Stained glass guru Michael Padovan is playing “Beat the Clock.” Six complex windows from New York City’s Grace Church in his shop have to be repaired, restored and re-installed before Easter.
It’s 8:30 a.m. Padovan and two full-time craftsmen have already been at their work benches in his Bridge Street loft workshop for two hours.
In a ground-level work space of Padovan’s Jersey Art Stained Glass Studio are two 8-foot-round wooden “rose window” frames from the church. Each was built to hold about 900 separate pieces of glass in 27 elegantly shaped openings. Exposed to the elements since the church was built in 1884, the wood has shrunk, expanded and cracked. After 127 years of weather, entire chunks have fallen away. The “cames,” extruded lengths of U- and H-shaped lead channels that hold the glass in place, have suffered metal fatigue and corrosion. Glass can fall out; pieces can crack.
Restoration of stained glass windows is a specialized field. Historical commissions sometimes call the work, “stained glass restoration, repair and conservation.” Padovan and his crew call themselves “lead monkeys.”
Such windows have adorned churches, synagogues and public buildings since before 1100 A.D. Padovan, who mostly works with architects and historical consultants on large projects, says he’s among a “handful” of experts at his level in New Jersey. He learned the trade from his dad, who opened a studio in Newark in the late 1940s.
Each small section in the four lancet windows from the church contains 30-35 pieces of glass, all different shapes, some as small as an inch square. But master leader Juan Ruiz, who has worked with Padovan for 11 years, says, “It’s not a complex pane.” He cuts lengths of lead came, sets glass into them and painstakingly rebuilds the section piece by piece.
At another work table, Bruce Worswick, who joined Padovan five years ago, brushes the glass and lengths of came with weather-proof cement before using historically accurate tin-lead solder to bind the section together. It can take five or six hours to set a 35-piece panel. Each of the 3-foot-by-12-foot high lancets contains five such panels.
“Our job is to make (the window) as good as old,” says Padovan. “We have to respect the original maker.” In this case, that was London glassmakers Clayton and Bell, whose factory opened in 1855.
Many older cathedrals and churches predate the invention of the moveable type printing press by Johannes Gutenberg in 1450. Their stained glass windows were created to tell the story of Christ in pictures.
The leaf design of some of the around 1,500 pieces of glass in each of four lancets depicting prophets Isaiah and Elijah was hand-painted on sections of glass that were then kiln dried. The paint helps control the amount of light coming into the space, Padovan says, “creating a spiritual and religious mood.”
Cracked glass is repaired with museum-quality edge glue. Replacing it with new glass is tricky; matching the combination of tints of amber, sand and metal oxides (cobalt for blue, iron for green and gold for pinks and reds) is daunting. “You want to honor the art work of the original artist. You don’t want to embellish it.” Otherwise, the windows will change over three or four restorations. “You have to suppress your own ego,” he says.
Jobs this extensive can cost between $100,000 and $500,000 and can take between six months and “years,” Padovan says.
The project must be documented in detail, from start to finish. Windows are photographed in the building before they are dismantled, then in the studio before and after restoration. Both sides are shot through transmitted and reflected light. Stained glass is the only art, other than film, Padovan says, that works with transmitted light. That’s partly what makes the windows so compelling, he says. “Light is always changing, with the seasons, time of day, weather. It’s what gives the buildings their mystical quality.”
Padovan and his workmen make rubbings of each section on acid-free paper. After the glass is dismantled it’s soaked and cleaned. Pieces of each section are taped together over the rubbings to guide the restoration. New cames are cut from material that matches the original. Each of the craftsmen keeps a day book to describe the work and details the repair for posterity — they become inches-high sheaves of paper. All the documentation is stored away, “to help the next person,” he says, because the windows will need to be redone at some point.
The work under way at Padovan’s studio is the second of a three-phase project at Grace Church. Right now, the church is clad in scaffolding. That’s why Padovan and his team are racing the clock. Church officials want the scaffolding down when parishioners arrive for Easter services.
The next day it can go back up, Padovan says, and the lead monkeys can begin again.
