Glassblower – Meticulously shapes glass using heat and air

How do you lend form to light? With glass, as glassmakers and bespoke light fittings expert Lasvit demonstrates. Yuen Lin Koh investigates

The gentle vibrancy of the day’s first light, seen on the sparkle of a morning dew. The liveliness of sunrays scattered into a dance by the ripples of a stream. The calm of a shaft of luminosity, soundlessly pouring through the oculus of the Pantheon.

For what is essentially electromagnetic radiation — if we are to break it down by physical science — light possesses magic. It’s magic that can be seen, and certainly can be felt, yet has no form. Or does it have to be that way?

Translating to “Love and Light” in Czech, Czech Republic-based glassmaker the Lasvit Group lends physical form to light with every piece created. The medium is perfect in the dualities it presents. Crystalline clear, it is visible — yet invisible in its see-through quality. An amorphous substance, its atomic structure resembles that of supercooled liquid, yet displays all the mechanical properties of a solid — like fluidity frozen in time.

The company founded in 2007 might be young, but the craft is one that has been perfected through centuries. By combining the traditional artistry of North Bohemian glassmaking with the innovative creativity of world class designers, architects, engineers and lighting technology, Lasvit brings Bohemian glassmaking and designing to a new level. Well-known for its high profile collaborations with cutting-edge design leaders including the likes of Ross Lovegrove, Oki Sato of Nendo and Michael Young, and well-loved by consumers for their iconic collections such as ‘Bubbles in Space’, Lasvit is also revered for its bespoke services that have lit many private and public spaces around the world with their magic.

The shimmering lattice of 250,000 crystal pieces and 12,800 artistic hand-blown glass components, stretching like a web across a diameter of 16 metres on the ceilings of the Jumeirah hotel at Etihad Towers in Abu Dhabi. Giant textured bent glass structures connected to a cascade of hand-blown, hollow glass drops, lit by LED and optical fibre to become whimsical “jelly fish” that float atop the futuristic Dubai Metro Stations. The “Diamond Sea” of handblown glass — some dazzling clear, some in amber tones, some twisted, some curved — creating waves that shimmer above the patrons of The Ritz-Carlton, Hong Kong.

The Ritz-Carlton, Hong Kong
Lasvit created six pieces for the hotel, including the ‘Diamond Sea’

Majestic in proportions and intricate in detail, each is a shining example of excellence in craftsmanship. Yet each is also an artistic expression — not just of Lasvit’s designers, but also their patrons. Certainly, given carte blanche, their stable of 14 in-house designers can dream up the perfect piece for any space — be it the lobby of a hotel or the dining room of a private home; but more importantly, they have the ability to translate your desires into designs that articulate your message.

‘liquidkristal’ – Developed in collaboration with Ross Lovegrove, the panels explore the innovative use of the material.

Fine-tuned through rounds of revisions with the client, the designs are then detailed through construction drawings and crafting. Each piece of handmade glass is created at the Lasvit facilities in Novy Bor at the Northern part of the Czech Republic — a pine-forested region steeped in glassmaking traditions since the 13th century. There, master glassblowers from families who have been making glass for generations, and who have honed their personal skills over decades, create what is known as Bohemian glass, known best for its inimitable sparkle.

The creation of every handmade piece remains a very basic process. The glass is made as how grandmothers cook: by feel, rather than by following recipes or formulas. In six ovens roaring at 1600°C almost 365 days of the year, glass is kept at a molten state, waiting to be blown, fused, flameworked, sandblasted, engraved or even hand-painted on — waiting to be transformed into wondrous forms.

The craftsmen labour in the glass studios, sipping on beer — it is the supplied drink preferred for its nutritional value and cooling abilities given that the studios burn at about 40°C all the time. They might look a little rough on the edges, and seem a little brusque in their mannerisms, but they work with glass with the tenderness of fathers cradling their newborn. The organic nature of the medium gives it a temperament that is not to be learnt from books, but to be understood from interaction — just as a child is to be known.

