I always seem to be in denial as I'm getting ready for a trip. I tell myself there is time to do about twice as many things as are really possible, or I put things off to the last minute until my "to do" list becomes overwhelming. Galleries want work, there's correspondence to attend to, and parts to be ordered for my current experiments with kinetic sculptures. In addition to fabricating some custom tools to take with me to Europe, I need to leave instructions for my staff while I'm gone, the laundry needs to be done, seeds need to be planted out back and the honeysuckle vines I put in to cover the fence need to get woven into the chain-link so that they spread out instead of clumping. Oh yeah, I need to pack, too.

The result is that, like usual, I ended up pulling an all-nighter to be prepared for my flight in the morning. In the case of an inter-continental flight, that's not always such a bad thing: under conditions of sleep deprivation, I often find it easier to adjust to the local time zone when I land. Flying out of Phoenix, I arrived in Frankfurt the following morning, catching a flight down to Venice, then a vaporetto, or water taxi, to the famous glass island of Murano. Following the directions given me by Césare Toffolo's wife, Teresa, I found my hotel easily and checked in in the mid afternoon. Just down the street from the Locanda Al Soffiador where I'm staying I found Teresa minding one of Césare's showrooms-he has two.

Cesareshowroom

Teresa stepped out for a moment to bring me an espresso from the restaurant next door, and then we headed over to Césare's private studio which is behind his second showroom, off one of the canals that divide the island. Césare greeted me warmly and I watched him work for a while, which is always a pleasure and always instructive. Everything about this artist is elegant. He wastes no movement as he works, stays relaxed and focused, sits with impeccable posture and creates pieces that are always clean and attractive.

I learned that Eric Goldschmidt had just been visiting a few days before, and would be back on the island after a trip to some other parts of Italy. We had shared a room when both of us took a class with Césare at Corning, and Eric is now on the staff there. I was surprised to think I would run into an American I knew on Murano, but I guess I shouldn't have been. In the glass world, it seems that all roads pass through Venice at some point. This was to be confirmed again shortly.

Césare took me for a stroll over to the studio of Lucio Bubacco, another of the acknowledged maestros of lampwork on the island. He had just finished teaching a class and was getting ready for a trip to his other studio on the mainland. I looked around a bit while some matters were discussed in Italian. You have undoubtedly seen Lucio's elaborate tiered goblets with figures of nymphs, demons, Carnivale revelers and glass celebrities cavorting through whimsical scaffoldings. In his studio were objects five times bigger and more elaborate than any of his work I have seen in the States. It was an awesome sight, and a sort of surreal experience to be surrounded by so much of Lucio's work.

Then, in a Twilight Zone moment I looked up to see and hear Mike Frantz walk in the door!. He had apparently helped organize Lucio's class and was also in town to place orders with Carlo Donna and Effetre for his company, Frantz Art Glass Supply. After we left Lucio's studio, and said goodnight to Césare, Mike ended up helping me stay awake late enough to synchronize with the 9-hour time change.

There are basically no restaurants open for dinner on Murano, and we were lucky enough to end up in front of a bar that was closing but could toast up some panninis for us. The little sandwiches hit the spot and we chatted about Murano and people that we knew, and the coincidence of running into each other this way. As we were talking, seated at a table on the sidewalk overlooking the canal, an older gentleman who was walking by stopped to make amiable small talk, practicing his English with a couple of complete strangers. It felt very welcoming, and I was in fact starting to feel at home on Murano after only a few hours.

By the time Mike and I parted ways that night, I was definitely ready for sleep. It took me a couple more days to really get synchronized, but I was well on my way to matching up with the local time.

Césare working

The next morning, after a great continental breakfast in the hotel restaurant, I met Césare at his studio and watched him work for a while, chatting about the local glass scene. Global economic conditions combined with increasing competition from Asian imports have put a serious dent in the economy of Murano. Most buyers don't know or appreciate the difference between real Murano glass and cheap knock-offs made in China, and the Muranese are not happy about this. I had noticed some graffiti near the dock when my boat landed: No Cinesi, and now I understood what it was about. I was also to see posters and brochures in many of the stores, emphasizing that Murano glass comes only from Murano. Many of the old factories are closed or operating at a fraction of their capacity, and I saw a lot of big showrooms with only a few customers. True, it was not yet the peak tourist season, but it does appear that something new is needed to breathe fresh life into the old traditions, which are having a hard time. Césare seemed a bit frustrated with a common attitude on the island that prevents this, and I later heard others speak about it as well. For a very long time, Murano was the center of the glass world, and has remained so in many people's minds. Nonetheless other parts of the world have also developed burgeoning glass traditions by now, and there are a lot of new approaches to the material. Even Murano can't afford to sit still, but many people have apparently forgotten that. There is still great work being done, and a tradition of techniques that is unmatched. But if creativity doesn't continue, things can stagnate.

Césare did introduce me to one younger lampworker, Simone, who was excited to learn about new things, although he also kept his bills paid with inexpensive pieces for the tourist trade. We spent some time together in his shop, which is populated by funky caricatures of people in various roles-Doctor, Nurse, Soccer Player, Rastafarian-all in Effetre glass. Simone enjoyed looking through my books, and I left a copy of Contemporary Lampworking with him to share with others who might want to see what was happening in other parts of the glass world.

Simoneworking, making dozens of little glass doctors.

Later, I joined up with Mike again, as he had offered to take me to see some local sites, including a tour of the Effetre factory. It was great to have a guide to a few places I might not have gotten into otherwise. I was able to photograph parts of the factory that will be informative for readers of future books. Even without planning it, Mike and I kept bumping into each other for the next few days, which shows what a small world it really is when glass is your obsession.

Workers pulling cane at the Effetre factory.

I also spent some time that day walking around seeing the different glass shops on the island. Most are oriented toward the tourist market, with lower-priced items (both lampworked and offhand blown) of varying levels of quality. A few places did stand out as having superior work, usually made by the owner of the shop, and these were the stores where I later picked up souvenirs for my staff back home as well as my own research collection.

