Minnewaska Musings

By Paul Gremmels

My wife is a stained glass artisan. She has a shop in a south-facing room of our home. I rarely go in there, at least, unsupervised. The shop is just off of our dining room that is separated by French doors. Her bulk sheets of glass are stored on shelves and a kaleidoscope of colors never fails to catch my eye as I pass through the dining room. Sometimes, I will go in there and peek at the latest project on her workbench. It is often a stained glass window, but it could also be a lamp, a desk piece or a Christmas ornament. As I look at the delicate pieces of colored glass on the bench, my hands always instinctively clasp each other behind my back. They remain that way until I leave the room.

   

Without being too scientific, light is made up of wavelengths of color. What we actually see, is the wavelength of the color that is being reflected back into our eyes from a particular object. How our brain perceives these colors is more complex than I can describe in a short essay. Let’s just say for the sake of brevity, that is simply – “magic.”  This magic of working with stained glass dates back a couple thousand years to the ancient Egyptians. It was refined in the mosques, temples and churches across the Mideast, through Europe and England beginning in the 6th century A.D. Some of those windows, miraculously, still exist today.

   It is interesting to note: that artistic painters who use acrylics or water colors on paper and canvas generally prefer a space with a north facing window, as the light is soft and consistent throughout the day. Sculptors prefer a space that has both east and west facing windows, as they better define shadows and subtle features. A stained glass artisan will usually work with a south facing window, holding their pieces of glass up, allowing the direct sunlight to pass through them, examining the wavelengths of color as they distinctly show themselves.

   I enjoy going with my wife to a wholesale, stained glass dealer in the big city. The dealer works out of his house in a rugged neighborhood and it seems that every time we are there, sirens are going off. He and my wife will talk about projects they are working on and begin examining sheets of glass, lightly haggling as they hold each piece up to the south facing window. I casually listen to them as I look through the countless sheets and pieces of stained glass, stored upright on rows of sleeved shelves. My wife and the dealer throw words around like “flashed, craquel, opalescent, textured and seedy.” I slide a unique looking sheet of glass out of its sleeve and marvel at its ornate appliqué-like design. I note the price of 835 dollars and very carefully slide the glass back into its sleeve and clasp my hands behind my back.

   Back in my wife’s shop, amongst the grinders, saws and soldering tools, my wife works on a hundred year old, entryway door window. I secretly watch her through the French-doors. She holds up a brilliant, blue piece of broken glass from the old window. Then, she holds up a new piece next to it. The piece she purchased from the dealer. They are a perfect match and I see a subtle, celebratory head nod from her. I smile, because it is not every day that you get to witness ancient magic being performed.