Yet this human element is apparent even in technical glass — machine-made pieces ranging from dainty crystal-cut glass beads to Liquidkristal from Lasvit’s Glass Architecture Division — transparent, undulating crystal walls that lend a mesmerisingly dynamic dimension to still structures. The human expression manifests itself in the creativity and artistry of applying these pieces, of transforming cold, hard components into works of art. “Glass is one of the most interesting materials that a designer can work with,” shares Táňa Dvořáková — a veteran designer who has been with Lasvit for six years, and also the creative mind behind masterpieces showcased at the likes of The Ritz Carlton DIFC Dubai, Shangri-La Tokyo, and now The Ritz-Carlton Residences, Singapore. Even for the seasoned designer, every piece holds a new surprise. “There is always a certain excitement — because when I finally illuminate the sculpture and see it installed, a new and more beautiful surprise is always revealed to me, often one I didn’t even expect,” she enthuses. For the piece at The Ritz-Carlton Residences, she took her inspiration from flowers, “particularly poppies and wild flowers: their freely growing petals have always fascinated me”. With childlike wonder, she expressed the delicateness of the subject in the form of a light sculpture composed of petals formed from a lattice of crystal-cut glass beads — “as if, unable to deal with the ephemeral beauty of this wild flower, someone had transformed it into an eternal diamond”.

The Ritz-Carlton Residences, Singapore, Cairnhill
A Lasvit piece hangs as the centrepiece in the dining area

Indeed the process is really as artistic as it is technical. The designers are often at the factories during the crafting of a piece, because it is one thing to follow technical specifications, and another to realise an artistic expression. Lasvit’s expertise is not just in the production of glass pieces — they also know exactly what it takes to mount an installation for safety and your peace of mind, and they even produce all the components, from metal structures to hanging materials. They also know just how to light a piece to bring it to life. Because when you love light as much as they do, you don’t just produce light — you capture the soul of it.

Thomas Wong – ‘Shi Fu” has been in the tailoring business for 56 years

Master tailors are not confined to the town houses of Savile Row or the ateliers of Italy; with the boom in Asian prosperity has come a boom in Asian style. Erica Wong speaks to a Singapore-based tailoring maestro about his unique style

Shi Fu, or master, as Thomas Wong is commonly referred to, asks if I’d like a cup of tea as I take a seat next to him at a quaint coffee shop along Orchard Road. His tone is calm and certain, almost Mr. Miyagi-like. Chairman of the Master Tailor Association Singapore for the last two terms, lecturer at the LASALLE College of the Arts, and owner of one of the oldest tailor shops on the island, Wong has been making suits for the regions’ elite for well over four decades. The industry has changed much but the fundamentals remain the same, as Wong explains…

EW You’ve seen the industry through thick and thin…

TW I started in this line of work when I was 16. I was an apprentice and at that time shops in Singapore were in shophouses. Each shop housed their entire ‘production line’ from start to finish. Tailors trained their teams to do everything from scratch in their own character using their unique methods. As a result every shop has their own style, their own ideas about how to make a suit. The team would discuss the orders or any problems that arose, work out solutions together, which would reflect the philosophies of the brand. If a customer finds that ‘chemistry’ with Tailor A or B or C, they would consistently return to them. There was no competition between A, B or C because they each had their unique cut, style, quality and fit which was very different from one another. Without intentionally doing so, each tailor was a ‘brand’.

Today, the shophouse ‘all under one roof’ concept is gone. Tailors outsource the different parts of the job to independent workers who at times sub-outsource out, since there are only a handful of craftsmen who know how to do each job. Most of these independent workers accept jobs from a number of tailors so you can imagine how the original set up of the tailor ‘brand’ has been lost, the traditional collaborative production lines severed and the uniqueness of each brand has been diluted. The tailor’s role has become that of a coordinator who charges a middle-man fee. In my mind, that’s not a tailor. To be a bespoke tailor, you need to make a particular garment per a customer’s particular request. Instead, tailors are now middle-men who take the request and pass the garment around to various parties who make it in whichever way they know best. This isn’t a very responsible way of offering the bespoke tailoring service.

EW What is at the core of your design ethos?