That evening Césare took me to a dinner gathering with some local glassblowers at the studio of Davide Salvadore, who works primarily at the furnace, often using a hand torch to shape details on his pieces. I had met Davide, along with some other artists from Murano, at the GAS conference in Corning back in 2001. Lately he's been making some interesting shields and masks inspired by African art.

Dinner was a fantastic experience of authentic local color, and we had a great time although I speak no Italian and most of the men present spoke no English. There was only one woman present at the beginning of the night, and I must say I was really impressed by Yoshiko's ability to hold her own gracefully in a room full of rowdy male glassblowers. A regular member of Davide's crew, she had obviously proved her mettle long ago. The way she was able to be one of the boys without becoming one of the boys was very cool.

Cooking facilities were set up in the midst of the main work area, with spaghetti boiling on a hotplate normally used to warm glass canes. I was treated to local sausages and a bacon-like preparation of pork skin toasted in an annealing oven. Someone brought local mussels served in the shell with a rich tomato sauce. The pasta was done up with a fish sauce in the Venetian tradition, and no one went away hungry. I skipped the grappa that came out at the end, although I was assured it was especially good for having aged 10 years in its cask. That stuff is a bit too strong for me.

As the evening wore on, there were rowdy stories told and then a long discussion about a pair of tweezers (the large ones used in furnace work). Davide was evidently proud of this particularly fine pair and they were passed around as various people checked them out, noting how nicely the tips actually met, the spring of the handle and other features that could only be appreciated by people who use these tools intimately. After the food was cleared away, there ensued a sort of friendly competition between several of the men to make a little animal from a gather of hot glass, pulling and shaping with only these tweezers. Small horses and deer made this way-a massiccio-are a staple of the tourist shops, and are in fact some of the first pieces that an apprentice glassblower learns to make. Quick, sure movements are required to complete a delicate figure before the glass begins to cool. Reheating is not an option, as it would distort the completed parts. Besides, part of the challenge is to complete the piece in one shot. This type of work, which teaches respect for the needs of the glass, was second nature to these men long ago. Watching highly skilled artisans playfully creating these figures, I couldn't help but feel a sense of the history of this place, the way glass is in everyone's blood, going back centuries. The winner of the contest seemed to be a fellow name Moreno, who made a Bambi-like deer which he presented to Yoshiko, setting it on the floor where it was allowed to cool without annealing.

In the following few days, I saw a lot of Murano, but also knew there was much more to be seen. As I didn't take very detailed notes, things began to blur together as I tried to take in as much as I could in the short time I had allowed. Eric showed up-on Saturday, I think-and we spent Sunday in Venice proper, visiting museums and a few of the obligatory tourist sites like the Rialto Bridge and Saint Mark's Square. He also took me by Vittorio Costantini's shop-just to show me where it was as it was closed on Sunday. Vittorio and Graziela were expecting me for a visit the next day, so I was glad to know exactly where to find them.

As we made our way down the narrow alleyway leading to Vittorio's, it was a classic scene of old Europe, like something out of a movie. As if to confirm this, suddenly someone came running our way down the alley, undoubtedly hurrying to catch the vaporetto at the nearby dock where we had landed a few minutes before. But the setting made it look different to me. Suddenly we were in the middle of a spy film. I expected to see Al Pacino or Matt Damon come up behind this mysterious stranger and tackle him to the ground or something. As the runner made his way past us, I turned to Eric: Dude, that was just like in a movie!

Other highlights of Murano included dinner at a local restaurant with Césare, Teresa, Davide and Eric-we were treated to the local specialty, seafood, including a few species I had never seen before. There was also the Dalí exhibit with melted wristwatches on sale for 159 Euros, the dancing Mickey Mouse scam, and the life cycle of the monarch butterfly on display in Vittorio's shop. I went through the old Museo del Vetro, with ancient works and creaking floors. There were the boat rides, the galleries, the new people met, and not enough time to see nearly everything. So I know I will have to return to Murano

4/20/04
Phase Two: Lauscha, Germany

I missed my first boat to the airport by waiting at the wrong dock, so I had to sit around for an extra hour. There were several things I could have done if I weren't carrying around my luggage, but as it turned out I just sat on the dock waiting, watching various people get onto various boats. Included were a boisterous group of junior high-age students, off on a school trip, I suppose. They were talking in Italian, but speaking the universal language of teenagers with their gangly stances, cool posturing and hopeful, tentative social gestures.

I still made it to the Airport with plenty of time. One has to appreciate European airport security for its measured approach to screening. I started to take off a belt that I knew would set the alarm off, but the screener said, no, if it goes off my colleague will scan you. Didn't have to take my shoes off, either, for which my fellow travellers should be grateful.

Had time before the flight for an Italian hot chocolate. Thicker and tastier than we have at home. This was no Swiss Miss! More like melted chocolate with a little bit of milk in it-like in that movie "Chocolat" if you saw it. So I guess this may be the general European standard for hot chocolate. I saw some pastries I would have liked to try, too, but I was taking it easy after eating something in Venice that didn't agree with me.

From the Frankfurt airport I took two trains to get to Ehrfurt, where a Taxi was to meet me. Looking out the window of the smoothly gliding train, I drank in the lush spring foliage of the German countryside. Many trees were blooming in shades of white and yellow. I loved following with my eyes the narrow, wandering country lanes we passed, just wide enough for one car, and imagined the idyllic bicycle rides one could enjoy in the gently rolling terrain. It reminded me of what I miss in Arizona-the rolling greenery, the meandering, tree-shaded streams. I love Arizona, but I also love to travel to more humid climes from time to time to get my dose of green, I realized on the train ride that I had also missed seeing a lot of green on Murano. There is plenty of moisture, but the part of the island where I spent my time is mostly paved over, and has been so for centuries. There are flower boxes and occasional trees, but no expanses of vegetation. Maybe there are parks I didn't get to see. I didn't really get into the residential part of the island.

