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Slowmade Podcast
Why These Miniature Portraits Have Captured My Heart (and My Workbench)
Every now and then, a material comes along that feels less like a component and more like a key—unlocking history, myth, and emotion in a single glance. Venetian glass intaglios are exactly that.
Before I ever set one in metal, I was captivated by their quiet drama: tiny faces, ancient figures, mythic scenes—suspended in amber, pale aqua, stormy blue, gray, lavender, or soft rose glass. They’re beautifully romantic, yes. But their true magic lies in their origin story.
The word intaglio comes from the Italian intagliare—“to carve.” In ancient Greece and Rome, intaglios were carved directly into gemstones like carnelian or agate and used as seals to sign documents or wear as talismans. Each one carried a narrative: a god of protection, a muse of creativity, a guardian of love or fate.
Centuries later, during the 18th and 19th centuries, wealthy travelers embarked on what was called the Grand Tour—a cultural pilgrimage through Italy. Venice, with its unmatched glassmaking tradition, began recreating these ancient designs in richly colored glass. Artisans pressed classical myths, Roman goddesses, and poetic symbols into molds, reviving an ancient art form in a new, luminous medium.
These weren’t just souvenirs. They were keepsakes of wonder—proof that you had walked through history and wanted to carry something beautiful home.
One of the reasons I cherish these glass intaglios is their subtle imperfection. Some carry faint bubbles from the glass pour, others a softened edge from time. No two are identical, and that individuality makes each piece feel deeply human. It’s as if each one has survived a journey of its own.
When I design with intaglios, I’m not just making a necklace or ring—I’m framing a story. A fragment of myth. A glimpse of a goddess. A reminder that beauty often outlives its maker.
I think that’s why so many of you have been drawn to them too. They feel like relics, like something rediscovered rather than newly made. They remind us that we are connected to something ancient… something enduring.
I’ve been quietly collecting my favorite intaglios—each chosen for its expression, its hue, its soul. I set them slowly, one at a time, letting metal and glass find their balance. Some pieces feel regal, others tender. All of them hold a secret.
If one speaks to you, I hope you’ll listen. These pieces aren’t trends—they’re heirlooms in waiting.
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