Ursula Buchan

Glass act

As usual after the end of Chelsea Flower Show, I felt as flat as champagne left out in the sun.

Already a subscriber? Log in

This article is for subscribers only

Subscribe today to get 3 months' delivery of the magazine, as well as online and app access, for only £3.

  • Weekly delivery of the magazine
  • Unlimited access to our website and app
  • Enjoy Spectator newsletters and podcasts
  • Explore our online archive, going back to 1828

In the 1880s, the director of the Botanical Museum at Harvard, Professor George Lincoln Goodale, was worried about the quality of botanical specimens for his students to study, since only dried plants, or low-grade representations in papier-mâché or wax, existed. He heard of two Bohemian workers in glass, Leopold Blaschka and his son, Rudolph, who were known for making minutely accurate glass models of marine invertebrates for museums. The Blaschkas came from a long line of jewellers and glass-makers, which began in Venice in the 15th century. Leopold maintained: ‘The only way to become a glass modeler of skill, is to get a good great-grandfather who loved glass…’ Goodale visited the Blaschkas in 1886, at their workshop at Hosterwitz, near Dresden. Initially, they agreed to make just a few plants out of glass but, by 1936, when Rudolph finally retired, they had achieved 4,300, depicting 847 different species, both tropical and temperate, and including parts of flowers, magnified many times. Some models were blown, others shaped after the glass was heated, by the process called lamp-working. The colours came either from the glass itself or were painted on to the glass, which was then heated until they fused with the model.

The work was funded by Elizabeth C. Ware and her daughter, Mary Lee Ware, hence the collection’s name. Now, as then, the 3,000 or so glass models on show are displayed in wooden and glass cases, with simple, old-fashioned taxonomic labels. Over the years, they have become more fragile (glass can degrade in time), so are being carefully renovated where necessary.

The versatility of glass in the right hands is amply demonstrated by these flowers: the models depict anything from sturdy cacti, with each needle-like spine crafted, to delicate pasque flowers (Anemone pulsatilla), complete with every hair on the leaves and flowers. The Indian Pipe (Monotropa uniflora), which is a saprophytic plant without chlorophyll, is practically transparent. No flower part, however small, is fudged or distorted. The delicate craftsmanship and botanical accuracy are astonishing, as are the colours, mostly still vibrant after more than a century. I was especially struck by the Red Maple, Acer rubrum, in its resplendent ‘fall’ colours; particularly because the way the branch and leaves are arranged speaks of an artistic sensibility. But there is also a solid scientific basis to the works; the Blaschkas must have used microscopes when shaping the wafer-thin, transverse sections through ovaries, magnified as much as 200 times. I had difficulty sometimes believing that the models were inanimate.

Leopold died in 1895, and Rudolph in 1939. With him, died the skills necessary for the work. So the Ware Glass Flower collection at Harvard represents a unique mixture of artistry, craftsmanship and scientific understanding, unlikely ever to be replicated. They are worth crossing an ocean to see.

The Harvard Museum of Natural History is at 26 Oxford Street, Cambridge, Mass. The museum is open 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., seven days a week; adult admission is $9.00.

Comments

Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months

Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.

Already a subscriber? Log in