer's body (forgive the big art word, but it is the most accurate way to describe this: it is the effect when the object exudes something like an awareness of the viewer's body/presence when encountering the object; the viewer might experience the object as though encountering another person). While some of Lino's work references inanimate qualities, like architectural forms (e.g., the Bilbao series), almost all of Lino's work maintains an organic quality. While much of the content of his work is subtle and intellectual, the works rarely seem cold or disinterested. So why show the process? I think that anything which shows the maestro at work can somehow help the viewer understand the depth of Lino's accomplishment. Showing the process might seem to underscore the fact that these are fabricated glass vessels, but I think it also more fairly represents the incredible ability of the artist to concentrate and go to tremendous lengths to achieve incredibly subtle bits of content. This brings to mind the Willem de Kooning quote that Susan Sontag uses to introduce her great essay, "Against Interpretation": "Content is a glimpse of something, an encounter like a flash. It's very tiny -- very tiny, content." The re-connection here to Abstract Expressionism is not by chance, and the Sontag essay is a text I would suggest to everyone: in it, Sontag rails against the incessant push to see Western art in the context of mimesis--the "imitation of reality." (Click here or on the essay title to see an excerpt on Sontag's web site.) Complex yet clear, luscious yet subtle: these are the qualities of Lino's work. Beautiful and yet not simply decorative, in works like his Mandara, the maestro delivers something of the generations of Murano, something of the excitement of postwar American art, something of unparalleled craftsmanship, something deeply imbued with the best of Modernism and modernist design, and yet something absolutely present and unmediated by anything other than your own experience of the moment. This is why I think that Lino is not only the greatest living glassblower, but the greatest living sculptor. With respect to Peter Schjeldahl, I love Richard Serra, but if I had to sit in a room with a single sculpture for a week, please make it a Lino. --Daniel Kany |
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