next class 3rd, 4th and 5th February 2023
3 places
Please note , I have had to increase the cost of this class a little due to increased costs of just about everything.
Apologies but it had to be done. All previous bookings are held at the original price so don't worry if you have already booked for the earlier class in January.
This is an introduction to the art of stained glass.
You will learn all of the skills required to design and make a stained glass window.
The class begins on Friday evening and this session is dedicated to designing your panel.
We will then spend the rest of the time cutting glass, leading, soldering and cementing your panel.
The finished result will be a unique stained glass window that is all your own work, below are examples of former participants pieces.
All materials are provided apart from rubber gloves, an old toothbrush and a white marker open, Posca pens are good. These items you will need to bring.
It’s a good idea to bring a packed lunch. Tea and coffee are provided
Wear comfortable clothing and no open toe shoes please
PLEASE NOTE: This course is not suitable if you are pregnant or breastfeeding because you will be handling lead and solder.
COST £325.00
TIMES FRIDAY 6 UNTIL 8
SATURDAY AND SUNDAY 10 UNTIL 5
VENUE UNIT 7, UNITY BUSINESS CENTRE, 26 ROUNDHAY ROAD, LEEDS, LS71AB
CONTACT Hannahstainedglass@icloud.com. Tel 07766394958
Here is a wonderful funny and beautiful written review of the stained glass course.
It made me laugh out-loud!
" On the Home page of the website Hannah Stained Glass, the extraordinarily talented individual, Jo, behind the enterprise, talks of a fascination with colour and light from an early age. I have similarly always been fascinated, and spent many an hour gazing at tale telling, natural light illuminated masterpieces in many diverse a setting. During visits to my good lady wife’s home town, I have been transfixed by the splendour of the west portal window in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in the city of Reims, north eastern France. No less mesmerised have I been at the dappled colours bathing the pews and interior stone work, emanating from the leaded lights, in the church to Saint Helen, Skipwith, North Yorkshire, on trips to chat with my late Mum, resting in the grounds therewith. Where Jo has turned her fascination into a way of life, I just continued to gaze in wonder. That was until recently.
I have never been one for over celebrating the now seeming myriad of special days, for all and everything, that have become overly commercialised. Take Father’s Day; sincere felicitation, and a warm smile are all that I need, from my sons, to make the day a good day. That said, they have, on occasion, put in much appreciated additional effort to please. Like the time I was entered, with my eldest, for the Allerthorpe triathlon, near York. An hour, and then some, of sheer purgatory but torment that, in a masochistic sort of way, I thoroughly enjoyed. This year’s offering from the boys, with the complicity of my other half, trumped all previous. Only a couple of days before the event, they revealed that I had been enrolled onto Jo’s stained glass weekend course.
I was thrilled, and as I made my way to Jo’s work shop, in eager anticipation, on the Friday evening, after work, I realised that I, unknowingly, passed this magical place of creativity every day during my commute. Entering Jo’s unit, I felt like a young child in a favourite toy shop. Whilst utilitarian, the space was homely and inviting but more significantly it was light, colourful, and filled with examples of Jo’s stunning work. Some finished, others in the process of completion, all crafted with an evident desire for perfection and unmistakable skill.
Already with Jo, were my, to be, fellow budding stained glass enthusiasts for the duration of the course, “D” and “C”, or was it “K”? Apologies “C”, or was it “K”? I fail to recall! Our first task was to create a design, pastels on card, that we would turn into masterpieces of our own; well mayhap not masterpieces but, hopefully something resembling a leaded light. With plans of sorts, and Jo’s expert guidance, the following Saturday morning saw us commence the realisation of our designs. Card templates were created, and we were then able to choose the glass that we would go on to cut. I had not been aware of just how many different types of glass there were. We were spoilt for choice; there were smooth sheets, others rippled, some that were gold streaked (apparently very expensive), iridescent, mouthblown, examples from Germany, others from Poland, and every colour under the sun. Pieces chosen, Jo demonstrated how to cut the glass, using her oil fed cutter, with a deft, well practiced mastery, that made the task look ridiculously simple. It wasn’t, and it wasn’t the last time that I made “a pig’s ear” of the task in hand. For this I was admonished, not for poor cutting technique but for slighting our porcine friends. Ever one to look at things in a positive light, Jo rightly pointed out that a pig’s ear has a pleasant, agreeable shape, and that being associated with tasks gone awry does the unbeknowing pig an injustice!