TW I’ve always been interested in illustration and so naturally in [Chinese] calligraphy. I believe that when people are interested in the visual arts they have sensitivities towards the minute details. Whether that dark green is the right tone or the stripe is slightly too wide, the demand for perfection is innate. When it comes to designing or making patterns or cutting fabric, I apply that same temperament and attitude. Throughout every step of the process I keep thinking about how the suit will fit on the client. Should this cut, length or even shadow appear on his frame? Will the suit look forced or natural on him? Wearing clothes need to be a comfortable affair. If the suit isn’t comfortable or doesn’t make its owner feel better about himself, he winds up as a hangar for the clothes. Then he might as well not wear it at all. The person cannot be a mannequin for the suit, the suit must highlight the man’s strongest features. Of course as a bespoke tailor I need to adhere to the client’s requests so I also need to fit my design into the parameters of his request. This is the challenge.

For example if a larger man wants a double-breasted suit even though most tailors might think it a bad idea, I try to figure out how to not only defy the theories against it but to make him look slim in the cutting of his choice. How should I do the cutting? What kind of fabric should I recommend? What fabric patterns will be the better option? The quality of the fabric also makes a difference. So, in-depth knowledge about all these factors is imperative for a bespoke tailor. Even before you take the job, you need to offer your professional opinions. If you don’t have the fundamental basis and you deliver exactly what the client asks for, then you’ve escaped your responsibilities.

Every aspect — the cut, darts, seams, fabric and accents — plays an important role in the final product

EW With 40 years of accumulated knowledge, what are the main lessons that you relay to your students?

TW Firstly, never take short cuts. Not in any step of the process.

Equally important is to work with integrity. Other players in the field have asked why suppliers provide me with top quality work and lesser quality to them. The answer is very simple. An analogy I often give is a woman who sees her friend’s perfect glowing skin after leaving the spa and requests to achieve the same results. But if she’s not willing to pay for the same top quality skin care products or use the same top aesthetician, how can she expect the same results? It’s just not possible. The same applies for my craftsmen. Everyone may share the same pool of talent but if I pay top prices for top quality and others aren’t willing to do the same, who do you think will be given priority? It’s a simple formula. I always tell my students that we can’t deliver anything sub-par because the dollar notes customers give us are not partial dollars. The $1,000 they give us is $1,000, no less. So if you charge $1,000 you can’t provide a $100 product.

EW There seems to be less and less people who fit into your traditional sense of a tailor. Where do you see the industry heading?

TW Last year, the Asia Tailor’s Congress was held in Singapore and it was Loro Piana who noted that Singapore’s tailors aren’t charging enough. Times have changed and yet we continue to charge low prices so our pricing strategy benefits the end customer, and we don’t pay our workers enough. That’s why less and less people are entering the field and those who are skilled have turned to other lines of work such as driving taxis, which is more lucrative.

What’s more, there’s an interesting phenomenon at play today. Technically the more affluent the country, the better their know-how ought to be and the more demanding the customer, and yet they try to take shortcuts. On the flip side, the poorer the country, the more traditionally trained craftsmen they have, and yet the market generally can’t afford the good fabrics and infrastructure to produce the suits. Over the long run, I hope to see a revival of the traditional crafts and skills, applied in modern contexts. That’s why I teach, in hope that my students will pick up some of the things I learnt many years ago, and apply them in their future careers.

An expert team of make-up artists and beauticians make every request happen

Does make-up all look the same to you? Are you tired of telling your Revlon from your Lancôme? If that’s the case, you might want to pay a visit to a small boutique where every foundation or eye-shadow is bespoke, says Caroline Davies

Near the coffee shops and restaurants of Motcomb Street, in a quiet corner of London’s Knightsbridge, sits Cosmetics à la Carte, small and unobtrusive. Cream carpeted with soft furnishings, make-up displayed plainly on the small table in the centre, it has the reassuring feel of a store that has no need to shout; the people who know about it, know it well.

Cosmetics à La Carte began in 1973, founded by Christina Stewart and Lynne Sanders. The two originally met in the lab, working for Unilever Research and moved together to Yardley where they formulated Marks and Spencer’s first make-up range and various Vidal Sasson hair products. Bored of the mass production line, they left to start their own make-up revolution — tailor-made make-up. Need a lipstick to match your dress, an eye-shadow to suit your floral arrangements or a foundation that, well, matches you? Stewart and Sanders had the know-how to whip one up.

