Beads, bangles, and the Italian island of Murano

Murano is a small island in the Venetian lagoon in Italy, about one square kilometer in size. My husband Alex and I left a slumbering Venice from the water taxi or vaporetto station at Arsenale early one morning, all agog to see this oft-mentioned island of Murano, which famous around the world for its blown glass industry. For the ladies, Murano glass jewelry evokes colorful necklaces and bracelets. It was a quick half-hour crossing through the waters, and we alighted at the Faro station in the island, where many signs directed us to the fornaces – literally, the furnaces, or the factories where blown glass were made. Alex and I took our time, taking a stroll around the vicinity and simply soaking up the atmosphere of a cool sunny morning, the sea tang beguiling our senses. There were many canals traversing the islands, the largest of which was the Canale degli Angeli, and many quaint bridges over the waterways. There were beautiful stone houses as we walked inland, their gardens abloom with flowers. These must have been the villas of old Venetian families who had settled in Murano since 1292. The Venetian Doge, afraid that the glass-blowers’ kiln fires might accidentally set off a conflagration in Venice where most of the houses were made of wood, bundled off the artisans to the island of Murano, in effect isolating them. For a while an administrative ban against leaving the island was imposed, lest the art of glass blowing be leaked to the outside world. But of course, human nature as it was, not a few intrepid souls stealthily slipped away and founded their own glass-blowing factories in parts of Europe such as the Netherlands and Sweden, until finally the art also reached the New World. These stories reminded me of John Berendt’s The City of the Fallen Angels ― yes, he of the Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil fame, who came to Venice just after the Opera Fenice burned down in 1996. His second book was supposed to be a creative non-fiction account of the destruction by fire of an all-enduring Venice landmark, and the investigations that ensued. One of the characters mentioned there was surnamed Seguso, the family of one of the oldest glass-blowing artisans, and as in all many-generational families, had their own set-tos among its members. We reached Via Bressagio, the large avenue where every shop, it seemed, had their own Murano glass display. It was as if we were let loose in a candy shop ― inside the transparent cases were colorful glass creations in all forms and sizes! Candies, jewelries in all shapes and sizes! Striped, milky, opaque, gold-speckled, streaked, round, flat, twisted! A set of a chamber orchestra with each member holding his/her own musical instruments, down to the last detail of the drums and the flutes. A big blue dragon twisting its head, breathing fire. Fish of all shapes and colors. Even comic book characters! And best of all, glass figurines of clowns! Oh, the colors and the fine workmanship! We hopped from one shop to another, pointing out the pieces to each other, laughing, catching them with our cameras, filling our bewildered eyes to the brim.

The art of blowing glass Many shops had signs inviting the public to go in and watch how glass-blowing is made, all free of charge. We espied a small gallery-like entrance with this sign, a little out of the way than the other tourist-filled stores, and went in. The narrow entrance was deceptive; after we entered the factory proper, we came face-to-face with an almost 200-square meter area where artisans in all manner of work converged. At one end against the wall were tiered wooden seats in increasing heights, not unlike an auditorium. We were asked to sit down, because there was to be a demonstration, and when I looked around there were about five or six more visitors, aside from us. A smiling man in jeans came to stand in front, and introduced himself as Alfonso, a third generation glass-blowing artist. After a short talk on the history of the art and calling out the other artists by their names he showed us a typical way of making a glass figurine. He took out a long rod from the red-hot oven. At the end of the rod was molten glass that looked like a blob of honey when one poked a spoon into a jar of it and pulled it up, twirling it along the way. He set the clear globule (later we saw that it was tinged a very light blue) on the working table, and with the use of a tong Alfonso pulled out an ear, then another. With a round wire he quickly shaped a neck. With pincers he pulled out four thin legs, and a long tail. He pulled everything up, twisted the glass, and with a pair of scissors, simply cut off the figurine from the rest of the blob. Voila, we had a glass cat! Next he got colored glass rods and heated them a little, and our feline friend acquired yellow eyes, a pink nose, a red smile, fine whiskers and some splotches of opaque white on its coat. We sat there enthralled, like little children in front of a great magician. For indeed, it all looked like magic, Alfonso’s hand quick and agile. Even his body had to bend and sway as he pulled and tugged at the molten glass that looked as malleable as soft putty. Later he told us the timing of the shaping should be just so ― the glass should be in the proper temperature ― too hot, and it would not hold its shape; too cold, and it would easily break off. Around the factory, too, were large vases with contemporary designs – some with metallic sheen, some translucent, the others opaque. The lady who made glass beads We moved on and walked around the area, and noted that aside from the big factories there were small artisan shops owned by the artists themselves. Tucked into one of the hidden alleys was a tiny shop whose owner/artist was at work when we went in. She was rolling a colored glass stick through the fire and then, using a very fine tong, she twisted the molten glass off then flattened it against her worktable, transforming it into glass beads with gold and black streaks inside. Each bead was unique, as each one came out looking almost the same in size, but not quite entirely the same. Each piece that she made then was like no other. I could imagine her waking up that morning, looking up at the clear blue Murano sky, asking herself, “What am I going to create today?" From her I got a small twisted neckband with gold flecks in it, tied at the back with a gold wire. Every time I wear it, I remember that lady― indeed, an artist true to her craft! We had a home-made sandwich lunch in one of the parks behind the church of San Pietro Martire, a peaceful quiet place where we watched small children from a nearby school enjoy their lunch break. For coffee, we hied off to the Bar da Ice, along Fondamenta Giustinian, just off the 12th century Basilica di Santa Maria e San Donato, which displayed the bones of St. Donatus, he who slew a dragon, according to local lore. The church was huge, and very well-preserved, with interesting white pillars in front. It was in the coffee shop cum bar where we finally rested our feet, and where I whipped out my travel journal and started writing. – YA, GMANews.TV Alice M. Sun-Cua practices obstetrics and gynecology at the San Juan de Dios Hospital. She likes traveling and poetry, and is a Tai Chi practitioner.