Come the Sunday, and with Jo’s continuous expert tutelage and encouragement, we were assembling our panes, encasing glass betwixt lengths of malleable lead strip. Here, precision, Jo pointed out, was crucial, and much time was spent grinding glass edges. Perseverance, and attention to detail was the key, and eventually three designs in glass emerged. The next task was to fuse all the interconnecting lead strips that would hold the panes together. Having soldered copper piping for various home plumbing tasks, I felt that this would be a straightforward undertaking. That was until Jo pointed out that lead is, relatively speaking, a very soft metal, and, unlike copper, spend too long on an area, with the soldering iron, and the lead will melt through, creating a hole that would necessitate replacement of the whole strip! Thus, we proceeded with some trepidation, and, perhaps surprisingly, none of us had to refashion any lead.
We had successfully fabricated three stained glass windows, and I thought we must be nearly done. Jo had spoken of classes continuing well in to the Sunday evening, beyond the expected finish time but we were, surely, nearly there. Jo abruptly dispelled such thoughts when she confirmed that most tasks had, indeed, been completed but that the remainder would likely take a couple of hours! It wasn’t that I was disappointed, I was enjoying the whole process but I was intrigued as to what was still to be involved. It was at this point that Jo indicated that we needed our rubber gloves and toothbrushes. I have to admit that I had read, quizzically, the list of required items for the course that included glass marker pen (fair enough), and said gloves and brush. I had visions of being punished for glass breakages, or excessive use of lead, by being unequivocally commanded to clean every nook and cranny of the bathroom facilities with the toothbrush!
Our hand-wear added further to the colour of Jo’s workshop; “D” in bright, almost fluorescent pink, “C”, or was it “K”? (Apologies, again, “C”, or was it “K”?) in vivid lemon yellow. Yours truly sported near luminous light turquoise, my good lady’s Marigolds that I had surreptitiously half-inched from the draining board. The colour was a distinctive favourite, reminding me of the trademark colour used by the iconic Italian bicycle manufacturer Bianchi. The tale goes, that the company’s founder, Edoardo Bianchi, supplied a bike, and lessons to ride it, to Margherita, the then Queen of Italy. It is said that Edoardo was spellbound by the monarch’s eyes, and used their hue as inspiration for the paint finish on the gifted cycle, and all those he was to make thereafter. His nomenclature for the shade of colour was nothing as common as light blue or green but “Celeste”. From the Latin “Caelestis”, meaning celestial or heavenly, Signor Bianchi had played a stroke of genius, with his bikes, in the cycling world, being seen as desirable, heavenly items, and revered as works of art. I feel sure his compatriots, Messrs Buonarroti, Santi, and daVinci would have approved.
The need for rubber gloves became apparent as Jo produced a tub of runny brown goo. The characteristic odour of linseed oil was unmistakable but this wasn’t like traditional glazing putty, and, indeed, Jo didn’t refer to it as such. With lamp black to darken it, and other ingredients to render it still stiff but more liquid than putty, this was the “cement” that would fix the pieces of glass into the lead strips, and produce a sturdy, and watertight window. Thus we applied the cement, and pushed it into the grooves of the lead strips that held the glass, with our trusty toothbrushes. This was done to both sides of the pane, following which Jo produced another tub, this time containing what looked like flour. The white powder, Jo reliably informed us, was “whiting”, its purpose being to dry and facilitate the removal of excess cement. It was sprinkled onto one side of the pane, and we proceeded to rub the powder, with our rubber protected fingers, using a circular motion. The whiting did, indeed, dry the cement, and allowed easy removal from the glass pieces, and the lead strips. Particular attention was needed where glass met lead, with care required to form a smooth, neat edge of cement but without undercutting said edge. This was repeated on the other side of the pane, and it required further repetitions on each side. We would sprinkle white powder, and rub in circular fashion again, and again, and again. This, I felt, must be the punishment for the glass breakages, and other “pig’s ears”. Jo’s insistence of the repetitions reminded me of Mr. Miyagi’s similar, unwavering assertiveness towards his young protégé, Daniel, during the perceived superfluous task of repeatedly polishing the tutor’s car. “Wax on, wax off”, and again, “Wax on, wax off, and again, and again (The Karate Kid, 1984).
