Nor did he limit himself to Navajo paintings but included all sorts of drawings and whimsical doodles, such as French flags and caricatures of James Joyce.
After the accident, however, Chihuly’s work took on a decidedly asymmetric form. Working at Pilchuck in the summer of 1977 and learning to deal with the loss of depth perception, Chihuly describes his inspiration after seeing a Northwest Indian basket: “I wasn’t reallyworking on anything. And I saw these baskets, and I thought,
I want to make these baskets out of glass
.”
He tried a few different methods taken from standard glassblowing techniques, but none gave him the form he was looking for. “It didn’t take me too long to figure out that I could have the heat and gravity work for me to make these shapes.”
The baskets, although similar to the cylinders in their earthen tones, looked nothing like candle holders. Despite their name, they didn’t look much like baskets either. More like dinosaur eggs that had hatched and mutated into some organic form that seemed almost alive. It is no coincidence that Chihuly’s work departed from symmetry following the loss of vision in one eye.
For many people, the loss of vision in one eye devastates both the body and the psyche. After Sammy Davis Jr. lost his left eye in an automobile accident, he thought his vision would be half of what it used to be, but after the bandages were removed, he found that it was less than half, describing the sensation of having a wall built over his nose. 2 But the brain adapts quickly, and Chihuly, like Davis, was soon able to work again. Although the brain does a surprisingly good job at compensating for the loss of vision in one eye, it is never quite the same. A great deal of depth perception returns, and slight movements of the head allow one eye to serve the function of two. The greater effect of losing an eye is the way in which the individual sees himself.
In glasswork, symmetry is prized above all else. Ever since the Venetians invented the craft in the thirteenth century, symmetry has been a measure of the skill of the glassblower and has served as a sort of status symbol. Even in the 1970s, when Chihuly was blowing, the worth of a glassblower was measured by the symmetry of his work. It was unthinkable to show work that departed from this standard. Asymmetric vases were the mark of rank beginners. So when Chihuly foisted his deformed baskets on the glass world, he thumbed his nose at centuries of glassmaking dogma.
For artists like Chihuly, the work is very much an extension of the body. Glass sculpture is a physical medium. The requirement of constant motion traditionally ensured that symmetric objects were the most highly prized. And yet, the one-eyed artist is a case study in asymmetry that he must confront in the mirror every morning. Humans do not like asymmetry as a general rule. When we look at someone’s face, we judge their beauty in large part according to how symmetric they are. 3 For an artist, beauty reigns above all else. So even though Chihuly adapted to monocular vision, what makes him an iconoclast is his departure from traditional glassblowing into the realm of asymmetry. He found ways to make the asymmetric beautiful—a feat that most glass-blowers of the time thought impossible. In Chihuly’s case, it took a physical change to see differently. Although it may not be necessary to resort to such drastic means, his story provides the first lesson for iconoclasts. The iconoclast sees differently than everyone else.
Seeing Differently
We are visual animals. When we imagine something, it is most often a visual image that comes to mind. Where do these images come from? The eyes transmit raw information, but by the time you become aware of it, your brain has processed the information in so many ways that if a neuroscientist were to listen in on the neural signals propagating through your brain, she would have a hard time picking up anything resembling