Suzanna | Wienold

In glass art, a crack is usually a failure. It is trash. For Wienold, however, the line between a "crack" and a "crevice" is a matter of intent. She controls the stress in the glass during the cooling (annealing) process. She understands the physics of fracture so intimately that she can predict how the glass will split when heated.

She pulled a small, worn viewfinder from her coat pocket—a relic from her first directing gig. She didn't need a high-tech camera to see the world; she saw it in frames. "Action," she whispered to the empty bridge. suzanna wienold

At a small café tucked away in a cobblestone alley, she sat down and opened a leather-bound notebook. The first page was blank, save for a title she had carried in her head for years: The Silent Echo . It wouldn't be a dark comedy or a frantic drama. It would be a story about the things people don't say—the pauses between words, the way a person looks at a bridge when they think no one is watching. In glass art, a crack is usually a failure