Whilst not done to perfect our karate techniques, the repeated “Whiting on, whiting off” certainly succeeded in tidying, and cleaning our leaded lights. It was, however, an undeniably tedious process but did, admittedly, prove to be worth the effort. At the time, though, there were definitely a few signs of wavering patience and fatigue. As we headed towards the early evening, sighs were to be heard, and Jo even let her hair down, and proceeded to push fingers through locks giving a tousled appearance suggestive of a desire to be at home, on the sofa, with a glass of red liquid in hand. This impression was only reinforced when I became aware of evocative music in the background. Throughout the weekend, Jo tuned in to the dulcet tones of Radio 3. I listened, and either by divine intervention, or more probably just chance coincidence, I heard the haunting lament of Verdi’s “Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves”. “traggi un suono di crudo lamento, o t’ispiri il Signore un concento che ne infonda al patire virtù!”. “Let me cry out with sad lamentation, or else may the Lord strengthen me to bear these sufferings!” I felt a certain affinity towards those poor Hebrews, held in Babylonian captivity, wistfully dreaming of a return to their homeland.
The “Whiting on, whiting off” process, as interminable as it seemed at the time, was finally completed. Jo then produced tubes of “fire grate black”; we squeezed a small amount onto a cloth, and rubbed it onto the lead. The initially pristine rubber gloves we had started with were no longer so. I thought I might be able to persuade my good lady that her now soiled washing-up accoutrements were de rigueur; after all, the Bianchi cycle company now produce naturally coloured, black carbon fibre bike frames, with Celeste used to colour only parts of the tubing, and very tasty they do look. Having second thoughts, I surmised it would be much simpler just to purchase a new pair. Once the rubber glove staining “black” had been applied, we proceeded to polish our panes with a shoe brush! No need for anything superfluously fancy or expensive, and the proof of such….. Voilà! Nothing quite as magnificent as Jo’s exquisite works of art but we had all, successfully, produced a stained glass window. There was a distinct air of satisfaction, perhaps a certain degree of surprise at what we had achieved, and unerring gratitude for Jo’s expertise, and patience. “D” had wonderfully created the representation of a Yorkshire Dales bridge that would always trigger wonderful memories of a very special wedding day. “C”, or was it “K”? (Apologies, again, “C”, or was it “K”?) had painstakingly fabricated the likeness of a favourite, colourful bloom. My own offering harks to times spent in my good lady wife’s family’s vineyard, pinot meunier grapes amongst vine leaves. We were, all three, immensely satisfied at what had been achieved, and all thanks to our tutor.
Jo, your skill knows no bounds, not just your expertise in the field of stained glass but your ability to pass on your knowledge, and some of that expertise. You are a true gem. Thank you."
It made me laugh out-loud!
" On the Home page of the website Hannah Stained Glass, the extraordinarily talented individual, Jo, behind the enterprise, talks of a fascination with colour and light from an early age. I have similarly always been fascinated, and spent many an hour gazing at tale telling, natural light illuminated masterpieces in many diverse a setting. During visits to my good lady wife’s home town, I have been transfixed by the splendour of the west portal window in the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in the city of Reims, north eastern France. No less mesmerised have I been at the dappled colours bathing the pews and interior stone work, emanating from the leaded lights, in the church to Saint Helen, Skipwith, North Yorkshire, on trips to chat with my late Mum, resting in the grounds therewith. Where Jo has turned her fascination into a way of life, I just continued to gaze in wonder. That was until recently.
I have never been one for over celebrating the now seeming myriad of special days, for all and everything, that have become overly commercialised. Take Father’s Day; sincere felicitation, and a warm smile are all that I need, from my sons, to make the day a good day. That said, they have, on occasion, put in much appreciated additional effort to please. Like the time I was entered, with my eldest, for the Allerthorpe triathlon, near York. An hour, and then some, of sheer purgatory but torment that, in a masochistic sort of way, I thoroughly enjoyed. This year’s offering from the boys, with the complicity of my other half, trumped all previous. Only a couple of days before the event, they revealed that I had been enrolled onto Jo’s stained glass weekend course.
I was thrilled, and as I made my way to Jo’s work shop, in eager anticipation, on the Friday evening, after work, I realised that I, unknowingly, passed this magical place of creativity every day during my commute. Entering Jo’s unit, I felt like a young child in a favourite toy shop. Whilst utilitarian, the space was homely and inviting but more significantly it was light, colourful, and filled with examples of Jo’s stunning work. Some finished, others in the process of completion, all crafted with an evident desire for perfection and unmistakable skill.
