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Authorship
originally published in GASNews, March/April 2001

            As I was thumbing through a recent issue of American Craft I noticed an odd thing. There was a full-page ad for Lino Tagliapietra’s work on one page, published by Holsten Gallery, and then a few pages later, an ad by an internet craft retailer for another person’s work. What struck me was the obvious formal similarity between the two photographs: one was a tinny echo of the other. I flipped back from one to the other; their placement on the same side of the magazine made the comparison all the more evident, and all the more odious by the description of this artist’s work as “groundbreaking.”
            What is going on here? I think it’s obvious that Lino has not taken his inspiration from this young artist’s work–at least, that’s the assumption I’m operating under–and has produced an unattributed homage. I think, rather, it’s just the opposite. There are a couple of things that bother me about this. The first is that anyone could so blatantly rip off such a prominent artist with no expectation of consequences. The second is that a fairly well-respected internet gallery of good quality craft work is either: a) so woefully unaware of
current work in the field as to publish such obviously derivative work or b) knows this but doesn’t see it as a problem. The latter is far more disturbing than the former.
            At the heart of this well-illustrated example is the issue of authorship. This is related to, but distinct from, the issue of copyright (which is a legal concept).  The issue of authorship comes down to the value that we, as a community of artists, place on originality and integrity. This is reflected in the marketplace, but imperfectly. The prices that an original Dale Chihuly commands are considerable but there are scores of galleries and consumers that will gladly pay less for a pale imitation (as evidenced by the vast number of Dale-like products for sale on the wholesale glass art market).  This is a depressing fact of life for artists working the lower end of the market but alas, an accepted one.
            As a matter of fact, Dale is a good example of the complexities of this issue. I remember hearing many people complain that Dale’s first big successes–the floppy Seaform series–were just a recycled version of Venini’s famous Fazoletto vases from the 50’s. (For those unfamiliar with the history of 20th century glass, Fazoletto vases, designed by Fulvio Bianconi for Venini, were the very popular ”handkerchief” vases that are emblematic of fifties Italian glass.) Dale is, of course, very well informed about the history of the medium and was no doubt familiar with that work from this time in Italy. (Just as a footnote: from anecdotal evidence, it is a longstanding tradition on Murano that popular designs will be immediately knocked-off by the many skilled craftsmen of that island, making attribution of many mid-century works very problematic today. Different ideas about originality append to different cultures.)
            But wait a second: looking at Helmut Ricke’s estimable “Italian Glass: Murano-Milan 1930-1970,” one of the first plates you come across is that of Pietro Chiesa’s 1936 Cartoccio vase. This looks suspiciously like the celebrated 1949 handkerchief vase. Could Fulvio Bianconi have been doing the same thing I object to in the internet gallery artist’s work? When, and how, does a work transcend its influences or inspiration and become a thing in its own right? The fact that Chiesa’s vase is a slumped piece of mechanically patterned glass and Bianconi’s work is a product of the fluidity and dynamic of glassblowing is enough of a difference to satisfy my criteria. I also think that Dale transcended his influences through the increased scale of his work, the use of multiple elements and his references to the natural world. I think Dale looked at that work, and then did something that made it his own. But others may have a different threshold for judging these issues.
            Pike Powers, the artistic director of Pilchuck Glass School, likes to say that “ideas are cheap.” More than being a bratty rejoinder to Harvey Littleton’s famous “technique is cheap,” I always understood that to mean that as artists, we should be expected to generate a surplus of ideas. We should take for granted that the fundamental artistic experience of exploring new form, combining new elements, creating new juxtapositions, revealing new insights is our job.  Authorship for artists–as opposed to, say, lawyers–is about more than attribution; it is a pride that speaks to the joy of discovery. We celebrate the best work because it recognizes that achievement. We should not shirk from castigating bad copies of the same.
            In our mission statement, the Glass Art Society maintains a commitment to “encouraging excellence” in the field of glass art. Sounds nice, but what does that really mean? We do this by promoting the best of the work that comes to our attention, by raising awareness of the ethical issues implied in arguments about authorship, and by fostering a dialogue, through our conferences and this newsletter, that seeks to examine the boundaries of that concept. Lino may be resigned to the fact that others will try to usurp his creations; we, as members bound together in an artists’ community, have a moral obligation to a scrupulous vigilance.

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