The organizers of the Internationales Glassymposium Lauscha had arranged for a taxi to meet me at the Erhrfurt train station and bring me to my final destination. My driver from the Frankfurt airport had no English and I have very little German, so we made the trip in silence. I enjoyed more of the German scenery-reminding myself that everyone drives this fast over here-until the light faded. Then I snoozed a bit as we made our way through what seemed like dozens of small towns with tiny winding streets separated by long stretches of farmland, then woodland as we entered the Thuringian mountains. Strictly speaking, the Thuringian Forest is further north, but things began to look pretty forested as we climbed into the hills.

The village of Lauscha was first founded in 1597, centered around a glass factory that produced rondelles for window panes, vials and bottles for medicines, and other vessels in the traditionally green waldglas, or forest glass. At that time, glass factories would have to move every few years as supplies of fuel wood were exhausted, but the Lauscha factory proved more long-lasting, and was operated relatively continuously until it was relocated a short distance around 1970. Having changed hands a couple of times, this facility is now the Farbglashutte (The Colored Glass House), which produces all the colored tubing and rod we know as "Lauscha Glass." The Farbglashutte was also a major sponsor of the Symposium, providing workspace and materials for most of the demonstrations, as well as other main events like the exhibition and the festive dinner on Saturday evening.

Lampworked beads were produced in Lauscha beginning in the mid-18th century, followed soon by Christmas ornaments and other blown forms. Imitation pearls were made of clear glass, then coated on the inside with a paint containing ground fish scales to give the perlescent effect. Filling these beads with wax held the paint in place and gave them a bit more natural heft. Christmas ornaments were at first silvered with toxic combinations of lead and mercury, sometimes filled with colored wax for different effects. Later, other silvering formulas were developed, and colored glass was used.

The gas burner was developed in the mid-19th century. In 1867, a gas plant was built in Lauscha and lampworked glass really took off. Production could be greatly increased, and new forms were also developed, such as elaborate blown figural scenes, known as kunst, and larger solid sculptures. Such figural pieces were extremely popular through the 1930's. When gas was used, home studios (typically in the kitchen) always included a caged canary. The public story was that the roaring of the torches excited the canaries to sing more beautifully, but in fact the birds were a safety device. Before the introduction of the now familiar detectable aromas into natural gas, the canary warned of any gas leaks by keeling over before the gas concentration became high enough to kill a person, just like in a coal mine.

In the early 1900's there were five glass factories operating in the town of Lauscha, which had a total population of about 7,000 people. Nearly everyone worked with glass in some way. For the most part, those who didn't work in the factory had their own ornament, animal or bead production shops in their home. There was also some painting of enamel in Lauscha at this time, although it was a lesser industry. Up until 1945, with the partition of Germany, all the production of small wares was done in private homes as a family business. Prices were set by traders from Sonnenberg, who controlled the market. After the founding of East Germany, there was a greater trend toward consolidation in buying of materials and selling of finished work through the 50s and 60s. In 1972, the East German government took over the main factory from the Greiner family, which had owned it for nearly 400 years, and moved the facility to its present site, a short distance from the center of town, expanding it into a large, modern operation.

While life under the communist dictatorship was difficult, the people of Lauscha were able to get by better than many others. Black market bartering of glass wares for meat and other essentials of life made things a bit easier. The desirability of glass goods also ensured that glassblowers could stay busy doing what they knew best, benefiting from a distribution system managed by the State.

After a period of increased prosperity when the Berlin Wall came down, Lauscha has seen a decrease in tourist trade as well as the market for export of its work in the last few years. As in Murano, large factories are operating at a fraction of their capacity, or are dormant altogether. While the traditions of glass work continue to be passed down within some families, and there is a formal trade school for training and certifying craftsmen, only about half of the current population of 4,000 people is involved in the glass trade. World economic conditions, Asian competition and social factors all have contributed to this change.

Even so, as in Murano, glass is still very much alive in this unique community. Glass, and especially lampworked glass, is everywhere to be seen-a point of local pride and identity, not to mention the cornerstone of the tourist economy. Coming in from the outside, I was amazed to see glass studios on nearly every street in town, with specialists in vessels, figures, glass eyes and spun glass fibers as well as the traditional Christbaumschmuck, or Christmas ornaments.

On my arrival at the hotel Gollo, I was met by Henry Knye, a glass artist in the Symposium and, conveniently, the owner of the hotel. I immediately regretted the weight of my largest bag, loaded down with books and tools, as we ascended several flights of stairs to get to my room. After few minutes to freshen up I joined Henry at the hotel bar, along with Thomas Muller-Litz and a couple of their friends from town. I had met Thomas in Amsterdam at the GAS conference a couple of years ago. He was enjoying some kind of chicken and beef stew served with a cheese-covered crouton across the top of the bowl. It looked good, but I decided to be careful. I didn't want to push my luck by having a heftymeat stew on an empty stomach while recovering from whatever it was I ate the other day. So I had a soda water. My hosts seemed a bit disappointed, and I learned later that the friends from town had expected a more dramatic or intriguing personage in someone from Arizona-a leathery, Crocodile Dundee type, or something; at least a bold drinker from the Wild West. I said I would try to act more wild tomorrow, although I'm sure they will be disappointed in my rather limited party life.

The local men had pretty good English, although they didn't seem to think so themselves. We talked a little about the Symposium and local beer and then I retired to my room to get settled in.

4/21/04
After an amazing breakfast in the gasthof bar, I gathered my pieces for the Symposium Artists Exhibition. Henry brought me to the Farbglashutte, the factory where the exhibit would be set up. On the way I asked him about the name of his hotel, Gollo, and if it had a meaning. He explained that the previous owner had been something of a ladie's man, and his nickname had been Gollo, which was short for gigollo. Although the Inn had a different name, everyone in town referred to it as Gollo, and when Henry and his family took the place over a few years back, they decided to officially give it the name everyone already called it.

