Preston Singletary

On a recent visit to the Tacoma, Washington Museum of Glass, we were privileged to experience Raven and the Box of Daylight, an exhibit of work and experiences by native Tlingit glass artist Preston Singletary.

Preston Singletary grew up in the Seattle area listening to stories told by his great-grandparents, who were both full Tlingit. In high school he met and became friends with future glass artist Dante Marioni, son of glass artist Paul Marioni. Singletary  was asked by Marioni to work as a night watchman at what was then the Glass Eye, a Seattle glass-blowing studio. Singletary quickly moved from being night watchman to working the day shift to eventually joining one of the studio’s production teams.

In 1984, Singletary took part in a workshop at Pilchuck Glass School for the first time. He has since been involved in Pilchuck as both a teacher and student.  In the late 1980s, Singletary began incorporating traditional Tlingit themes into his work and reaching out to other Northwest Coast Native American artists. Today he is perhaps best known for his use of glass to express and explore traditional Tlingit themes. Many of his works reference clan crests, including the killer whale, which his family claims.

Raven and the Box of Daylight is the Tlingit story of Raven and his transformation of the world—bringing light to people via the stars, moon, and sun. This story holds great significance for the Tlingit people. The exhibition features a dynamic combination of artwork, storytelling, and encounter, where the Tlingit story unfolds during the visitor’s experience. Since I hadn’t planned to tell the artwork story in all of its details, I’ll use the story as a framework to illustrate the work that we saw. The story of Raven releasing or ‘stealing’ the daylight is one of the most iconic stories of the Tlingit People of Southeast Alaska. The Tlingit name for Raven is Yéil. Many people know the basic story, yet there are variations unique to specific villages and individual storytellers.

Three carved boxes contain Naas Shaak Aankáawu’s (Nobleman at the Head of the Nass River) most prized possessions: the stars, the moon, and the daylight.

His grandson, Yéil K’atsk’u asks for the boxes and is told he cannot have them. He cries and cries for the box of stars and eventually his grandfather relents. Naas Shaak Aankáawu gives his grandson the box of stars, which he immediately opens. The stars slip through the smoke hole in the Clan House and take their places in the sky.

Naas Shaak Aankáawo is furious with his grandson. He scolds him and Yéil K’átsk’u becomes inconsolable. His crying breaks his grandfather’s heart and he forgives his grandson for what he has done, but the boy still will not be comforted. The boy moves towards the box containing the moon. His grandfather hesitates, but forgives his grandson again. He gives Yéil K’átsk’u the box with the moon.

Naas Shaak Aankáawo do Séek’ (Daughter of the Nobleman at the Head of the Nass River), the boy’s mother, does not think her son should have the box and she argues with her father. As they argue, Yéil K’átsk’u opens the box. He plays with the moon and then releases it. The moon silently slips through the smoke hole and takes its place in the sky. The sun is the final treasure. Naas Shaak Aankáawu protects it fiercely, but Yéil K’átsk’u eventually succeeds in releasing the daylight (below).

Yéil (Raven) decides it is time to leave and transforms back into bird form. Naas Shaak Aankáawu is devastated that his treasures have been released into the sky. He is so angry that he gathers all the pitch in the Clan House in a bentwood box and throws it into the fire. He catches Yéil as he tries to escape out of the smoke hole and holds onto his feet. Raven is covered in the soot and smoke of the fire. He is transformed from a spiritual being into the black bird we know today. His color marks his sacrifice; his physical form is forever changed for bringing light into the world (below).

A number of other elements support parts of the story, such as this ceremonial spear.

Canoe, oars and Salmon

Feather pulled through water.

Portal – similar to those used in long houses.

But the most interesting experience of the show was this room of Tlingit people,

representing, I believe, the various clan members who emerged into the daylight,

such as this Salmon Woman, obviously an important clan member.

The experience of being in the room with all of these clan members was heightened by the treatment of the background, where fabric, gently moved by small fans, was used as a screen onto which were projected images that helped tell Tlingit stories.

Overall, a fascinating story and compelling experience.

Harvard’s Glass Flowers

Back in Boston, we spent part of a rainy day at the Harvard University Museum of Natural History (HMNH) to revisit a stunning collection of glass art that I had seen once, many years before. The work is housed in Harvard’s imposing 19th Century Italian Renaissance Museum Building adjacent to Harvard Yard.

The Harvard Museum of Natural History was established in 1998 as the public face of three research museums: the Museum of Comparative Zoology, the Harvard University Herbaria, and the Mineralogical & Geological Museum.

The story of how the museum came to have a collection of glass flowers is a bit long and convoluted; but it’s based in the growth of the natural sciences in the 19th century and their need for study models of invertebrates and plants that would not deteriorate. This is where a couple of Bohemian glass artists entered the picture.

