Sun and Moon Project

 

The 2 panels below were a request as a Commission by my good friend Michael Lawrence (Family Funeral Services) for his new Office in the village of Headcorn. My remit was to design and construct in stained glass using bright colours, Sun and Moon design  without a religious theme. This is the first time I have undertaken a project so large and complex, but I have gained an immense amount of experience during the process. With the finished panels in situ they became even more beautiful with the light streaming through!

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The Poem below was conceived and composed by Lyn White in recognition of the work . 

The glass-workers panels
Deft fingers shape day, colour-match tones.
Beneath her hands our major star burgeons,
like a large, rich flower, pulsatory, vibrant.
What a wonder to capture the molten ore of
solar heat, cutting and placing piece by piece
till hydrogen, helium might sear her palms.
Oblivious she works on. Neat, strong actions
strike flares, stoke winds on the photosphere
then pause. She could not have been bolder.
It’s all there; buoyant, proud; held, not caught
in glass and solder, but fire enough for us to feel,
stand near its warmth, hold out hands, admire.

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The delicacy of moon glides on, subtle enigma,
with matchless prowess to shape-shift through
its phases. Musing on lunar progress gradually
amplifies awe, offers time to stare and enhance
her senses, then guides her to take up the task
afresh. Where eyes can only glance at the glare
of Helios before his dazzle stupefies, now her gaze
wanders, rests by turns, asks how to form Earth’s
natural satellite. Not full; crescent, a pale image,
crisp, a charm to adorn the skies and gleam silver
over green fields easing sunset to twilight, then
to darkness but for its sober, opalescent rays.

She relaxes now amid the unused glass,
surveys her work, twists her wrists, brushes
aside cutter, soldering iron and pliers, stares
in surprise at the twenty seven modest bones,
tendons, all components that compose a hand,
her hand, feels the power of creative skill again,
casts eyes across each panel, knows the thrill
of giving shape to something that did not exist
until her touch formed, her mind conceived. Sun
and moon will rise, set, wax and wane for countless
centuries yet, soon she must let go, her final act
to trust each pane and believe they’ll speak for her.

Copywrite and Permission by the Poet Lyn White

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