The Symposium display space was on a broad balcony overlooking the work floor, adjacent to historical showcases with examples of the factory's output since it was established in the late 16th century. One of the most important developments for this particular factory was the glass marble. Produced at the gaffer's bench rather than at the torch, marbles became a mainstay of the factory's production from the mid-nineteenth century. This history is explained in the factory's literature and a charming film in the visitor center.

Henry and I were a bit early, so as he saw to some of the arrangements I looked around the historical exhibits and snapped photos of the crew making mold-blown goblets on the factory floor below. The team consisted of four workers: two men who wielded the blowpipes and a couple of younger assistants who tended the mold and carried the pieces to the annealer. In a factory setting of this type, it is most efficient to blow the shape into a mold, crack it off the pipe roughly, anneal it, and then finish the top edge later.

One of the most interesting displays was a swirling metal marble run, appropriate because of the major part marbles played in the history of the Farbglashutte. Given my growing interest in kinetic sculpture, I had to check out the marble run closely. I've participated in a couple of collaborative marble runs, and have made a couple on my own as well. This one definitely gave me a couple of good ideas, too. Check out the xylophone on the bottom to give a cool, cartoon-like musical closure to each run.

A few more of the exhibiting artists trickled in, and when Susanne Precht, the conference coordinator, arrived, they began setting up the display in earnest. They had plenty of help, so at the urging of Susanne Todt, the factory's Tourism Director, I went to wander more of the educational exhibits in the building. There was a special show up about tubing and rod, which of course interested me as a lampworker. One of the factory's specialties is striped tubing, and they have every variety on hand. There was also the obligatory explanation of how cane and tube are pulled, and the public can also observe the regular crew pulling cane by hand after watching a cute orientation film about the town's origins. After the cane has cooled, one of the workmen sat on a stool with a cutting blade and a measuring stick. Each length of cane was measured to the standard length, scored and snapped and then stacked on top of his feet, which he held like a cradle to collect bundles of rods.

The Thermophon

Among the vast display of rods and tubes on display was an interesting musical device, the Thermophon. It was hooked up to a photoelectric trip switch at the entrance to the exhibit, so that you heard it play a sequence a moment after walking in the door. It took me a little while to figure out where the sound was coming from. The Thermophon consists of several glass tubes of varying lengths, arranged like organ pipes, with heating elements mounted inside near the bottom. When the heat is activated in one tube, the wires begin to glow like a toaster, and it creates an upward draft that sounds a musical note, according to the length of the passage. It is both auditory and visual. Very cooler, hot! It reminded me a bit of a device I read about when I was researching the book I just sent to be published. Das Pyrophon, or the "Fire Piano" was invented by or for Henri Dunant, the founder of the Red Cross. Kim Levin described the Fire Piano in the context of its influence on the shamanistic German performance artist, Joseph Beuys:

"The original is in London and a period replica is in Zurich. It has only seven or eight white keys, one octave C to C, and five black keys. It has vertical glass cylinders like an organ's pipes. When the piano is played, gas flames rise up in these cylinders, burning and flickering.

"Whoever designed it, Dunant's fire-piano is a bizarre hybrid object, a combination of musical instrument, pulpit, and furnace. As a sculptural object created specifically for performance use with spiritual overtones, giving off heat and energy, the attraction it must have held for Beuys should be obvious."

(Kim Levin, "Some Neglected Bequests" in Ray, Gene, Ed. Joseph Beuys: Mapping the Legacy, (New York: Distributed Art Publishers, 2001), p. 183.)

Also part of the rod and tubing exhibit was a collection of bottle imps, clearly meant to give large groups of visiting school kids something to do with their hands. These are a traditional lampworked novelty, submerged in a bottle with a flexible rubber top. When you press on the top, the figures dive and spin around amusingly. The principle behind them is explained in Contemporary Lampworking, where I wrote about them at some length, so I won't go into it here.

There was also a demonstration area-the same one we would be using as participating artists in the Symposium. It's always interesting for me to see the equipment used in different places, reflecting different approaches to the material. For example, in Italy, artists use a portocana to hold several rods in the outer reaches of the flame for preheating. Here, a simple horizontal preheating torch, a sort of ribbon burner crossed with a slide whistle, is used, and a series of moveable wire braces hold the rods in position. Both systems seem to work pretty well, and each probably has pros and cons. Since I use borosilicate almost exclusively, I haven't developed a strong opinion about which of these warming systems is better,

Once I had seen the exhibits and the Symposium display was well under way, I was introduced to my guide, Andre Gutgesell, himself an accomplished lampworker. Andre's modern designs incorporate simple, elegant applications of the montage technique, executed with a high level of skill and taste. His work is an example of the way that "less" can be "more" in the right hands.

Some of Andre's work

Andre gave me some orientation and took me to see several sights around town. We went to the Krebs Glas Lauscha factory, known for its extensive production of Christmas tree ornaments-lampworked freehand, mold blown, and even machine-blown. The owner, Michael Krebs, explained that in recent years the factory, like the whole town, had faced increasing competition from cheap copies made in Asia. While they had employed about 130 people a few years ago, now they were down to 30, which was more manageable given the costs of labor.

They still seemed to be producing impressive quantities of ornaments and tree toppers in traditional and contemporary styles. Most were made by hand, which is necessary even for mold-blowing in most cases. It takes some finesse to make sure the glass gets into all the recesses of a complicated mold, and a machine simply can't think about that. I was shown a machine for blowing a simple acorn-shaped ornament, which I found fantastic. It resembled the "ribbon machine" for blowing light-bulbs or other high-tech bottle blowing machinery you may have seen in films, but on a smaller scale. It started with tubes inserted in the top, spun around and spat out a steady stream of delicate acorns on long, thin stems, ready for silvering and decoration. Understandably, they did not want this proprietary machine photographed, but I stared at it a long time, enjoying the coordinated whirring of its many gizmos.

