But there is one room that is dimmer, quieter, more humid, and somehow emotionally set apart while remaining physically in the center of the museum.
The Ware Collection of Glass Flowers modeled by father and son Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka over five decades sits almost like a temple, a testament to a lifetime of patient work. There are notably fewer children, but the ones that are present seem to intuitively understand to be gentler here. Thousands — 4,300 to be exact — of botanically accurate plant models, delicately constructed of glass, unobtrusive wire, and a soft shimmer of paint are subtly haloed in rows of display cases. Details that would only be discernible by microscope are faithfully enlarged for the naked eye, so that one feels a bit like a squirrel face-to-face with a pawful of bulb.
While petals, greens, and berries are picked up quickly by my eager marmot eyes, I am particularly enamored with the impossibility of glass roots. I can almost smell the soil from the bundles of fibers reconstructed with the care given by a portraitist to the strands of hair on a lover’s head. From 1886 to 1936, at a worktable (also on display) smaller than my current home-office desk, the duo practiced a daily devotion to craft and quiet observation that I can hardly imagine myself applying to, well, anything.
I jab at myself for my impatience and short attention span, but it’s not really a fair criticism. The Blaschkas had a singular opportunity: they were financed for 50 years by the Ware family, after which the collection is named, to assemble something of epic proportions for which they were uniquely equipped. What could each of us build with the generous patronage of time? Perhaps the kinds of things that make strangers whisper in a darkened room.
Sources: Glass Flowers: The Ware Collection of Blaschka Glass Models of Plants, Curious Expeditions on Flickr (Images)