Not One Without the Other: The Collaboration Between Artist and Craftsman in Muranese Glass Susanne K. Frantz

Throughout most of the 3,500-year history of glass, objects have been designed and made by the same person. Although there are exceptions to this tradition, it was not until the second half of the nineteenth century that architects and artists began to exert a presence as designers. At that time it was not unusual for a design to originate from an individual who was unfamiliar with the physical properties of glass and the intricacies of its fabrication. An object could go from drawing board to showroom without any direct communication between the designer and glassmaker. The results sometimes suffered. Eventually a different way of working developed, one that fostered a closer collaboration between artist and artisan. Emile Gallé, working in France at the turn of the twentieth century and one of the greatest artists to ever choose the material, did not blow glass. His most personal and idiosyncratic creations could only be the result of an extended face-to-face dialogue at the furnace with the glassblower. The 1910s and 1920s ushered in the now standard manufacturing procedure of artists, architects, and professional designers working closely with craftsmen on the factory floor.

Imagine the interior of a factory where handmade glass is made. Usually it is a surprisingly small space swarming with people who dodge between one another and around the equipment. The temperature is uncomfortably warm and the furnaces are roaring. Each person is a member of a team that serves one bench where a senior glassblower maestro presides. The jobs are defined by a centuries old protocol: preparation of the gather of molten glass from the furnace; assisting the glassblower; transferring the glass from the blower’s pipe to the pontil rod; and transporting the finished glass to the annealing oven for cooling.

Amid this complicated orchestra the designer steps in to develop the prototype that will serve as a guide for subsequent production. He or she usually brings a drawing, model, or template that can range in refinement from a rough sketch to a detailed schematic. Some arrive with nothing but an idea that is described orally. There is first a discussion in which the glassmaker offers suggestions on how the object might be made more gracefully and efficiently. The experiments begin with possible modifications sketched out in chalk on the furnace or scratched on the floor. The designer directs and asks for changes. Sometimes a mistake–a slight bulge or a misaligned handle–inspires a revision to the original concept. Should the foot be wider? Can the stem and bowl be connected with a flat patty of glass, or would a hollow sphere be stronger and more elegant?

Every step of the way must be discussed and approved. Sometimes there is frustration generated by the repeated attempts of one person to realize the vision of another. Eventually a design is either abandoned or a solution is reached that permits the object to go into production within an acceptable price range. For objects that are unique or issued in limited editions, the cost is less of an issue. In nineteenth and early twentieth century Italy glass craftsmen took their design inspiration from the past. They revived and embellished historical forms and they largely ignored contemporary trends. As was true in Scandinavia and other parts of Europe, the 1920s through the 1960s brought forth stunning new developments–most often the result of teaming an artist or architect with excellent glassmakers. Those decades are identified with a handful of designers who had an incomparable influence on the modernization of Italian glass. In the 1910s and 1920s it was painter Vittorio Zecchin working with Artisti Barovier and then Vetri Soffiati Muranesi Cappellin-Venini. The late 1920s and the 1930s were dominated by sculptor Napoleone Martinuzzi, then architect Carlo Scarpa guided the artistic direction ofVenini during the later 1930s until 1947. Fulvio Bianconi took over from Scarpa and defined the look of the company in the 1950s. Such designers as Massimo Vignelli and Tapio Wirkkala introduced the more minimal, lighter styling and subtle color palette that characterized the 1960s. Countless others, both Italian and foreign, relied on the superbly skilled craftsmen to help form a canon of objects. Carlo Scarpa, in particular, is remembered by many as displaying great respect for the glassmakers and for seeking out their opinions. During the 1930s, glassblower Alfredo Barbini worked closely with Napoleone Martinuzzi. Both Barbini and Archimede Seguso executed the designs of Flavio Poli. For almost forty years Fulvio Bianconi worked with one of Venini’s most remarkable maestri, Arturo Biasutto, known as Boboli. Boboli’s ability to execute difficult shapes remains legendary in Murano. So too the skills of another great craftsman, Carlo Tosi, called Caramea, who specialized in blowing the most intricate and exquisite goblets. Just a few of the other glassmakers who played important roles include Giuseppe and Benvenuto Barovier, Aldo “Polo” Bon, Aldo Nason, Ermanno Nason, Mario “Grasso” Tosi, Ermete Toso, and Licio Zuffi. While the names of numerous designers are familiar today, unfortunately most of the craftsmen remain relatively unknown outside of Murano.