4/22/04

The next morning, Andre picked me up for another day of exploring the local glass scene. We started with the Berufsfachschule, the local training school which accounts, in large measure, for the high level of skill I saw in all the local glassworkers. The original incarnation of this training center had been the Hochfachshule fur Glaskunst, established in the 1880's when lampwork was undergoing a burst of development after the introduction of the gas-burning torch around 1867. Also at the time, certifying boards for journeyman and master novelty glassblowers were established.

The Hochfachshule taught students at something like a junior-college level, requiring them to fulfill at two-year apprenticeship in glass before being admitted. Training addressed both theoretical and practical education for glass work. This system was in place until the late 1950's, when it was decided to separate theoretical and practical studies. Finally, around 1989, the Berufsfachschule was created to bring both branches of study back together.

Class at the Berufsfacschule

High-school age kids (and some older) can choose this program instead of the usual high school curriculum. In addition to math and other regular study subjects, students complete specialized training in lampwork glass techniques. The first year is for general study in the making of glass animals, Christmas ornaments and vessels. After this period, they are expected to specialize in one of these fields and concentrate their studies there. They also learn related glass techniques, like coldworking. There are about a half a dozen of these schools in Germany, which give a certificate in lampwork technique.

I was also impressed by the general quality of the arts training the students receive. Unlike in America, where kids who want to learn lampwork are largely on their own, these students receive a thorough education not only in glass technique, but also in drawing and modeling of animals. That is, they receive basic-level, classical lessons in anatomy and rendering, working from drawings and models. The result is that, if they want to make an animal, they have a solid body of experience on which to draw-no pun intended. The Lauscha Berufsfachshule teaches about 50 students at a time, somewhat evenly divided between the three specialized fields of study.

Learning to draw in German

While this kind of training can lead to a certain conventionality in students' work, it also gives a really solid foundation for future creativity, and saves the students a lot of wasted time and energy. It's true that one tends to see a lot of similar work by different people in Lauscha-as in Murano-and given the challenges posed by international competition and cheap imitations, I think this is can be a weakness. In terms of innovation and willingness to experiment, the less formal American approach may be stronger. But while both approaches have pros and cons, I think that ultimately, the best method would be to combine them. Indeed, the classically trained artists participating in the Symposium showed the best of both worlds. My guide Andre, the Bavarian artist Hermann Ritterswürden and Karl-Hans Ittig (one of the founders of the Eugene Glass School) all certainly embodied this, for example.

I encounter a lot of American students of glass who don't have any formal art training in their background. While that isn't necessarily an obstacle to getting started, I think at some point everyone should engage a broader approach to art. It's too easy and comfortable to remain a big fish in the small pond of lampworking.

I would love to see something like the Berufsfachshule set up in America to train the next generation of lampworkers. The glass art certificate program at Salem Community College comes pretty close, but starts at a college level. I think that getting kids started even younger has advantages. It would encourage not only better technique, but greater creative abilities and better work in this country. I think it would also help a lot of kids get direction when they need it most-even if they don't think so themselves.

At the Berufsfachschule, Andre introduced me to Jurgen Kob, one of the instructors, and also to the Director, Ursula Eichorn-Sens. I brought to the school samples of my books forthe students to see, as well as some glow-in-the-dark powder to try. (Understandably, the instructors wanted to double-check the safety of the powder before trying it, so I directed them to the Glow-Glass website (www.swirlees.com) where they could get the MSDS.)

The students were very interested in the books, not being all that familiar with the glass world outside their town. I also brought along a "Regions of the Flame" T-shirt, suggesting to Frau Eichorn-Sens that she award it to the best student in the school, or have a contest with it or something. She seemed to have someone in mind right away, and took us into the work studio where about a dozen students were gathered around watching an instructor make a one-way valve used in the fermentation of wine. A student named Mike was called out to receive the shirt, and after a few words of congratulations we let the class get on with their business.

After finishing at the Berufsfachschule, we returned to the factory for a brief press conference near the exhibition of work by participating artists. I also watched the factory production crew making garden balls, again using a mold-blown process. It was the same crew as the previous day, but they had switched jobs. The kid who had been tending the mold was now making gathers, and the one who had brought the mold-blown goblets to the annealer was now the gaffer. I asked Andre about it and he explained that this was a common practice in Germany. There was not such a strict hierarchy of Maestros and underlings and one found on Murano, for example. Crew members learned by taking on different jobs as their skill level and the demands of the factory allowed.

Walking around town on my own for a couple of hours, I got a better sense of the full variety of work in Lauscha. In many cases, the differences between the work of individual craftsmen were subtle, but a few people stood out by pursuing new directions. As in Murano, even among those working for the tourist trade, there are some whose attention to detail and expressive sense of proportion sets them apart.

I visited the workshop of Thomas Muller-Litz, and saw that he is more versatile than I had realized when I first met him. While he is known for blown montage pieces of various sizes,he has also experimented with a variety of other styles. Simpler goblets and decanters in one or two colors, candlesticks, animals and other variations of his montage style were also on display.

work by Thomas Muller-Litz. Hint: in German, it's pronounced "Toe-mas."

Walking on further, I took advantage of the sunny weather, and photographed a few of the unique buildings in this old, old town. The local gray slate is used to cover not only the roofs, but also the sides of most buildings in this area. It is durable and waterproof in the cold, wet winters. Andre later told me that when applied properly, slate siding can last a hundred years. It does lead to a rather monochromatic, sometimes dark feeling in the town, but there is some variety present in the sometimes outlandish shapes of turrets and other architectural features of the houses. There were also a few examples of incredible brickwork that exemplified that Old World craftsmanship we hear so much about in the States.