In the company’s laboratory in Battersea, two large white rooms are piled high with carefully marker-penned cardboard boxes, neatly sealed bags of multi-coloured powders and Bunsen burners. I find Sanders, dressed in a white lab coat, bent over the hob. It isn’t a hob of course, but to my untrained eye, this is the closest I can come to describing the black heated pad where she is carefully melting a blood red waxy chunk.

In her 60s, the founder still works in the lab

Now the sole proprietor since Stewart retired in 2009, Sanders is still in the laboratory although she is in her 60s. Her lab coat flaps around her neat skirt as she swirls across the room and I am surprised to notice only a touch of makeup, a slight line of carefully applied blue eyeliner over her wide eyes. She greets me with a broad smile and a brisk, perfect Received Pronounciation ‘hello’ before energetically enlightening me on the contents of the bottles on her worktop. She is currently melting me a lipstick, a mixture of ‘Santa’ (“we used to call it ‘blood’ but that proved an unpopular name”) and ‘Tulip’, combined together to make the colour of a red hat I brought into the shop a few days before. My eyes wander along the surface to the small glass beakers, filled with varying shades of beige to brown liquid and marked in black pen with household names; foundations in progress for famous faces.

“She requires a thick layer to cover the marks on her skin,” says Sanders, pointing to one such pot. “You would never know though.” She is right, you wouldn’t.

Cosmetics à La Carte did not meet with immediate success. When the revolution proved rather slow to pick up, Stewart and Sanders found themselves without much income and without a team. Undeterred, Sanders found a job in a wine bar to pay for the bills and keep the business afloat.

“Can you imagine?” she says. “Well, it all seemed rather jolly at the time.”

Bizarrely, it does sound it, although perhaps because Sanders’ bright, matter-of-fact manner, not dissimilar to a retired old-school Montessori teacher, means most things sound enjoyable. The grand tour continues into the other laboratory where she pops open tubs of brightly coloured pastes and gels, rubbing them on the back of her hand to show the colour and the consistency before explaining the science. She speaks about polymers with much the same interest and passion as a new parent talks about their child. Jumping from science to backstage anecdotes at fashion week and film sets, Sanders’ enthusiasm for her profession is infectious if occasionally over my head.

Cosmetics à La Carte’s luck started to change and gradually the pair began to gain recognition. Make-up artists hunting for an exact historical shade, ravaged screen sirens looking to replicate the dewy complexion of their youth, trendsetters pushing beyond the palette; the drip feed of visitors to the little shop grew. Sanders still remembers the late afternoon in the 80s when Princess Diana dropped by.

“She wanted a nude lipstick, a very particular colour that would suit her,” she says. “We tried out a few selections, made them up and put it together. We still sell her shade today.”

Picking up on the popularity of bespoke make-up, other companies began to try to mimic Cosmetic à La Carte’s model, but none of the large make-up brands have sustained it. The company’s size has fuelled its success — small, but precise.

While most tailored services rely on remixing pre-existing colours, chopping a little more crimson with peach to roughly suit, Cosmetics à La Carte goes a step further. Arrive in store with the remnants of an old lipstick, blusher, foundation or eye powder and they will remake it, from scratch, to suit. Allergies, sensitive skin, thicker consistency; they can accommodate it. Perhaps this is why they are such a success with pedantic period dramas; I am told the Downton Abbey girls adore it.

As she rummages into another corner, Sanders suddenly stops. A look of horror creeps across her face and with a small gasp, she runs from the room. “Oh no, no, stupid.” Bemused, I follow to find her sighing over the hob.

“Singed. That was not the shade we were going for.”

Apparently, the bloody red wax has now gone past the point of return. She throws it away with an air of sadness. Despite spending over 40 years in the laboratory, Sanders’ attachment to her work and her creations is touching. I watch her carefully dissect the wax again, keeping a suspicious eye on it as it melts into a dark red liquid. She pours it into a mould, cuts it out and fastens it into a gleaming new case, complete with a hand written label.

“I’ll keep this with the others,” Sanders says, slicing away a small section of the remainder of the lipstick still in the mould and sealing it in a bag marked with my name. “For when you come back.”

She opens a drawer under the cabinet and I glimpse a host of names and titles that would rival a royal wedding party guest list, all written in the same handwriting with fresh waxy off-cuts. It seems I’m not the only one expected to return to the little cream shop in Knightsbridge.

alacartelondon.com