My parents are a month short of 38 years of marriage. They’ve been together 39 years if you count from the vernal equinox. Every since I can remember they’ve been doing glass work. Stained glass, warm glass and hot glass.
From the moment my mom first laid eyes on the windows flanking the fireplace in my 1926 craftsmen bungalow she has been conceiving the art that she would eventually create and place there. Roses were a natural selection. Styling them in the Scottish Glasgow fashion and mirroring them like sisters came later on.
The installation of a glass piece carries the most consternation and anxiety. Many a fine pieces have met demise minutes before declaring themselves successfully installed. Although my mother had spent hours organizing and observing the pieces while in her studio when it came to their big reveal at my bungalow putting them together became an obstacle.