“Plating” is the leading up of two or more glasses of the same shape, one behind the other.

E. Liddall Armitage comments thus:

“Some artists resort to plating and even tend to boast about it, but it is best avoided” (Stained Glass, Leonard Hill Books Limited, London, 1960, p. 130).

He presents two arguments. First, that it is unsound craftsmanship. Second, that medieval glass is beautiful and never, ever plated.

Have we done something terrible and unaesthetic?

Find out right here.

First-time visitors, click here to start at the beginning of this bizarre tale of stained glass design …

It was P.R. Exec. #1 who broke the silence: “Where did you say that this new stained glass window was going?”

I stood my ground (though a less brave man would have been reduced to ashes): “A crematorium …”

P.R. Exec. #1: “A crematorium!”

Indeed. Anyone would have thought we’d proposed a two-week holiday in the Ninth Circle of Hell.

Yes, people always behave strangely when one mentions crematoria: only a few days earlier, we’d had a visit from Patrick Reyntiens, the stained glass artist with whom David did his 8-year apprenticeship.

Just guess what Patrick said about this project?

Patrick said: "A crematorium, dear boy - surely you mean 'crème brûlée'!"

Ouch!

When I described the incident to Sir Roy Strong, this gentle and eminent art historian and former director of the Victoria & Albert Museum soothingly replied:

“Patrick can indeed be a devastating putter-down. Don’t worry about it: just count yourselves lucky to have the work.”

And, whilst we gladly accepted Sir Roy’s advice, it was really no surprise that even the combined majesty of P.R. Exec. #1 and P.R. Exec. #2 should grow pale at the thought of one of our stained glass windows – no matter how magnificent – in a place of sorrow, a melancholy crematorium.

Do you know what? - I even see their point.

When we win that commission to design and make some extraordinary stained glass windows for a celebrity-packed Hollywood night-club, you can be sure that our wonderful P.R. executives will drum us up so much publicity that journalists and papparazi will travel from all over the world to ignore the celebrities and admire our stained glass.

A crematorium is altogether different: people always assume it can’t make headlines like a night-club can …

But David and I had leapt at the idea the moment that our client suggested it.

Oh, yes!

***

The Hereford Saga had all begun a few weeks earlier: Mr. R.C. had rang and asked to visit us at our studios at Stanton Lacy.

The Williams & Byrne studios at Stanton Lacy

“Crematoria are always such depressing and miserable places,” he began (and we agreed).

“But they’re building a new one at Hereford,” he continued (and we listened).

“Here’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make this crematorium different!

“My idea is to pay for a beautiful stained glass window.

“So – and I see it’s a quite a tricky task – could you please design and paint a window that will lift people’s spirits and help make this crematorium ‘happy’ and ‘light’?”

Now please consider this.

Our client, R.C., wanted to make a gift of this window to a public crematorium – a building that is run by the state.

Which means of course that public officials would also want to influence the design.

But our immediate loyalty was to our client, R.C.

Therefore, rather than approaching those public officials straight away, we chose firstly to spend more time with R.C. in order to get a clear idea of the stained glass window that he wanted to give.

Conversations and meetings are necessary between us and our clients, precisely because we do not have a monolithic “studio style” – we can design and paint in many styles: that’s the whole point of why we do architectural stained glass.

Perhaps it’s excellent to be known for a particular style, but we feel we might as well be known for always repeating ourselves in conversation! It’s not how we do things. For one thing, we’d get bored if we worked like that, imposing a single style on every stained glass window that we made.

Therefore, when we talk with a client, we don’t pull out our catalogue and say: “You can have this design one in red and green, or yellow and mauve. And purple is very popular this year …”

By contrast, what we often do is this: we look through our portfolio of stained glass designs and discuss the ideas and features which, in the client’s view, stand out.

Or we might also talk about:

1. The kind of art that the client likes
2. Whether they like puzzles
3. The countries they have visited
4. How they like to travel
5. The food they like, the shapes, colours, tastes and textures

And so forth: in this way, design-ideas emerge.

It’s such an exciting process. Something invariably clicks, and everyone says, “Yes, that’s it!”

(Just the other day, a different client announced: “The Fibonacci sequence: that’s that we want!” And this is a series of stained glass windows that we’ll design and paint in 2009.)

And, even though we’ve not yet committed anything to paper, everyone knows instinctively that something was created right then.

No matter how big or small the stained glass window is, we always establish a brief.

Sometimes the client articulates the brief directly; other times we work together and talk and listen until the brief emerges, which takes as long as it takes.

The window will endure for decades. Its design is its essence. The design emerges from the brief.

Talking with our client, R.C., it quickly became clear that colours were important due to the sense of calm that he wanted: shades of blue, green and yellow.

