“He will be standing in front of your hotel with single red rose…” I was meeting Afro Celotto for the first time at 11am on a cold Sunday morning in Murano. Afro is a world-class artist with glass sculpture in museums around the world but he wanted me to laugh and feel comfortable. I felt humbled.
I knew when we stopped at a neighborhood trattoria for “un piccolo prosecco”, that he didn’t actually feel like that counted as drinking. We joked about a bit of local slang, “l’acqua marcisce i pali” that translates as, “water rots the pilings”; applicable when one orders water instead of prosecco or wine. He was quite animated as we walked to his furnace,
Furnaces in Murano (we would might say “studio” in the US”) are often several small buildings enclosed on all sides by brick or stone walls, with an iron door in front. There is usually a bell and intercom for each building but unless you are expected, there may be no reply and you are quite unlikely to be invited in.
No matter on Sunday AM – we entered with a key and proceeded to the furnace building. Like virtually all the furnaces on Murano, this building and much of its contents have been there for generations. You can see and feel the warmth of the glass – the artistic fire never goes out.
But there is a chill and a quiet in the unheated winter space. The “glory-hole” is not on and the annealing oven has cooled. We look quickly at a few of Afro’s most recent pieces in the oven. It is his first view since he finished them days ago.
The art is beautiful, even is this raw, unlit state, laying awkwardly in the oven. But Afro is just relieved they are not broken. He tells me he recently made about two dozen pieces that all broke as they cooled due to a malfunction in the oven. It represented weeks of work and cost him thousands.
Like most glass artists these days, Afro bears the tremendous cost of making his own glass art. Some artists invest in their own facilities and take on the operating costs. Others pay for their own team, or “piazza” and for the use of a large furnace and related facilities – thousands per day!
We proceeded to the office building and went upstairs to the “showroom” area. It consisted of a couple of poorly lit rooms with dingy pedestals – and more dusty, dirty, magnificent glass art per square foot than I have ever seen!
Afro is a star, a true glass master! Why were all these pieces here? Afro isn’t setup to do business with anyone he isn’t close to. He has no website, or email address. You can call his cell, he is unlikely to answer. On that day, Afro’s word felt small for a moment. But when you look at Afro’s art, you can see how broad his vision is.
I took photos of the pieces we intended to buy and we went down to the office to finalize our deal. Afro invited me to sit in what was clearly the boss’s chair. Seemed odd but then it occurred to me that it was the cleanest spot in a very dirty room – and that Afro never sat in that chair, he was always just where he sat that day; across the desk of the furnace owner in a wobbly old side chair.
On the way back we tried to stop for an “aperitif” but his favorite watering hole was closed – even to locals. Heading on to another location close by, it seemed that virtually everyone, both outside and inside, that saw Afro called out to him, many called him “Maestro.” Again, I felt humbled.
We both had a rather larger prosecco and discussed his fame, fortunes and the deal at hand. Being a kind host, Afro ordered “salami” for us and told me proudly it was a dish served only in Venice. We were served cylinders of what appeared to be a very fresh sausage with no casing that were almost an inch thick. They were moist, and when I tasted it, to my surprise, quite warm.
I inquired about the food and Afro tried to translate the word from Italian – “muset”, which roughly means “muzzle” or “snout”. He could not find the words and motioned with his hand around his own face. I continued eating what I now know is a dish made of fresh boiled pig’s face – and focused on what a lovely man was sitting across the table and how amazing his art was.
Later, I heard that Afro was literally moved to tears that someone had shown up at that special moment in his life and offered to buy over half of what he had made this year. I woke up hoping to meet an artist I admired and see if we could buy any of his most recent work. Making difference like that was a bonus I hadn’t bargained for.
I wouldn’t trade a minute of that day.
