An Essay: The Artist's Life, Part 1

John Barber has become a defining member of the glass community in Laguna Beach since moving here in 1977. He's a long time exhibitor at the Sawdust Festival and the Festival of the Arts. He's spent the last 35 years blowing glass as well as experimenting with new ideas and new directions for commissioned public art.

In 2005, he resurrected the ancient art of "pate de verre" for his three-foot by 27-foot long glass mural, "Eternal Sunset," at the entrance to the Montage Resort and Spa. Two years later, John challenged himself again with a three-foot long, blown glass cylinder atop Louis Longhi's bronze "Beacon," as well as casting three, massive, translucent blue, glass panels for Longhi's 10-foot long bench, "Usher In," both located at the ACT V parking lot. In 2007, the Laguna Beach Arts Alliance awarded him artist of the year. If you think I'm laying it on a little thick, I am.

I am a beginner glass blower. To me, John Barber is not only a teacher and a friend. He's a master.

Six years before glass found me, I was ending a 21-year career on the LPGA Tour. I'd passed the $1 million mark in earnings in 1998, but age and lack of motivation were catching up with me. I made the decision to retire in 2000 with no idea what to do next.

The obvious held no appeal whatsoever. I was over golf. In fact, it was four years before I played with any joy again. So I wanted to try something new, something as far away from golf as I could get.

And I did. I was an assistant to my friend, local sculptor Cheryl Ekstrom. I learned how to weld at Orange Coast College. Another time, I went with another friend, on a Sunday, to help out at her work. They asked me to come back on Monday and I wound up snagging a job making and distributing movie banners. Then I tried self-employment again and became a handyman. I loved the detail and the problem solving, but the best part about the job was meeting my wife, Marni, which lead to the discovery of my new passion: glass.

Marni and I met in 2004 over golf lessons. We dated and lived together and then decided to get married in November of 2006. My best friend and subsequent best man was a glass blower, Megan Ekstrom. In August of that year, I asked her if she'd teach me enough about glass blowing to make 160 paperweights as gifts for my wedding guests. She agreed. I cut my "fire" teeth during those first few months. Megan taught me the fine art of the gather, the punty, the transfer, shaping and color application.

And so for the last two years, I have been learning to blow glass and diligently blowing glass at John Barber's Laguna Canyon Studio. This summer, he asked me to be his apprentice during his demonstrations at the Sawdust Festival. The most apt analogy I can think of would be Ben Hogan asking me to spend the summer, assisting him on the lesson tee. Me.

I can't tell you the excitement, anxiety and pride I felt when John Barber asked me to help him. I guess he's been keeping an eye on me, because I sure didn't think I was ready to assist him in the "Big Show." We did a couple of practice runs at his furnace. The pieces were scary big, and though I thought my heart would jump out of my chest during transfer, John quietly coached me, "Breathe now, keep the pipe close to your body and the piece level and on center."

Our first few weekends at the Sawdust were so exciting, my memory blurs. He made big, beautifully shaped glass pieces and I was amazed at the weight of the glass on the end of the pipe and astounded by his ability to control it. "Leverage," he said, "it's all about leverage. Keep the pipe close to your body." His teaching/coaching style is calm and laid back, which suits me just fine.

Our Sawdust schedule in the demo booth is 2 p.m. until 10 p.m. on Friday nights and another three-hour session on Saturday or Sunday. Our last Friday was a productive one. We're far from perfect, but we do have occasional flashes of brilliance. John was doing the "thread and pick" thing, making beautiful waves in the threads of the rod he'd laid down, using the pick end of his tweezers to manipulate the color. During a re-heat he asked me to place his "picker" where he could easily find it on the bench. I cleared a space around it, pushed it forward and told John, "You're picker's out."

His eyes got wide as saucers as he looked down, and grinned at me from under the brow of his Studio Arts hat, "My pecker's just fine," he said, sporting the smile of Cheshire, as he passed me on his way back to the bench. Needless to say, we laughed about it all night long.