Here R.C. also mentioned that he liked paintings by Claude Monet.

"I really like that!", said the client, pointing at one of David's water-coloured designs that he'd once painted just for the sake of painting!

And an abstract design, he said, not a literal one: nothing definite, nothing recognizable - no landscapes, no human figures, no animals, no fish, no birds …

“Apart from an owl,” he mysteriously added, “a hidden owl: only my friends will know it’s there”.

“And I really like that,” he said, pointing to a design which David had painted a few years ago, but which we’d never made. (It’s surprising how often it is that things which are purely done for their own sake will also come in useful one day.)

The last two features were the size - roughly 1 metre wide and 5 metres high (which is about 3 feet wide and 15 feet high) – and, of course, the function of the building: a public crematorium.

(Owners of celebrity-packed Hollywood night-clubs: don’t delay, telephone today!)

***

Now we couldn’t go and visit the building, because they hadn’t even begun building it yet.

So we rang the architect and discovered the size of each individual section – there were four in all:

Architect's early sketch for the gable end of the new crematorium at Hereford

This information was enough for us to get started with. We found our water-colour paints and started the long journey of design:

1. Uplifting, calm
2. Abstract, suggestive, non-literal (apart from one owl – hidden), impressionistic (Claude Monet)
3. Blues, yellows and greens
4. The design which R.C. saw and liked in our studio
5. Scale proportions of 1:5
6. A state-owned crematorium.

Stained glass design is a process that moves from doubt and hypothesis toward conviction and agreement. Then the actual painting and making is relatively straightforward.

Sometimes, once we have a brief, we might feel as if we could draw the final design immediately.

But we’ve learned from experience that this feeling, however strong, is misleading.

Therefore, even when we’re absolutely convinced about what it is that we ultimately want to do, the design always begins in a provisional, tentative and explorative way.

In some measure, the whole process of design requires us to put our egos on one side: we always remember we are using our skills for individual clients and particular buildings.

A good stained glass designer is like a magnificent cook. Such a cook knows a vast quantity of recipes and is an excellent judge of how to prepare a huge range of ingredients. But he or she still wants to produce a meal that his customers will adore. Otherwise it’s a waste of fine ingredients.

Our way, at Williams & Byrne, is to begin with small sketches.

These sketches are rough and incomplete. But they can of course be beautiful.

They can also be exciting, because they suggest and promise something new.

We then have further conversations with our client. And this allows us to become increasingly confident not just of what the client wants but also what the building wants.

In this case, for R.C., and all the time bearing in mind the six-point brief that we’d established until now, we then prepared two sketches, each one about 2 inches wide by 10 inches tall.

Here are the two sketches that we presented to R.C.

Two sketches for the central stained glass window at the new Hereford Crematorium

So, once we had re-assured R.C. that we had not forgotten his owl, our next question was:

“Given this window is going in a crematorium (and not a night-club), which one of these two sketches begins to convey the right impression?”

Are you new here? Well, for the story so far, you must click here!

…

Our Public Relations team looked shocked. Anyone would have thought that we’d dismissed them and moved to a different Agency.

"It's the end of the world!"

Or (much the same thing) that a particularly terrifying prophecy in the Book of Revelation had come to pass.

What on earth had we done?

I checked that my hands were in full view on the boardroom table, still holding the architect’s crumpled drawing.

What on earth had we said to cause such fright?

Surely we’d only been describing our latest stained glass project?

David and I were actually quite excited about it: a massive stained glass window in a magnificent new building in the nearby city of Hereford …

The huge centre window in a row of five …

Architect's drawing (crumpled)

The possibility that we would also be asked to design and make the other four windows …

This was certainly news to celebrate!

"I'm a journalist and I'm hungry!"

Now I know these PR people can sometimes be a bit cautious, always imagining that the Press is a multi-headed Hydra which feeds on the blood of unsuspecting innocents and all that.

Personally, I don’t think they’re half as bad as some people make them out to be.

In fact, journalists have often said nice things about us, such as this and this.

And even the BBC said this about us. (And if anyone wants to know how even the BBC can transform Beauty into Beast, just click here!)

So what on earth had made our valiant team take fright?

No …

No, no, surely not …

I mean to say, our PR team is made from Stern Stuff, with a firmness of will and clarity of vision to make grown men shake.

But, sudden as a bolt of summer lightning, it had occurred to me that there could be only one explanation for their startled expression.

"I promise not to eat much of you if you get it wrong!"

However improbable, it was …

[TO BE CONTINUED ... ]

Remember this: Williams & Byrne is a design and stained glass painting studio with a reputation to be proud of.

But what do you think it was that terrified our valiant PR executives?

You can write your ideas just below. Professional explanations only, please!

So … read or add to the comments … or, for Part 2, just click here.