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With his self-deprecating sense of humor intact, Dick Weiss has survived 30+ years in the glass arts, and emerged in the new millennium with a body of work that decorates and delights, but also has some “meat”.
His first exhibition of leaded glass screens took place at William Traver Gallery, Seattle, Washington, in 1999, 20 years after he first began showing with Bill
Traver. Weiss describes his screens as a celebration of the hand-blown
rondel.
Because Weiss does not blow glass, his rondels are made by friends such as Katherine Gray, Preston Singletary, Dante
Marioni, Paul Cunningham, and Kait Rhoads.
Writes Daniel Kany, associate director, William Traver gallery, “The varied work of these artists contributes to the range and visual dynamism of the screens. “Rain Curtain”, for example, came from dozens of cut-offs from Ben Moore rondels that Weiss had in his studio; Weiss let the odd shapes inspire the rhythm, structure and scale of the screen.”
Kany continues, “Whereas the first series of screens seemed to be an exploration of new avenues, this second generation is more formally focused. While his compositional strategies may seem straightforward, they develop from subtle, asymmetrical gestures into surprisingly strong visual maps that compel the viewer’s eye to follow. His work is clear, but not simple.
“Weiss makes the most of the relationship between the medium of stained glass and the folding screen form. His screens bask in the immateriality of light while asserting a graceful physical presence. For him, the screen format offers a journey of three, four, or five segments. Each journey has a beginning, a period of exploration, and a concluding summation. Rather than aggressively confronting the viewer, Weiss’ screens reveal their pictorial and sculptural intelligence by unfurling gracefully. Weiss seeks to delight and yet delivers so much more.”
Weiss’ career began in stained glass. In addition to multitudes of autonomous panels, he has created several publicly funded architectural commissions under Washington State’s various percent for arts and capital expenditure programs, including four windows for the Marine Sciences building at the University of Washington, an assortment of gables and trusses at a senior citizens’ center in Kent, and two very large window at
Sea-Tac Airport.
Painting on glass is another passion for Weiss, and he has curated several pivotal shows in the Seattle area including “The Beauty of Painted Glass” at the Bellevue Art Museum in 1994, which he
co-curated with Susan Sagawa. Even Master glass painter Erwin Eisch was astounded and delighted that a museum would dedicate an entire show to painted glass at that time.
Since 1984, Weiss has become increasingly interested in the human face, both his own and those of the people around him. Coming from the Pacific Northwest, he also developed a great and abiding respect for the blown vessel through many artists in the area, but particularly his friend, Ben Moore and his wife, Sonja
Blomdahl. It seemed a natural to combine the two.
Writes Geoff Wichert, artist/critic, “Weiss puts his representational and narrative urges into painted vessels, while holding out in his windows and screens for an unlabored effect that is as close as he can come to the sensual joy of first connecting with a piece of glass whose color or optics explode on the retina and reverberate through the body.”
From his Seattle home where he lives with wife and fellow glass artist Blomdahl and six-year-old son Ray, described by Weiss as their “greatest collaboration”, the artist discusses the evolution of his current glass screens as well as his work in stained and painted glass.
GA: When and why did you begin making your glass screens?
DW: I made the first one in the late ‘90s. I like to joke that I have a new idea about every 10 years. The idea for this decade has been hand-blown
rondels. A hand-blown rondel is a luscious piece of glass.
I was tired of making stained glass windows, partially because there’s not much of a market for autonomous panels, and also because as a one-man shop, stained glass can be so labor-intensive. These rondel windows don’t have incredible amounts of glass. A three-panel screen might have something like 150 pieces. Technically, that’s not difficult or time-consuming.
Screens seem like a natural for glass if you want to do autonomous panels, because no one has to saw a hole in the side of their house to have one. They’re movable units.
A single window is like a short story; a screen is like a novel. In a novel you get to stretch out; you get to explore sub-themes. A three- or four-panel screen is a journey. I come up with an initial idea. And a simple idea can just blossom because the glass is so gorgeous. I make the first panel, and I’m never sure in which position that panel will end up. In the second or third panel, I play off of what is happening in panel number one and experiment further with the initial design. The final panel is the synthesis of the others and pulls everything together.
After 30 years of working in glass, I’m finally getting some leaded glass window commissions. I’m doing some windows for the entrance of a high school outside of Spokane, and
Sea-Tac Airport has been renovated, and I’ll be adding an extra 13 feet onto the windows I originally built for them in the ‘80s. I generally pour the money back into my independent work — the screens.
A couple of years ago, Ed Carpenter came by the studio with Peter
Mollica, and there was a screen up on the easel. Ed said, “You’re getting dangerously close to selling something if you don’t watch out.”
GA: You began your career as a stained glass artist, and eventually made the transition to painting on vessels. When and how did that come about?
DW: I started making stained glass in 1971. I’ve always loved 20th century painting, but I never thought I could be a painter. I thought of painters as people with talent. One of the reasons I went into stained glass was because it was not threatening to me.
Then I met Cappy Thompson who was painting with the grisaille technique on her stained glass at the time. She convinced me how easy it would be, because I’m very technique-phobic. In 1984, I did some painting for the first time around borders of my stained glass windows.