At 1:00 I met up with Uwe Classen, the Director of the Museum für Glaskunst, who led me and a couple of the other Symposium artists on a tour of their displays. Herr Classen explained that because their collection has grown so much, they can only show about 10% of it at a time, and it is difficult to select which items should be displayed on a permanent basis. These problems will hopefully be solved by the acquisition of a new building for the Museum. An old school near the train station seems to be a good prospect, and efforts are being made to gather the needed funding for the move.

The Museum für Glaskunst was established in 1897, the 300th anniversary of the founding of the town. It houses an extensive collection of work produced in Lauscha, with the distinct advantage that many pieces were donated by the family of the artist who made them. Museums thrive on the kind of provenance and other background information that can be collected under these circumstances.

Herr Classen told us that the earliest glassmakers in Lauscha, back in the late 1500's had been monks. There were several reasons for the close association between monasteries and glass factories, which was typical of the time. Firstly, the glass formulas and procedures were all recorded in Latin, which only the monks could read. Secondly, the monasteries needed glass for their church windows, and it was advantageous to the other-worldly and mysterious atmosphere they wanted to create in their houses of worship to be at the top of the glass food chain, as it were. Thirdly, the apothekes, or apothecaries were also associated with the monasteries and glass bottles were needed to preserve herbal tinctures and the other remedies they produced. For all these reasons, glass and monastic orders tended to go together.

As the town became more established and grew larger, it was natural for people to develop new uses for and ways of working with glass. The original Greiner factory had work stations for only 12 glassblowers, and so could employ a maximum of 40 people or so. Families diversified into painting and engraving the finished wares, or moved on to found new factories in other towns. Around 1750, the first lampworking appeared in Lauscha, using paraffin lamps (from which the name derives). This enabled more people to work with glass, and by 1820 there were pieces produced which were painted in imitation of porcelain figures popular at the time.

The introduction of gas torches later in the 19th century ensured that even more people could work glass, in increasingly elaborate forms, establishing the lucrative market in Christmas ornaments (especially after they were discovered by Woolworth's), kunst, and other creative wares. The development of chemically stable kryolite glass in the 1880s made advances in glass eyes possible as well. We were shown a great display of assorted glass eyes, both for people and dolls, as well as pieces designed, like some of the Blaschka plant models, to illustrate various grisly disease conditions.

An assortment of ornaments on display in the Glasmuseum.

Exhibits at the Museum show the early development of glassblowing in Lauscha as well as many of the historical products made in home workshops. Every type of Christmas ornament you have ever seen is on display, as well as a few you haven't, but there is also information about glass fibers, prosthetic eyes, figurines, beads, tools and more recent historical events. In honor of the International Glass Symposium, which the Museum co-sponsors, there was a special exhibit of work produced at the past Symposia, both at the torch and at the gaffer's bench.

Later that afternoon, I met up again with Andre, who took me to visit one of the most renowned living masters in Lauscha, Hubert Koch. His various interpretations of montage technique, mostly with loose, organic shapes and surface textures, have been exhibited in many museums and are prized by collectors. Herr Koch and his wife graciously entertained us for about an hour in their home, serving coffee and delicious homemade pastries. Hubert Koch's original certification as a glassblower was in making glass eyes, although he is more well-known for his blown vessels. We were given the rare treat of seeing some of the eyes he had made, many of which were meant to be used in preserved animal specimens and trophies. It's always a bit creepy handling eyes that look so real. In this case the effect was achieved using enamels and other painted finishes as well as more traditional lampwork techniques. It was also a treat to see many of his pieces first-hand, and to see various developments in his style across the years. I gave Herr Koch a copy of Formed of Fire, and he graciously reciprocated with a copy of his most recent museum exhibition catalog, a substantial hardcover edition documenting much of his career.

After leaving Hubert Koch, we hurried over to the official opening of the Symposium at the Farbglashutte, arriving in plenty of time to mingle a bit before the speeches began. I recognized many of the people present, from my journeys around town so far. But there were also some unfamiliar dignitaries present, including the owner of the factory, the mayor of Lauscha, and best of all, the Glass Princess. Each dignitary gave a speech in turn, to open the festivities and to inspire us, I suppose, to greater appreciation for glass in general and Lauscha in particular.

After a bit more mingling and elbow-rubbing, Andre and I zipped off in his WV van to pick up my wash before the laundry closed at 6:00. The laundry where we had dropped off my dirty clothes the day before was conveniently next door to the Eichorn Studio, where Andre's girlfriend, Rebecca, works making production figurines. Rebecca was not working, but the lady of the house let us in to look around, and when she discerned my interest in old tools and blowmolds, she pulled out a collection of porcelain molds that went back at least as far as WWI, excitedly showing off unusual and especially intricate patterns. This was an experience I was to have often, in which people spontaneously shared much more than I expected when they saw that I was interested in their tradition or the work they were doing.

The next event was the evening meal and gathering at the Gollo, where announcements were made, slides were shown, and it seemed like everyone but me was smoking a cigarette. There was of course a lot of beer consumed, and I had a token weissbeir which went down pretty smooth. On this first evening of slides, those of us with digital images went on first, and Susanne Precht's son helped figure out the projector system. Happily, my Powerbook plugged right into the projector (aka "the beamer") that was provided, so I was able to show some short video clips of my steam engines and other machines I have made recently.

Dinner crowd at the Gollo

Sussane and Andre also had digital images to show, and slides were shown by Jens Gussek of his boat and vessel forms which incorporated blown and cast elements. Just as things were getting ready to wind down, a fellow showed up who did a pretty good job of fulfilling the Crocodile Dundee image of an Arizonan that Henry's friends had been looking forward to the other night. In fact, this guy had been in Australia, and he looked a bit leathery. He spoke in German, but with a bit of sporadic translation I was able to get the gist of what he was talking about. Actually, I got pretty much the whole picture when he pulled out his digeridoo with a picture of an alien on it.