Already with Jo, were my, to be, fellow budding stained glass enthusiasts for the duration of the course, “D” and “C”, or was it “K”? Apologies “C”, or was it “K”? I fail to recall! Our first task was to create a design, pastels on card, that we would turn into masterpieces of our own; well mayhap not masterpieces but, hopefully something resembling a leaded light. With plans of sorts, and Jo’s expert guidance, the following Saturday morning saw us commence the realisation of our designs. Card templates were created, and we were then able to choose the glass that we would go on to cut. I had not been aware of just how many different types of glass there were. We were spoilt for choice; there were smooth sheets, others rippled, some that were gold streaked (apparently very expensive), iridescent, mouthblown, examples from Germany, others from Poland, and every colour under the sun. Pieces chosen, Jo demonstrated how to cut the glass, using her oil fed cutter, with a deft, well practiced mastery, that made the task look ridiculously simple. It wasn’t, and it wasn’t the last time that I made “a pig’s ear” of the task in hand. For this I was admonished, not for poor cutting technique but for slighting our porcine friends. Ever one to look at things in a positive light, Jo rightly pointed out that a pig’s ear has a pleasant, agreeable shape, and that being associated with tasks gone awry does the unbeknowing pig an injustice!
Come the Sunday, and with Jo’s continuous expert tutelage and encouragement, we were assembling our panes, encasing glass betwixt lengths of malleable lead strip. Here, precision, Jo pointed out, was crucial, and much time was spent grinding glass edges. Perseverance, and attention to detail was the key, and eventually three designs in glass emerged. The next task was to fuse all the interconnecting lead strips that would hold the panes together. Having soldered copper piping for various home plumbing tasks, I felt that this would be a straightforward undertaking. That was until Jo pointed out that lead is, relatively speaking, a very soft metal, and, unlike copper, spend too long on an area, with the soldering iron, and the lead will melt through, creating a hole that would necessitate replacement of the whole strip! Thus, we proceeded with some trepidation, and, perhaps surprisingly, none of us had to refashion any lead.
We had successfully fabricated three stained glass windows, and I thought we must be nearly done. Jo had spoken of classes continuing well in to the Sunday evening, beyond the expected finish time but we were, surely, nearly there. Jo abruptly dispelled such thoughts when she confirmed that most tasks had, indeed, been completed but that the remainder would likely take a couple of hours! It wasn’t that I was disappointed, I was enjoying the whole process but I was intrigued as to what was still to be involved. It was at this point that Jo indicated that we needed our rubber gloves and toothbrushes. I have to admit that I had read, quizzically, the list of required items for the course that included glass marker pen (fair enough), and said gloves and brush. I had visions of being punished for glass breakages, or excessive use of lead, by being unequivocally commanded to clean every nook and cranny of the bathroom facilities with the toothbrush!
Our hand-wear added further to the colour of Jo’s workshop; “D” in bright, almost fluorescent pink, “C”, or was it “K”? (Apologies, again, “C”, or was it “K”?) in vivid lemon yellow. Yours truly sported near luminous light turquoise, my good lady’s Marigolds that I had surreptitiously half-inched from the draining board. The colour was a distinctive favourite, reminding me of the trademark colour used by the iconic Italian bicycle manufacturer Bianchi. The tale goes, that the company’s founder, Edoardo Bianchi, supplied a bike, and lessons to ride it, to Margherita, the then Queen of Italy. It is said that Edoardo was spellbound by the monarch’s eyes, and used their hue as inspiration for the paint finish on the gifted cycle, and all those he was to make thereafter. His nomenclature for the shade of colour was nothing as common as light blue or green but “Celeste”. From the Latin “Caelestis”, meaning celestial or heavenly, Signor Bianchi had played a stroke of genius, with his bikes, in the cycling world, being seen as desirable, heavenly items, and revered as works of art. I feel sure his compatriots, Messrs Buonarroti, Santi, and daVinci would have approved.