In 1988, I got a commission for a couple of windows at
Sea-Tac Airport; each measured 22’ x 22’ and they were installed in the north and south ends of the main terminal building. The budget was so terrible I had to do the work completely by myself, and I knew it would be impossible to fill the entire window opening with stained glass. “For
A.W.” is located on the south end, and instead of designing for a rectangular space I designed a large triangle, which filled only half the space, and the rest of the window was clear glass. To offset the tinted airport windows, I designed a dark blue field punctured by bevels. For the north end, “Cow on its Side: Purist Form”, I tried to design a window that was formal, but playful. It was based on an undulating line form frequently found in the art movement Purism. I got the title from a United flight attendant who said that’s what the window looked like to her.
I really wanted the commission and am proud of the work, but after that I thought I never wanted to do stained glass again. And for the first time in my life, I started making work with no eye to the market. I decided to do a series of portraits on flat white glass. Later that year, I seriously turned to vessel portraiture. I was able to trade carpentry for blown vessels through the generosity of my friends – Dante Marioni and Ben Moore. They were very generous with their trades. Vessel portraiture remained my main emphasis for the next 10 years.
GA: During that decade you painted numerous self-portraits. What have you learned by painting your own visage so many times?
DW: Many people say everything an artist does is a self-portrait. In my case, I like faces; that’s what I remember most. I’ve done a lot of other people’s faces, too, mostly my friends. And I’m more careful with those, because I don’t want to screw them up. With my own visage, I don’t care. I’m not so tight, and I explore my face in a way that I wouldn’t with another subject.
GA: When you made the transition to leaded screens,
was it difficult for collectors of your painted work to
adjust?
DW: I don’t think anybody’s watching what I’m
doing, so it’s not like they’re shook up! Who cares?
I’m not on the top of those people’s minds. It’s
taken me many years to figure that out (laughs).
Only in the last couple of years have I intermixed the
various kinds of work I do in a slide show. And it works
OK. But they are disparate parts of myself. It varies my
diet. I find painting very hard to do and stained glass
much easier to do. It’s refreshing to go back and
forth.
GA: Did you ever consider painting on the screens?
DW: If a collector is into glass, it usually isn’t
because he/she loves paint. Paint and glass have had a
mixed battle. A few people have made a go of it, but a
lot haven’t.
I’ve always been someone who will take the easiest
course possible; if I get to first base, I think I’m
home. That’s one reason I like working with Walt
(Lieberman). He’s a perfectionist.
GA: You and Walter Lieberman create collaborations
under the title of WD 40+. When did you begin working
together?
DW: Walt and I have been collaborating since the early
‘90s. Being a part of the Hauberg Fellowship (an
off-season Pilchuck pilot program for artists in
mid-career), we all realized we’ve known each other
for over 20 years. We’re like old compadres on the
porch together. Walt and I initially didn’t like each
other when we met in 1979. Maybe we were too alike –
young and arrogant. Over the years, we realized we
really liked what the other person was doing. We were
both painting portraits in different styles. Through the
years, we have worked sporadically on a body of work
called WD40+, Walt and Dick beyond the age of 40. These
works are mostly painted vessels or painted white sheets
of glass — faces. “We copy the best,” as Walt
likes to say. We both like the Renaissance, so we’ve
gone back to Leonardo da Vinci’s angel faces again and
again. Walt’s method is the scratch-away method —
grisaille – where you put down a thin coat, stipple it
away, fire it, and put another coat over that. You build
up layers as opposed to direct application. Most of the
time Walt and I use his method.
We try not to fire a piece more than seven times,
particularly in the round. Every time you bring the kiln
up, there’s a chance to lose it. The enamels fire on
higher than the vessels can stand, so you have to rush
up there and rush back down to annealing, so the piece
doesn’t fall over in the kiln. That’s true even with
low-fire enamels.
GA: William Traver Gallery presented the inaugural
exhibition of the John H. Hauberg Fellowship from
October 5 – 28, 2001. The screen you made for the
exhibition included painting. Can you talk about that
piece and your role in the exhibition?
DW: The screen I worked on for that show was atypical of
the screens I’ve done. I normally treat rondels like
gorgeous hunks of chocolate and strew them around in a
Cherry Garcia. But this screen featured painting. I have
an egalitarian streak. When I’m in a group like that,
I try to think of projects that could involve everyone.
I’ve always loved crazy quilts, and I assembled the
components for this screen in a similar fashion.
Even in May, Pilchuck Glass School operates at half
capacity. Out of 150 people on campus, about 45 of them
are staff. The Canadian artists had already come down to
blow the centerpieces for the Pilchuck auction. And
that’s a tune-up for the furnaces, to make sure that
by the time the first session starts, the furnaces work.
So there were plenty of artists from which to solicit
work for the collaborative screen.
The screen, called “A Moment in Time” (see Page 41),
is a synthesis of the work of many at Pilchuck at that
time. I was like a spider, and I’d grab whoever came
by my desk and got close enough to my web. The piece is
based on a series of Italian playing cards that Walt
(Lieberman) had. Each artist picked a card, scratched
the image onto the glass, and I fired the work.
GA: Did the events of September 11 affect your art?
DW: I can have a pretty dark view of the world anyway.
Some of the world lives in pain. That part of the world
finally came to us on that day. I think it’s a healthy
sign for me personally that the screens are just
beautiful; there’s not an undercurrent of a darker
side. I think people need that now more than ever. I
know I do. |
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