Justin Tyner
I’ve been thinking about this project for the past few months, figuring out how I want to represent myself. I made a number of self-portraits in my 20s, especially when I was drawing more, but this will be the first I’ve done in 5 years. You know, I think I look the same.
I made a number of sketches, but it took a while before I was happy with the composition. This piece will be a stained glass window, and the composition needs to be exact, a perfect snowflake image. If the panels are off, it feels crooked. The balance isn’t right—that’s not what I want. By July I’m at a point where I can physically start working on it.
I’m going for a kaleidoscopic effect, something psychedelic, which is my style. There will be a central image of myself with others coming outward and blending into the colored sections. I want a kaleidoscopic view of myself that contains different depictions of myself, which are different facets of my personality.
I have a reference photo, taken by a photographer friend of mine. I’m also thinking about other photos taken recently by a different photographer. Those turned out really well, and even though I’m not directly referencing them, they helped solidify the sense of style I want to have in this project. I start out doing a thorough sketch of that photo in pencil on paper. I do this three or four times. Getting the likeness is a struggle. I want to make sure I come across as myself. Not just in that it looks like me, but also in that it was made by me. Eventually I get something I’m happy with. It was an interesting day because I was staring at myself for roughly four hours.
Next I begin selecting the glass and cutting the pieces to shape. I arrange the glass to be cut and I pick the colors. I have a range of glass salvaged from local churches (which is part of my day job) and found in the street. I start off with my glass-cutting tools: a wheel, a stone and pliers. These are the traditional tools, and they haven’t changed much in a thousand years—including the glass itself. I have great honor for the antique glass I’m using and these traditional techniques. And, importantly, I’m comfortable with these tools; they’re like part of me.
With the first pieces of glass selected, the actual painting of myself begins. I use vitreous paint, fine brushes, a little bit of water and some paper towels. It’s hard, again, to capture my likeness. I ask my son and my wife, and they say, “No, that’s not the right one.” Once you lay down the paint you can’t really change it, so if you aren’t satisfied you have to start over. Over the next few days, I go through four separate attempts. Anyone who comes to visit my studio, I ask for feedback. Usually it’s not good. But I keep at it, and I even fire the unsuccessful pieces because I want to use them somehow. Some of them break in the kiln.
Finally I come up with something I’m pleased with, an image of me on a round piece of glass. I’m nervous the whole time until it’s fired. There are just so many points where things can go wrong. Even after it’s fired, there are the decisions of color. In the end I decide to add some flesh tone to it, which will give it a little more depth. But if I mess that up, in painting or firing, it could ruin the whole piece. But it goes fine: It takes three or four firings to get the color and background, and I’m completely happy with it. The week of doubt and failure makes this happiness even stronger.
By now I have a concrete composition in mind. The round image of myself will be in the center, with a spectrum around it. I decide to include some magical symbols in the outer rim, very small, because this is something I’ve been getting into lately. I make a number of pieces using traditional symbology: occult earth symbols, astrological signs, planetary signs. It’s my effort to include some personal meaning in the piece, to make it more esoteric and psychedelic. I paint a lot more than I use; I just choose by feeling. I use my birth sign, the elements earth, wind, fire. There’s temple, moon, altar…I’m looking forward to learning more and using it in my art in the future. I post a photo of these little symbols on Instagram.
At this point I take a trip to Colorado for the solar eclipse on August 21. I wanted to bear witness to it in a totality section. It was a profound experience. What went along with it was a three-day backpacking trip in the mountains, which I’ve been preparing for. I summited Mt. Vermillion, one of the Centennial Peaks, which was 13,000 feet. So I physically prepared and then accomplished it. That physical feat was a gut-check for me, a time to think about the man I am today, at 38, and my capabilities as an artist, as a father, as a husband and person. It solidified the confidence I’m feeling in working on this self-portrait—the confidence to trust my instincts, to do things my way. Before, I was concerned about how other people would look at it and see me as, but once that trip happened, that went away. Both the trip and this project have already been pivotal in the way I see myself.
Back in Philadelphia, I have the energy to really make headway on the piece. The painting is done, and now I’m constructing the stained glass window. I work standing up in my studio, and the lightbox is on with glass pieces strewn about, and I’m picking and choosing the colors as they match what I have in my mind.
There are about 200 small pieces that I need to wrap in lead and put together, much like a puzzle. I use a glazing knife to build the glass and lead together, every intersection. I’m using so many pieces because I wanted to show my skill. I wanted to do something that even a person with experience would have a difficult time doing it. I’ve been doing this for 18 years, so I can build intricate, difficult pieces with relative ease. Of course problems come up, but I can solve my way out. The earlier paintings of myself have been incorporated into the work. They’re in pieces, smaller aspects of myself contained within the scope of the window. To me, that symbolizes the different aspects of myself, how I think I am versus how others see me, how I want to be perceived.
As I assemble the window, the concept and actual execution come together. Since my trip, I have a lot of energy and momentum. After working so slowly for so long, now I finish the piece within a week. It’s a milestone for me as an artist, to be successful in my own style in a piece that is entirely my own—of me, and in my style, both recognizable. It turned out way better than I thought. I take a photo with light coming through, and then I take a look through some of my home-made mirror kaleidoscopes and take some photos of that. I post one on Instagram. I just have this great self-esteem; it’s still twinkling.
This story was written by Tim Gorichanaz based on interviews with Justin Tyner. You can learn more about Justin on his website.