Knee Deep in ... stained glass

The first thing we saw was the box of Band-Aids sitting out on the counter. That's never a good sign.

But Wilma Stratton had warned us that nicks and cuts come with the territory. She also warned us that glass shards might occasionally fly up our noses. I (Callie) searched for nose plugs before leaving the house that morning, but came up empty-handed. In retrospect, perhaps I should have brought a clothes pin or something.

Our first job in the Knee Deep series took us to Stratton Stained Glass in rural Cape Girardeau County. I'd never given stained glass much thought until then; it's beautiful, but I hadn't considered how it was made. And I certainly hadn't considered that so many of the stained glass windows in local churches, businesses and homes had been made by the same local lady for the past 30 years.

Wilma Stratton didn't make her first stained glass project with the intention of starting a business -- she just wanted some custom front doors for her new home. Turns out the woman with no art background had considerable talent. Her work now hangs in homes, businesses and churches across the U.S.

Her husband, Earl, calls her a "glassaholic" and you'll get the gist of the nickname once you visit her studio. It's easy to see how she finds inspiration: The studio is attached to her house and has huge windows that overlook Route W. On a clear day, you can glimpse the flagpole at county park or the Bill Emerson Memorial Bridge.

We started our day with a quick tour of the Stratton home and studio. There, intricate artwork made of hundreds -- even thousands -- of precisely cut glass are on display. Our assignment? A dove-shaped suncatcher with five pieces of glass. Don't laugh. Even this modest project took hours and several dump-truck loads of patience.

And it started with Bob losing our bird's beak. Just like he loses his car keys, his belt, his left shoe and the baby's pacifier on a regular basis. We traced a pattern Wilma had drawn onto thick white paper as a template. It was a bit like putting a puzzle together -- the bird was divided into two wings, a tail, a body/head and the elusive beak.

We chose our glass from a huge assortment with names like Baroque, cathedral, opalescent, glue-chip and water. We practiced on some scrap glass first; running the rolling blade over the surface first to score it, then snapping a clean cut (ideally) with a couple plierlike devices. I made Bob cut the first piece -- a bird's wing.

For one, I wanted him to have the opportunity to screw up before I did. Second, I hate paper cuts. Just the thought sends shivers down my spine. And this activity promised a great many paperlike cuts. Except more like finger-rendered-from-hand-type cuts.

Wilma Stratton employs a Tiffany-style technique for making her stained glass projects. Once you've cut your pieces out, you wrap the edges in copper foil tape and solder them together. Sounds simple, yes? And it even looked simple when Wilma demonstrated. However, what seems easy in theory isn't always so in practice.

Glass, Wilma will tell you, is unpredictable. Bob cut out the first wing with remarkable ease. Oh sure, his curves were a little jagged, but a couple turns on the grinder smoothed them right out. Cutting out my first piece -- the second wing -- was like waiting for a bomb to explode. And then it happened. "Ohhhh!" My first nick. The Band-Aids on the counter came in handy. In truth, I'm pretty sure getting my eyebrows waxed is more painful.

It took two-and-a-half hours to cut out our five small pieces (we did eventually find the bird's beak). We wrapped the edges in foil, crimped the foil with a small plastic, tweezer-like device and coated them with flux. No idea what flux is, but it's necessary.

I thought soldering would be intimidating, but I ended up hogging that part of the project. And after half a day's work, our bird was ready to leave the nest. While not particularly dirty (there were constant glass shards to clean up and the grinder did throw water), it was tedious, detail-oriented work that might well drive us insane if we had to do it every day.

Wilma was a great teacher though, and her story was inspiring. And hey, if we can do it ...

Knee Deep -- stained glass

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