I went Sunday to see the blown glass art of Dale Chihuly on display at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I have been an enthusiastic fan of Chihuly’s for quite a while, having first encountered his work back in the early 1990’s on a trip to visit my sister who lives in Leavenworth, Washington. One of his amazing blown glass sculptures had been installed at a lovely retreat center called Sleeping Lady, which is just down the road from where she lives. She couldn’t wait to take me to see this mammoth creation, an enormous fusion of white glass which burst and drizzled around and unto itself like an icy wonder. What you notice first about Chihuly's work is the energy, the motion and emotion that pops from these glistening sculptures, so alive they all but move. His “Icicle Creek Chandelier” was his first ever installation outdoors, there in the midst of the Cascade Mountains. It was winter and the sculpture, which resembled an icy explosion, frozen in mid-air, hung outside with light playing through it in a magical transformation of glass as ice. My sister lives on Icicle Road as it winds its way up past Icicle Creek. This enormous fountain of curling glass was so appropriate, so organic to its place there at Sleeping Lady, I didn’t know which came first, Icicle Creek or Chihuly.
Now on exhibit in Boston are some of the most dramatic blown glass sculptures in Chihuly’s repertoire. A shimmering green, tree-like sculpture rising forty feet into the air, almost reaching the ceiling, is not in the Gallery where the exhibit is laid out but rather in the cafeteria. According to its label, the glass tower consists of 2,342 pieces of blown glass, weighs 10,000 pounds and took a full week to assemble in its place there at the MFA. Given the enormity and apparent fragility of these many, similarly mammoth creations, one of the unanswered questions of the exhibit was how they might have transported it all to Boston – from wherever these pieces might have been. Very carefully, to be sure.
One of the earmarks of Chihuly’s work is that he exhibits worldwide, notably in Venice, where the water seems to lend itself to his vision. One of the most fanciful sculptures is in the form of “the glass boat” which is a full-sized dory, loaded full to overflowing with blown glass figures, some resembling cranes or birds, others enormous balls, and then some mushrooms or orb-like umbrellas, suggesting cover or protection. All are in brilliant, blazing party-like colors as well as stripes unimagined in the world of blown glass. The explanation of this particular installation came as a quote from Chihuly who said that while in Finland, he became interested in knowing how many of his blown glass orbs would break if he threw them into the water. So he began to throw these large, beautiful objects into the harbor and to his surprise, maybe one out of a hundred broke. They were stronger than he thought. He called on some young boys then to retrieve the ones that had survived and they rowed out in a boat and loaded up the boat. This inspired him to create “the glass boat,” filling an empty boat with masses of colorful glass objects and setting it on a sheer “sea” of reflective glass. Every installation of the boat is different, according to where it is displayed, and sometimes, like in Venice, the boat is in actual, rather than virtual, water.
By hurling these works of art into the water, by setting them to the test under bold circumstances such as the frigid elements of the Cascade Mountains, Chihuly is testing his work, testing the myth of the fragility of glass, which is born out of intense heat, out of fire, if you will. And testing the strength of his own mind, blowing, pushing, pulling, curling, twisting. The glass is blown with stout iron rods, cut with tools that look better suited to steel or ironwork, maybe even horses’ hooves. Due to injury and age, Chihuly himself no longer does much of the work but instead choreographs a crew of able glass blowers, directing them against the backdrop of fiery furnaces. It’s hot, demanding work, needing incredible strength as well as a gentle touch. We see only the cool, bright remains of these efforts, these delicate fronds, these icicles, these medusa heads, these magical mushrooms, and open umbrellas of color and passion. You really ought to go in to see this exhibit. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
Now on exhibit in Boston are some of the most dramatic blown glass sculptures in Chihuly’s repertoire. A shimmering green, tree-like sculpture rising forty feet into the air, almost reaching the ceiling, is not in the Gallery where the exhibit is laid out but rather in the cafeteria. According to its label, the glass tower consists of 2,342 pieces of blown glass, weighs 10,000 pounds and took a full week to assemble in its place there at the MFA. Given the enormity and apparent fragility of these many, similarly mammoth creations, one of the unanswered questions of the exhibit was how they might have transported it all to Boston – from wherever these pieces might have been. Very carefully, to be sure.
One of the earmarks of Chihuly’s work is that he exhibits worldwide, notably in Venice, where the water seems to lend itself to his vision. One of the most fanciful sculptures is in the form of “the glass boat” which is a full-sized dory, loaded full to overflowing with blown glass figures, some resembling cranes or birds, others enormous balls, and then some mushrooms or orb-like umbrellas, suggesting cover or protection. All are in brilliant, blazing party-like colors as well as stripes unimagined in the world of blown glass. The explanation of this particular installation came as a quote from Chihuly who said that while in Finland, he became interested in knowing how many of his blown glass orbs would break if he threw them into the water. So he began to throw these large, beautiful objects into the harbor and to his surprise, maybe one out of a hundred broke. They were stronger than he thought. He called on some young boys then to retrieve the ones that had survived and they rowed out in a boat and loaded up the boat. This inspired him to create “the glass boat,” filling an empty boat with masses of colorful glass objects and setting it on a sheer “sea” of reflective glass. Every installation of the boat is different, according to where it is displayed, and sometimes, like in Venice, the boat is in actual, rather than virtual, water.
By hurling these works of art into the water, by setting them to the test under bold circumstances such as the frigid elements of the Cascade Mountains, Chihuly is testing his work, testing the myth of the fragility of glass, which is born out of intense heat, out of fire, if you will. And testing the strength of his own mind, blowing, pushing, pulling, curling, twisting. The glass is blown with stout iron rods, cut with tools that look better suited to steel or ironwork, maybe even horses’ hooves. Due to injury and age, Chihuly himself no longer does much of the work but instead choreographs a crew of able glass blowers, directing them against the backdrop of fiery furnaces. It’s hot, demanding work, needing incredible strength as well as a gentle touch. We see only the cool, bright remains of these efforts, these delicate fronds, these icicles, these medusa heads, these magical mushrooms, and open umbrellas of color and passion. You really ought to go in to see this exhibit. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.