The need for rubber gloves became apparent as Jo produced a tub of runny brown goo. The characteristic odour of linseed oil was unmistakable but this wasn’t like traditional glazing putty, and, indeed, Jo didn’t refer to it as such. With lamp black to darken it, and other ingredients to render it still stiff but more liquid than putty, this was the “cement” that would fix the pieces of glass into the lead strips, and produce a sturdy, and watertight window. Thus we applied the cement, and pushed it into the grooves of the lead strips that held the glass, with our trusty toothbrushes. This was done to both sides of the pane, following which Jo produced another tub, this time containing what looked like flour. The white powder, Jo reliably informed us, was “whiting”, its purpose being to dry and facilitate the removal of excess cement. It was sprinkled onto one side of the pane, and we proceeded to rub the powder, with our rubber protected fingers, using a circular motion. The whiting did, indeed, dry the cement, and allowed easy removal from the glass pieces, and the lead strips. Particular attention was needed where glass met lead, with care required to form a smooth, neat edge of cement but without undercutting said edge. This was repeated on the other side of the pane, and it required further repetitions on each side. We would sprinkle white powder, and rub in circular fashion again, and again, and again. This, I felt, must be the punishment for the glass breakages, and other “pig’s ears”. Jo’s insistence of the repetitions reminded me of Mr. Miyagi’s similar, unwavering assertiveness towards his young protégé, Daniel, during the perceived superfluous task of repeatedly polishing the tutor’s car. “Wax on, wax off”, and again, “Wax on, wax off, and again, and again (The Karate Kid, 1984).
Whilst not done to perfect our karate techniques, the repeated “Whiting on, whiting off” certainly succeeded in tidying, and cleaning our leaded lights. It was, however, an undeniably tedious process but did, admittedly, prove to be worth the effort. At the time, though, there were definitely a few signs of wavering patience and fatigue. As we headed towards the early evening, sighs were to be heard, and Jo even let her hair down, and proceeded to push fingers through locks giving a tousled appearance suggestive of a desire to be at home, on the sofa, with a glass of red liquid in hand. This impression was only reinforced when I became aware of evocative music in the background. Throughout the weekend, Jo tuned in to the dulcet tones of Radio 3. I listened, and either by divine intervention, or more probably just chance coincidence, I heard the haunting lament of Verdi’s “Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves”. “traggi un suono di crudo lamento, o t’ispiri il Signore un concento che ne infonda al patire virtù!”. “Let me cry out with sad lamentation, or else may the Lord strengthen me to bear these sufferings!” I felt a certain affinity towards those poor Hebrews, held in Babylonian captivity, wistfully dreaming of a return to their homeland.
The “Whiting on, whiting off” process, as interminable as it seemed at the time, was finally completed. Jo then produced tubes of “fire grate black”; we squeezed a small amount onto a cloth, and rubbed it onto the lead. The initially pristine rubber gloves we had started with were no longer so. I thought I might be able to persuade my good lady that her now soiled washing-up accoutrements were de rigueur; after all, the Bianchi cycle company now produce naturally coloured, black carbon fibre bike frames, with Celeste used to colour only parts of the tubing, and very tasty they do look. Having second thoughts, I surmised it would be much simpler just to purchase a new pair. Once the rubber glove staining “black” had been applied, we proceeded to polish our panes with a shoe brush! No need for anything superfluously fancy or expensive, and the proof of such….. Voilà! Nothing quite as magnificent as Jo’s exquisite works of art but we had all, successfully, produced a stained glass window. There was a distinct air of satisfaction, perhaps a certain degree of surprise at what we had achieved, and unerring gratitude for Jo’s expertise, and patience. “D” had wonderfully created the representation of a Yorkshire Dales bridge that would always trigger wonderful memories of a very special wedding day. “C”, or was it “K”? (Apologies, again, “C”, or was it “K”?) had painstakingly fabricated the likeness of a favourite, colourful bloom. My own offering harks to times spent in my good lady wife’s family’s vineyard, pinot meunier grapes amongst vine leaves. We were, all three, immensely satisfied at what had been achieved, and all thanks to our tutor.
Jo, your skill knows no bounds, not just your expertise in the field of stained glass but your ability to pass on your knowledge, and some of that expertise. You are a true gem. Thank you."
Images from this weekends class
"Jo was a fantastic and thorough teacher, patient and understanding and always ready to help with any problem. I’ve learnt so much over this weekend, from cutting glass, leading, soldering and cementing, and I‘m eager to do it again. This course is definitely the best place to learn - Jo’s skills are incredible and her workshop is beautiful - a wonderful way to spend the weekend, thank-you again!!"
Catherine
Catherine
TERMS AND CONDITIONS
Cancellation
In the unlikely event that I have to cancel a course you will be offered to transfer your place to another date or receive a full refund.
Cancellation
- Cancellations made 6 weeks in advance will receive a full refund or date change
- Cancellations made 4 weeks in advance will receive 75% refund
- Cancellations received 2 weeks in advance will receive a 50% refund
- Cancellations made less than 2 weeks in advance will receive no refund
In the unlikely event that I have to cancel a course you will be offered to transfer your place to another date or receive a full refund.