Some people subscribe to the theory that glass can only be effectively designed by a person who is thoroughly familiar with the craft of glassmaking. Only through experience with the physical capabilities of the medium can its natural qualities be fully exploited. Others hold to the idea that it is sometimes better for the designer to be less familiar with technique. He or she comes to a project with fresh eyes and is not restricted by the past. That designer may not accept the words, “It is not possible.” By insisting on bending the rules of tradition, new ground is sometimes broken.

Thomas Stearns, an American in Venice on a Fulbright travel scholarship and a grant from the Italian government, was one such artist. He did not arrive as an aspiring glassblower or even as an aspiring designer–rather Stearns came to Venini as an artist fascinated by the material. He wished to investigate glass as a medium for art–specifically one that he could use to record his impressions of Venice. From late 1960 through most of 1962 he stood with the glassmakers every day–explaining, arguing, and learning. When he urged them to make asymmetrical vessels and place the openings off-axis, he was asking them to go against everything they were taught. Stearns pushed them to work with difficult glasses and to use a subdued color palette that was “not Venetian.” The results were unprecedented in their intimacy.

Stearns attributes much of his success to his good fortune at working with the young maestro Francesco Ongaro, known as Checco, was unusual in several ways: he was willing to experiment with complex designs and enjoyed the challenge of inventing new ways to fabricate shapes. He also possessed a natural curiosity and welcomed the peculiar input of a foreign artist. Stearns recalls, Checco’s skills were just short of incredible. He could smoothly and quickly shift between making thinly blown small pieces to those that were heavy and large.

Ultimately, Ongaro had a significant impact on the development of American studio glass through his work with students eager to learn Muranese glassmaking techniques. Dan Dailey, Richard Marquis, Benjamin Moore, Michael Nourot, and Toots Zynsky are among those who benefited from Ongaro’s graciousness and expertise.

Beginning in the 1950s, entrepreneur Egidio Costantini solicited designs from well-known painters and sculptors throughout the world. He called his enterprise La Fucina degli Angeli and introduced a somewhat different relationship between designer and craftsman. Most of the artists who responded to his requests had no experience with glass and little or no involvement in the actual manufacture of the pieces. Instead, the designs were interpreted by Costantini and, perhaps more significantly, by the glassmakers he employed, such as maestro Loredano Rosin.

Some designers take the glass into their own hands. During the late 1940s, Fulvio Bianconi produced prototype vessels by cutting the glass himself. The deeply gouged forms are almost primitive in their look and suggest stone or wood sculptures. Such items can only be produced by the direct intervention of the artist. From the mid-1940s, German-born Erwin Walter Burger, based in Milan, ran his own studio where he carved figures and animals from solid blocks of glass cullet.

Nevertheless, the long-standing tradition of the artist/craftsman has strongly survived in glassmaking. Individuals such as Archimede Seguso and Alfredo Barbini are admired for producing their own designs as well as fabricating the designs of others. Seguso started his own company in 1946 and Barbini established his in 1950. Both acted as chief designer and glassblower over the following decades. Lino Tagliapietra is also an example of extreme flexibility and talent. Tagliapietra worked for years as a blower in the Muranese glass industry and was noted for his exceptional skill. In 1986 he began working free-lance with artists to execute their designs. With others, such as Dan Dailey, he works even more closely to produce a synthesis of the aesthetics of both participants. Today, Tagliapietra concentrates on his own designs, that while deeply rooted in the colorful Italian styles of the 1940s and 1950s, are interpretations that have redefined the look of modern Italian glass.

The craftsman’s critical role is becoming more widely acknowledged. A few artists, such as Yoichi Ohira, publicly acknowledg their work as the result of an equal partnership. Ohira is atypical in that his pieces are signed with his own name and that of the glassmaker with whom he has collaborated since 1993, Livio Serena, known as Maisasio.

All of the ancient traditions still flourish in Murano today. The artist/craftsman continues to make his (and occasionally her, for things change slowly on the island) designs. Professional designers employed by the glass companies still stand next to the glassblower and work out product prototypes. Local and foreign artists who have chosen glass as their medium also make the boat journey to Murano. They are privileged to hire some of the world’s finest glassmakers to help develop and realize ideas that would otherwise be impossible to produce. Whatever the arrangement, there is no escaping the absolute interdependence of designer and craftsperson. In the finest work, the craftsman is much more than a simple tool for replicating a drawing. Each and every design should represent a conversation and a negotiation between artist, maker, and the glass.