Shaping Light: Andi on Homo Faber and the Evolution of Glass

Andi’s selection by Homo Faber, presented by the Michelangelo Foundation for Creativity and Craftsmanship, marks a continued recognition of her distinctive voice in contemporary glass. The Foundation is an international nonprofit dedicated to preserving and advancing fine craftsmanship, celebrating artisans whose work bridges heritage and innovation. Chosen for the second time, this honor underscores Andi’s ongoing exploration of form, light, and material.

Her 2024 inclusion led to an invitation to the Venice Biennale, where her work was exhibited among leading international artisans. The presentation highlighted Andi’s signature approach, hand-blown glass that balances tension and fluidity, precision and unpredictability, resulting in pieces that feel both sculptural and atmospheric.

Together, these milestones reflect a practice that continues to push the boundaries of glass, positioning Andi within a global dialogue on craftsmanship, innovation, and the future of the medium. In the following conversation with Homo Faber, Andi shares more about her path into glass, the ideas that shape her work, and the challenges and rewards of her process.

The Interview:

• How did you first discover glassblowing?

I actually discovered glassblowing a bit by accident. At the time, I was already deeply immersed in art—I had a background in fine art and sculpture and was teaching and working in New York. I decided to take a glassblowing class almost on a whim, just to expand my sculptural vocabulary and try something new. I wasn’t looking for a new career path; I was simply curious.

The first time I gathered molten glass on the end of a pipe, I was completely captivated. The material is fluid, physical, and unpredictable, and it demands your full presence. It felt unlike anything I had worked with before. That class quickly turned into an obsession. I found myself spending more and more time in the studio, drawn to the intensity of the process and the collaborative energy of the hot shop.

What began as an experiment became the foundation of my life’s work. Glass chose me as much as I chose it, and I’ve been in conversation with the material ever since.

• Do you have a favorite piece you've made? What is it, and why is it a favorite?

That’s always such a hard question, because each piece holds a specific moment in my life—a season of curiosity, risk, or growth.

If I had to choose, one of my favorites is the Eclipse light. It represents a turning point for me, where sculpture, function, and emotion fully merged. I love it because it carries the raw, off-center energy of hand-blown glass while also becoming something intimate and architectural. The color rises from the lip, so it feels like the vessel is breathing light rather than simply holding it. Incorporating the fixture into the finished form felt almost rebellious at first, but that tension is exactly what makes it powerful.

What I love most about that piece is that it shifts with the day. It’s moody, atmospheric, and slightly imperfect—which makes it human. It embodies everything I’m drawn to in glass: movement, vulnerability, strength, and the collaboration between control and surrender.

That said, I suspect my favorite piece is always the one I’m about to make next.

• What are your sources of inspiration?

My sources of inspiration are layered—they come from landscape, architecture, emotion, and the inherent behavior of glass itself.

I’m deeply inspired by aerial landscapes—the way land looks from above: agricultural plots, mountain ranges, river veins, fault lines. When you remove yourself from ground level, everything becomes abstract. Those shifting geometries and organic boundaries often find their way into my work as imagined topographies—vessels that feel like terrain or lighting pieces that suggest distant horizons.

Architecture also plays a major role for me. I’m drawn to the friction between something organic and something structured. The dialogue between fluid, off-center hand-blown glass and clean, intentional installation is a constant theme in my work.
Color is another source of inspiration. I think of color emotionally rather than decoratively. Saturation, opacity, and the way pigment travels through a vessel feel painterly to me. Sometimes the material itself leads; glass has its own agenda, and I’m inspired by the act of responding to it.

And honestly, I’m inspired by risk—by pushing the form slightly off balance, by allowing asymmetry to feel intentional and powerful. I’m interested in work that feels human, not overly perfected, because that’s where energy lives.

In the end, my biggest inspiration is transformation: taking something molten and volatile and shaping it into an object that holds light, space, and emotion.

• What is the biggest challenge you face in practicing your craft?

One of my biggest challenges is balancing control with surrender.

Glass is molten, volatile, and constantly moving. You can guide it, but you can’t dominate it. Every time I gather from the furnace, I’m entering into a negotiation. Knowing when to push the material and when to let it speak is both the hardest and most rewarding part of the process.

Another challenge is physical endurance. Glassblowing is demanding. It’s heat, weight, timing, teamwork. The window to make a decision is often seconds long. You’re choreographing movement while managing gravity and temperature. Staying present and decisive under that pressure takes discipline.

Conceptually, the challenge is continuing to evolve. After working in glass for decades, I’m always asking myself: How do I push further? How do I avoid repeating myself? How do I keep the work vital? It requires risk—stepping into forms or techniques that might fail.
And then there’s the emotional challenge of letting pieces go. Because the work is so physical and immersive, each piece carries memory. Releasing it into the world—to collectors, to homes, to galleries—is a vulnerable act.

But ultimately, those challenges are why I stay committed. The difficulty keeps the work honest.

• On your website, you describe yourself as a "disruptor" and a "magician." How do those descriptors play out in your creative process and/or shine through in your work?

Calling myself a disruptor and a magician really speaks to how I approach both the process and the outcome of my work.

The disruptor part comes from my instinct to challenge expectations of glass. Traditional glassblowing often celebrates symmetry, perfection, and technical virtuosity. I’m interested in pushing against that. I lean into asymmetry, off-center forms, unexpected color movement, and interventions that feel slightly rebellious. I want the work to interrupt the viewer’s expectations a little. That disruption keeps the material contemporary.

The magician side comes from transformation. Glass is one of the few materials where you can witness alchemy in real time—sand and minerals becoming molten, then becoming something that holds light and atmosphere. In the hot shop, it really does feel like a kind of conjuring. You’re stretching gravity and capturing a moment of motion in solid form. When it works, it feels almost impossible.

I also think the magic happens in the experience of the finished piece. Light passing through glass can change the mood of a space completely. A piece can shift throughout the day with the environment around it. That quiet transformation—where an object alters the atmosphere of a room—feels like its own kind of spell.

So in a way, disruption and magic are two sides of the same coin: one challenges the rules, and the other creates something unexpected from that freedom.

• You also mentioned that you currently mentor female artists. Why is that important—to you personally, and to your craft?

Mentoring female artists is deeply important to me because I know firsthand how challenging it can be to build a career in a field that has historically been male-dominated, especially in the hot shop. Glassblowing is physically demanding, technically rigorous, and often structured around traditional hierarchies. Early in my career, there weren’t many visible models of women leading studios or shaping the direction of the field. That absence makes mentorship incredibly powerful.

On a personal level, mentoring feels like a responsibility. I’ve spent decades learning the material, navigating the industry, and building a creative life around glass. Passing that knowledge forward helps open doors that might otherwise feel closed or intimidating. Sometimes it’s about technique or studio practice, but often it’s about confidence—helping emerging artists trust their instincts and claim space for their voice.

For the craft itself, mentorship is about evolution. When more perspectives enter the field, the work becomes richer and more expansive. Women often bring different questions, different sensitivities to form, color, and narrative. Supporting that diversity strengthens the future of glass.

Ultimately, mentoring is about community. Glassblowing has always been collaborative—you literally can’t do it alone. Creating an environment where women support and elevate one another helps ensure that the next generation of artists doesn’t just inherit the craft, but transforms it.

Thanks again from ESQUE to Homo Faber, and the Michelangelo Foundation for Creativity and Craftsmanship,