This story is told in Wikipedia; but I have excerpted the essentials here.

Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka were Dresden, Germany glass artists native to the Bohemian (Czech)–German borderland. In the early 1800’s Leopold joined the family business, which produced glass ornaments and glass eyes. He developed a technique which he termed “glass-spinning”, which permitted the construction of highly precise and detailed works in glass.

Caroline, Rudolph, and Leopold Blaschka near Dresden

In his free time, his hobby was to make glass models of plants, which came to the attention of the Dresden Museum of Natural History. The Dresden museum director, Prof. Reichenbach, desired something more, specifically 3D colored models of marine invertebrates that were both lifelike and able to stand the test of time, which real specimens in alcohol could not. Reichenbach convinced and commissioned Leopold to produce twelve model sea anemones. These marine models, hailed as “an artistic marvel in the field of science and a scientific marvel in the field of art,” were a great improvement on previous methods of presenting such creatures: drawings, pressing, photographs and papier-mâché or wax models.

Reichenbach advised Leopold to drop his current and generations long family business of glass fancy goods and the like in favor of selling glass marine invertebrates to museums, aquaria, universities, and private collectors. A year after the success of the glass sea anemones, the family moved to Dresden to give Leopold and his young Rudolf better opportunities to carry out this new approach.

In about 1880, Rudolf began assisting his father with the models. In that year, they produced 131 Glass sea creature models for the Boston Society of Natural History Museum.

These models were seen by Professor George Lincoln Goodale, who was in the process of setting up the Harvard Botanical Museum. His reasons for wanting models was simple: At that time, Harvard was the global center of botanical study; but the study was limited by lack of good models of plants that would last. He realized that glass flowers would solve his problem since glass models were three-dimensional and would also retain their color. Elizabeth C. Ware, already a benefactor of Harvard’s botanical department, agreed to underwrite a glass plant program. The Blaschkas signed an exclusive ten-year contract with Harvard to make these glass models. These are what you see when you visit.

As study models, the plants needed to contain both their essential characteristics but also their faults and imperfections; so the Blaschkas were obliged to take on considerable research, including many sketches, for each of the models produced. The museum helps us take that journey in contemporary terms.

The museum also gives background about the Blaschkas and how they worked.

Leopold and Caroline Blaschka

Rudolph Blaschka as a young man, and as a boy with his mother, Caroline

And the museum’s story of their story.

Viewing the collection (and only a portion is on display) can be a visually overwhelming experience. For one thing, you see a lot of it at any one time – the space is not divided into distinct galleries as an art museum would be.

Another feature is that the lighting of glass objects, behind glass, creates a lot of reflections – and also throws other parts of the room into shadow so your eyes have to adapt to a lot of contrast.

But when you get up close, the work is dazzling. And you have to get up close.

As an example, here’s a Raintree plant, including its various parts and pieces. A bit closer in, you can see some of the detail appear.

And then even closer, the work becomes mind-boggling (and hard to photograph), especially when you realize that’s all made out of glass.

So here’s a tour of a sampling of what we saw – Enjoy !

Occasionally, other information panels give more background, in this case the evolutionary relationships of the plants on display.

Here, some background of one of our favorite plants, and some examples.

I also liked the mixing of fruit shapes with the leaf patterns.

As their work was completed, Rudolph signed off by sending this benefactors, the Wares, a bouquet of flowers – glass of course.

Rudolf continued making models for Harvard until 1938. By then aged 80, old and weary, he announced that he would retire. Neither he nor his father had taken on an apprentice, and Rudolf left no successor – he and Frieda Blaschka being childless.

As we left the exhibit, it was fun to come across some examples of the work that got Leopold and Rudolph into the work in the first place.

For Harvard alone, Leopold and Rudolf made approximately 4,400 models, 780 showing species at life-size, with others showing magnified details; under 75% are, as of May 21, 2016, on display at the Harvard Museum of Natural History, (the exhibit itself dedicated to Dr. Charles Eliot Ware, the father of Mary Ware and husband of Elizabeth Ware).

Unlike the Glass sea creatures – “a profitable global mail-order business” – the Glass Flowers were commissioned solely for and are unique to Harvard. Over the course of their collected lives Leopold and Rudolf crafted as many as ten thousand glass marine invertebrate models in addition to the 4,400 botanical ones that are the more famous Glass Flowers.

We spent a little time on some of the other exhibits at the museum, though it was hard to take in much more visual stimulus after all that glass. We did, however, find one exhibit that reminded us of our journey through Eastern Canada and the one thing that we knew was there but had been unable to find.

So, Jane having finally found her moose, we could head back to Seattle.