Book Report: Klaus Moje

This is a work weekend, which means all those glass projects I absolutely need to get to–sandblasting The Lady, cleaning up Dogwoodman, Windwoman and Hostafading so they can ship out with The Lady for acid polishing in Ohio, finishing the MM6 mold to start the next casting sequence, getting a boatload of holiday presents going, having fun with that ringbasket concept and initiating some samples, starting a new idea that’s pounding my brain and continuing a couple of tack-fuse experiments–must wait.

Drat. Somewhere in the dim recesses of my enfeebled memory I remember promising that work and art would occupy roughly equal parts of my week. Whatever happened to that?

–sigh–

Anyway, if I haven’t time to DO glass I can read (and write a bit) about it. Picked up a copy of the retrospective on Klaus Moje at the Bullseye Resource Center last Sunday, and have been noodling through it when I grab moments.

Really nice as a picture book, very interesting read. Moje’s history is as fascinating as his glass, and there are a number of nice valentines to him from glass art notables around the world.

For me, though, two things really stand out about this book: The depth and breadth of Moje’s explorations and the author’s content choices. One is entrancing, the other leaves me wistful.

I’m very much into explorations with form and technique in glass, and my list of “what would happen if…” projects is about a mile long. Sometimes I think I was born to experiment–actually finishing the work becomes secondary to testing the concept and moving on to the next–and my rush comes from discovery, not completion.

It’s both exciting and deflating to look at 25-year old books on glass fusing techniques and realize that my “discoveries” are simply re-discoveries. (And the more I study ancient glass, the more I realize that they’re probably re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-rediscoveries.)

The book about Mr. Moje is like that–years ago he’d already discovered stuff I’ve still got in the secret recesses of my brain–and his ability to catalyze artists and technologists to move glass art forward is eye-opening. Author Bottari has sensibly pictured his work in (mostly) chronological order, so that the artist’s exploration and growth in the medium moves forward with the pages. It’s kinda like watching one of those stop-motion videos where the plant springs from a seed.

That’s the entrancing part; here’s the wistful: I never really get to know the heart inside the artist and I sure wish I could. Obviously this was written in close collaboration with Moje and his family and friends; I think it would be even more effective as an autobiography.

Here’s what I’d add, in his words: What’s behind his explorations with color? Why does he make the artistic choices he makes? What’s the significance of different series, and what’s the backstory on some of his favorite works? How does he view the incredible work coming from the school he helped found? Where does he think glass is going next as an artform? Whose work excites him the most? What does he like about his own work (and dislike–I’ve never yet met an artist who loves everything about what he does) and what’s left that he needs to explore?

That’s the stuff I don’t get in this book–except in snatches. For me, at least, the contributors’ personal recollections of Moje are more compelling than the biography, probably because they are so personal.

So…that’s not to say that this isn’t a great addition to anybody’s library–I’ll buy it again in a heartbeat if someone swipes my copy. If nothing else, it’s a well-produced coffee table book. And I also don’t know the backstory of the book, and what limitations were placed on the author. Exposing yourself on paper can be the worst kind of privacy violation, and the one time I met Moje he struck me as an intensely private and modest man. This might have been as much exposure–it’s still a lot–as he was willing to give.

All in all, a worthwhile and recommended purchase for glassists. And now (sigh) back to work.

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