4/23/04
The following morning I had breakfast with some of the other Symposium artists who were staying at the Gollo. Stephen and Nina -Thorp are furnace workers from Weisenfeld who do primarily casting work, Anne Loendal is from Copenhagen and also works at the furnace. Hermann Ritterswurden is a lampworker from Zweisel, whose work I had seen in Neues Glas magazine when he recently won a Jutta Cuny-Franz Prize.

Now let me describe breakfast, which was prepared for us every morning by Henry Knye's gregarious mother. There was enough food in this appetizing old-world spread to fuel a starving artist all day. Of course there were fresh flowers on the table, and rolls and bread with butter and jam-but German bread and butter are so much better than what we have in the States. In fact, I'm fairly certain that German bread is the best in the world. In addition to some small, crusty white rolls, there were extraordinary whole grain offerings with various seeds and other delightful inclusions. Each day there was also a different sweet pastry to go with rich coffee served with fresh local cream. But that was just the beginning. There were also fresh fruit, hard boiled eggs, a platter of outstanding sliced meats and cheeses, yogurt, and an extra-rich type of yogurty soft cheese known as quark, either with fruit or savory spices blended in. We were assured that all of this was produced locally and it really was fresh and delicious.

Breakfast at the Gollo.

While enjoying our extraordinary breakfast, we spoke about the upcoming Symposium and our experiences in the glass world. We found that we knew a lot of the same people, and in fact Stephen got a phone call from a gallery owner I knew while we were talking. This was to be the first day of demonstrations, and we discussed what we thought we might make with the facilities and materials that were provided.

After breakfast Andre picked me up so that we could grab some tools from his studio, which is actually in Ernstthal, the next town over from Lauscha. A large sign in the yard invites tourists to come in and choose from the selection of elegant pieces on display. Andre has a beautiful atelier, with a lovely view out the front windows of his house. This prize-winning artist works primarily in the soft Lauscha glass, although he does the occasional borosilicate piece. I was also interested to see the heat recuperation device he had fabricated for his fume hood. An automotive radiator mounted in the hood takes heat out of the exhaust air, and recirculates it through some pipes to another heat exchanger in the incoming air vent. This takes the chill out of his makeup air and saves some heating expenses in the winter time.
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We had some time before our demo slots were to start, so Andre took me to the nearby town of Neuhaus, which was the hometown of the late Kurt Wallstab as well as Albin Schaedel (both of whom did extraordinary montage work) and Heinrich Geissler. Geissler (1814-1879) was famous for developing tubes which were fanciful forerunners of neon lighting. These elaborate "Geissler tubes" were drawn down to a near vacuum, and then partially filled with gasses that glowed when charged with electricity. The theory behind them was that the "radiant matter" enclosed within transmitted health benefits to those who contacted the tubes. Sometimes particles of different UV-reactive minerals were also enclosed inside the tubes, glowing in a variety of colors. Neuhaus is also where a lot of radio tubes where produced when that was the dominant technology.

Currently Neuhaus is home to at least one scientific glassblower, Udo Wiefel, who also makes most of the radiometers I saw spinning in the windows of homes and shops around Lauscha. Radiometers are those light-bulb shaped contraptions we have all seen at science museums or in Junior High physics class. The bulb is pumped down to a vacuum, and enclosed is a sort of four-vaned pinwheel, which spins when light shines on it. The radiometers I saw in Lauscha and at Wiefel's glasbläserei were mostly of the hanging type, with hooks top and bottom so that they could be arranged in long chains in tall windows. Often they are painted with colorful designs to make them more decorative.

Herr Wiefel welcomed us into his shop and allowed me to photograph some of the steps in radiometer production. It is something of a family operation in the old tradition, with the elderly parents helping with some of the steps, such as fabricating the pinwheel vanes from tiny squares of toasted mica. Udo's father also seemed to enjoy the opportunity to share some stories from his interesting life in which he has seen "regime change" up close more than once.

some of Weifel's radiometers.

From the radiometer shop we made our way to the Geissler Museum, where we interrupted the caretaker in the midst of some minor repairs to the building. He welcomed us warmly nonetheless, and dusting plaster off his hands he energetically showed us around the small Museum which houses some beautiful pieces by Wallstab and Schaedel, as well as artifacts relating to Heinrich Geissler and scientific glassblowing generally, including thermometers and vacuum tubes. There was also a display of antique torches and other tools. Fascinating!

It was soon time for us to return to the Farbglashutte for our demonstration slots. Andre and I were working at the same time, a few stations apart in one of the showrooms for the factory. There were several other lampworkers demonstrating a variety of blowing techniques in the same room with us, and a few more around the corner making mostly solid figures. I made a fish goblet and demonstrated the "sea floral" or "implosion" technique for making pendants to some of the students from the Berufsfachschule, who had apparently never seen any thing like it. I also started on a rather haphazardly planned kinetic sculpture, which took me the rest of my demo time on the next day (and some additional time at Andre's) to complete.

Demos ended at 5:00 and most of the Symposium artists went up to the Lauscha Fiber International factory for a tour. This is one of several factories owned by one company, and here they made both spun glass fiber and candy-sized chunks of "K-Glas" for use in offhand studios. The fiber was spun in a process fairly identical to the creation of cotton candy. This very soft, fluffy fiber is used as sound and thermal insulation in cars, as well as being compressed into fine air filters for hospital use. K-Glas is a specially produced cullet for glassblowing studios that don't want to deal with the hazards and hassles of batching their glass from scratch. I wasn't allowed to photograph any of the machinery, but the contraption that spit out the little square pillow-shaped chunks of K-Glas was hypnotic, with streams of glowing, molten glass drawn from a large tank furnace, across a forming apparatus, and then up a conveyor belt until they hardened and broke into distinctive clear lozenges, ready for remelting in someone's studio.

