From Sketch to Sculpture: My Creative Process
Introduction
Every sculpture I make begins long before I touch glass, draw a line, or open Grasshopper. It begins with observation—quiet attention to the world around me. My creative process is a long arc from inspiration to illumination, blending ancient craft with digital design, 3D printing, and the alchemy of molten glass. This is how a lighting sculpture comes to life.
1. Observing the World: Where Inspiration Begins
Before I ever sketch, I practice intentional observation. I pay attention to the shapes, movements, and patterns that pull at my curiosity. Sometimes it’s the crinkled geometry of a kale leaf or the slow underwater sway of kelp. Other times it’s the shifting reflections on a ship’s hull, the rhythm of running through the woods, or the repeating patterns in old church facades. These experiences create a kind of inner resonance. I try to keep my mind clear so I can genuinely see what’s in front of me, and from that place of clarity, the earliest spark of a sculpture begins to form.
2. Sketching: Capturing That First Spark
I sketch because it’s fast. It has always been my first language as an artist. As a kid, I dreamed of being a comic book illustrator. Later, I attended an arts-and-science high school where we spent hours each day drawing and painting. Watercolor came naturally to me then—its looseness, speed, and commitment once brush meets paper. Those early habits still shape the way I visualize form.
Sketching is where I explore the essence of an idea. I go back and forth on shapes, try variations, simplify, complicate, and simplify again. The dialogue during this stage is constant. Sometimes the sketches lead me down an entirely new path, and I’m back at square one. Other times, I make a hundred sketches before I feel ready to move forward. But it’s in this space that the sculpture begins to name itself.
3. Parametric Design: Writing the Code for the Sculpture
Once the emotional and structural direction feels clear, I move into parametric modeling using Grasshopper. This stage is where intuition meets precision. Grasshopper allows me to define the sculpture not as a static object but as a system of relationships—curves, rhythms, repetitions, thicknesses, and proportions that can be shifted and tuned with mathematical clarity.
The ability to iterate quickly is invaluable. Sometimes a single adjustment reveals a more harmonious gesture. Other times, a small parameter change opens an entirely new direction. And occasionally a crossed wire or accidental loop produces a glitch that leads to an unexpected and intriguing form. Some of my favorite sculptures were born from these digital surprises.
Modern rendering tools also allow me to place the sculpture inside architectural spaces before it exists. I can see how it sits in a room, how it balances with furniture, and even how light will move through the glass. It gives me a sense of belonging long before I make anything physical.
4. 3D Printing: Bringing the Digital Into the Physical
Once the digital model feels right, I 3D print it. Nothing replaces the experience of holding a shape in your hands. A form behaves differently in physical space than it does on a screen, and handling a model often reveals what needs to be stretched, tightened, softened, or rebalanced.
This is another phase of refinement. Proportions evolve again. Edges shift. The inner logic of the piece becomes clearer. Maintaining the printers themselves is its own craft—upgraded hardware, large nozzles for speed, constant calibration and optimization. I print in PLA, a cornstarch-derived material that melts cleanly out of the mold during casting. It’s economical, clean-burning, and ideal for the lost-print process.
5. Hand Finishing the Model
Before casting, the 3D print needs detailed finishing. I add sprues and channels to guide the flow of glass. I shape the print by hand or with a torch, softening surfaces and refining transitions. When necessary, I use a 3D printing pen to add structural details. Finally, I seal the entire model in a thin coat of wax to make it watertight. This step bridges digital precision with handmade intuition, and it’s where the piece begins to fully take on its personality.
6. Investing the Mold
Casting glass requires a specialized plaster that can withstand extreme heat and expand at nearly the same rate as the glass itself. Any mismatch can cause catastrophic cracking, so the chemistry matters.
Creating the mold is a dance. I weigh the water, mix the plaster, vacuum it to remove air, pour it in stages, rinse tools, and repeat with urgency as the plaster sets. By the end, the sculpture is encased in a solid block that can weigh up to two hundred pounds. Using hoists, I load it into the kiln.
7. Drying and Burnout
The plaster must dry completely before the temperature rises. Depending on the size of the mold, this takes anywhere from a day to a full week. Any remaining moisture will turn to steam and fracture the mold from within. Once dry, the kiln is heated further until the 3D print melts out, leaving a negative cavity ready for molten glass.
8. Casting the Glass
This is the moment of transformation. The glass heats to around fifteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit. At this temperature, it glows a deep red and moves like thick honey, slowly settling into the mold. Sometimes I mix colors, letting them swirl and mingle as they flow downward. This part requires surrender—the fire decides the final patterns.
Once the glass stops moving, the long cool begins. Larger sculptures take weeks to anneal. Annealing is a highly controlled cooling process that relieves internal stress. As glass cools, its outer layers contract first while the inner layers remain hotter and larger. If cooling is too fast, the internal tension can become strong enough to crack or shatter the piece. By holding the sculpture at a specific temperature—the annealing point—the molecules relax and equalize. Only after this equilibrium is reached can the sculpture cool safely to room temperature.
9. Divesting the Sculpture
Once the annealing cycle is complete and the plaster block has cooled, I begin divesting—slowly removing the mold from around the glass. This part feels like excavation. I use dental tools, small saws, and eventually a pressure washer to reach tight corners. The process is slow and meditative. Patience is essential, as this is the first time I see whether the casting survived intact.
10. Cold Working the Glass
Cold working is where the sculpture becomes crisp and refined. I remove the sprues and channels that guided the molten glass. I grind, carve, and polish the surfaces using diamond tools. It’s wet, noisy, and—especially in winter—quite literally cold. Good gloves and a rubber apron are essential. This stage is demanding but deeply satisfying, as each hour brings the sculpture closer to its final form.
11. Bringing the Sculpture to Life With Light
Glass without light is only half a sculpture. Light reveals the internal architecture—the flow lines, gradients, and quiet gestures formed in the molten stage. I test color temperatures, intensities, directions, and shadows until the piece glows the way it did in my mind during the earliest sketches. This is the moment the sculpture “breathes” for the first time.
12. Installation and Final Transformation
When the piece is installed in its new home, something shifts. It enters a relationship with its environment and with the people who live alongside it. A sculpture fully becomes itself when it inhabits a space and begins interacting with daily life. That final transformation is not mine—it’s the beginning of its life with someone else.