By the time we emerged from the factory, the weather had turned cold, wet and foggy. I was told that this, rather than the sun we had enjoyed the last few days, was more like the real Lauscha weather this time of year, when winter often returns for a couple of weeks just as Spring seems to be getting under way. I made my way on foot through blustery conditions, back to the Gollo for get ready for dinner and more slides. The crowd was bigger than last night, and I made a point of ordering my dinner earlier than the night before, and was blessed with a shorter wait for my meal. Both the kitchen and the single waitress who was assigned to our banquet room seemed to be overloaded, but there also seemed to be enough beer (and cigarettes) to keep people happy and everyone was talking cheerfully as they waited for their meal. In any case, the food was worth waiting for in this place. A few more Symposium artists presented slides of their work and it was late in the evening before things really finished up.

4/24/04
Having demonstrated on Friday afternoon, Andre and I were also on for Saturday morning. I continued on the crankshafts for my machine, which was taking way longer than I had guessed it might originally. Nonetheless people were interested in what I was doing, and asked good questions. I wanted to do something different from what other demonstrators had to offer, so visitors could see a wide variety of techniques. No one else was making borosilicate machines, that's for sure.

One highlight of the morning was a walk-through by the Glass Princess. This was apparently one of her royal obligations, and she handled it with grace, even posing for photographs with the occasional tourist. Someone from the crown noticed I was taking a break and called me over to get a photo of a glass artist with the Glass Princess. I'd like to record this brush with royalty in my resumé somehow, but I'm not quite sure how to spin it for best effect or even what heading to put it under!

American artist greeted by Eueopean Royalty!

One of the interesting pieces in progress in the next room was a collaboration between a couple of the artists. I may have some of the facts wrong, but I believe the flies were made by Falk Bauer and the flypaper strip by Ultrich Precht. At least, Ulrich was the one doing the gluing and curing it with a UV lamp when I walked by. The result was a funky hanging strip, complete with doomed flies. Henry Knye may have been involved also, but I didn't get to confirm this is the flurry of activity later.

When my demonstration time was done at 1:00, I was free to see more of the other demonstrations. A bit down the road, in the Glaszentrum Lauscha, Albrecht Greiner-Mai and Michael Drews were collaborating to encase a lampworked montage cup between gathers at the furnace. The result would be a thick offhand blown vessel with pattern that could only be achieved by lampwork. I wasn't able to see the completion of the piece, but it was very interesting to see the initial steps of the process, especially the crucial insertion of the first gather inside the delicate cup, which was carried out holding the cup in a pair of insulated gloves. I had seen some pieces done by this technique at the Museum fur Glaskunst, and the effect was very satisfying. Before his death a couple of years ago, Kurt Wallstab had also been working with this method to make solid paperweights.

Albrecht Greiner-Mai preparing the montage cup at the lamp.(left) Inserting the parison into the cup.(right)

That night there was a dinner and party at the Farbglashutte, with a local band playing jazz and pop standards. I didn't see any dancing, but that may have started up after I left. We were served a substantial buffet and seated around tables set up informally on the factory floor. I sat with a number of the artists I knew, and while the atmosphere and company was enjoyable, I was feeling somewhat tired and left around 10:00 to tend to some of this writing and catch up on some sleep.

4/25/04
Sunday was a day of open studios around Lauscha. I first stopped by Andre's atelier to make a few last-minute adjustments on my machine and to negotiate a trade. On the way I passed the local toboggan run, which has been modified for year-round use. I even saw someone gliding down the metal shute on a sled with wheels. It looked like fun, although maybe not as fast as the winter version in ice and snow. It felt good to walk the two or three kilometers to Andre's studio. The area is popular for hiking in the summer, and I could certainly see why. The hilly terrain would also help keep one in pretty good shape.

After Andre's I made my way back through downtown Lauscha, stopping in a few of the shops to pick up souvenirs. I saw some beautiful renderings of foxgloves (known in German as "finger hats") by local artist, but was too nervous about getting them home safely and had to pass on them. I also stopped in again to see Thomas Müller-Litz for a few minutes, and then on to the Berufsfachschule where students and instructors were demonstrating their skills.

From there, it was a long uphill trek to the studio of Falk Bauer, the insect maker. I watched him fabricate an amazingly lifelike mosquito, and with the help of his son I was able to photograph a few of his pieces in the naturalistic setting of their garden. I was glad to be able to get a couple of the insects to take home, and they now occupy places of honor near bugs by Vittorio Costantini, Tim Jerman and Larry Williams.

Insect by Falk Bauer.

After all that hiking up and down hills, I was ready for a brief rest at the Gollo, and then I was back down to the Farbglashutte for the conclusion of the exhibition. As we were all packing things up, I had a conversation with Uwe Classen of the Museum fur Glaskunst. As a result, the Museum will have, In addition to the simple machine I made in Lauscha, one of my Spheres which had been in the exhibition. I was glad to know that they would have not only an interesting work in progress but also one of my finished pieces in their collection.

Then it was goodbyes all around, amidst handshakes, hugs and piles of bubblewrap. I had cake and coffee with some of my new friends in the factory restaurant before heading up the hill again to start organizing myself for the trip home. There were a lot of people at the Symposium I didn't get to know, and I wish things had gone on for a few more days so that I could have gotten around to see more of what transpired in the other studios. I guess this is always the case with conferences: there's never quite enough time to see everything worth seeing.

The next morning Andre gave me a ride back to the train station in Ehrfurt. After a train ride and an overnight stay in Frankfurt, my plane ride home was uneventful. Except that there was a mechanical delay in leaving the airport, so that we sat on the runway for two hours. Of course that meant connections were missed and I had to get rerouted home, so in the end I was five hours late, and one of my bags got delayed.

But I made it home safely with all my glass, my disks of digital photos and some really great memories. I look forward to getting back both to Murano and Lauscha one of these days, and I encourage anyone with an interest in glass to visit both places. And do remember to support the creation of handcrafted glass from these traditional towns.