Remembering Marvin Lipofsky (1938-2016), personally
Some artists change the way we see materials; a rare few also change the way we see ourselves. Marvin Lipofsky did both. What follows is not a formal obituary, but a personal remembrance of an artist, friend, and mentor whose influence continues to ripple through the world of glass and through my own life.
Last Friday morning, I received the call that Marvin Lipofsky had left this world. Though he was 77 and burdened by age and illness, the news still arrived with a sharp and unexpected sadness.
To understand Marvin’s extraordinary place in the international world of glass, one could begin with his résumé — a vibrant record that stretches unbroken from 1962 through 2016. He was an artist’s artist: intellectual, passionate, and deeply committed to his community. Many tributes and obituaries will rightly celebrate his influence and his formidable body of work. He achieved so much, yet what lingers most vividly for those who knew him is his indomitable spirit and generosity of heart.
I first met Marvin in 2000, when I owned a small café in Berkeley, California. Every Friday morning at 8 a.m. sharp, he and his group of artist friends — affectionately known as the Breakfast Club — would come for breakfast. I was young then, as was my staff: enthusiastic but inexperienced, unprepared for this lively crew of proud and opinionated artists. Those mornings are etched forever in my memory.
One day, emboldened by curiosity, I mentioned to Marvin that I also owned a small gallery in San Francisco where I showed glass objects. He smiled kindly and, with characteristic directness, said he didn’t think it was the right place for his work.
Years later, our paths crossed often — at art fairs, openings, and in his studio. His work never failed to astonish: vivid, sculptural, full of life. Over time, he changed his mind and allowed me to represent him. Together, we showed his work in Miami, Los Angeles, and, memorably, at Art Basel in Basel — the first time contemporary glass had ever been presented there. We held two solo exhibitions, one a sweeping retrospective spanning 1969 to 2009. Working with him, whether in group installations or solo exhibitions, was always an unforgettable education: an encounter with a proud, mentoring master who cared deeply about craftsmanship, concept, and community. Our final collaboration — the commemorative exhibition of the American Studio Glass movement at the Oakland Museum — remains one of my most cherished memories.
Marvin’s admirers formed an extraordinary constellation of artists, collectors, and friends. They included his students, critics, and fellow innovators; curious travelers who paused to admire his work at SFO’s Terminal Two; and even Hollywood luminaries. He was friends with Richard Arneson; Chuck Close sought him out at one of our Miami presentations; and Jack Nicholson and Halle Berry inquired about his pieces when we showed them in Los Angeles.
He was also a collector — not only of objects but of stories and moments. His memory was sharp and his storytelling unmatched. One of his favorites recalled his early years as one of Harvey Littleton’s first students at the University of Wisconsin, Madison — where the American Studio Glass movement took root. Later, as a young professor at UC Berkeley, he helped build the university’s first glass kiln with his inaugural class of students — all young women, to his amused delight, arriving to work in dresses. His eyes would twinkle behind his thick black frames as he remembered those days, his laugh half chuckle, half growl.
It was at Berkeley that Marvin began to explore the global landscape of glassmaking. Armed with only a letter of introduction from the university, he traveled across continents — the Soviet Union, China, France, Japan — forging friendships, exchanging ideas, and developing a method of collaborative creation that became his unique signature. He carried no tools, instead carving wooden implements by hand, collecting fragments of local glass, and allowing each environment’s colors and textures to shape his work. His Soviet series, for example, reflected the charged hues of the Cold War era.
As critic James Yood once observed, Marvin’s sculptures were “prized for their rhythmic forms and complex concave and convex shapes,” their color “a testament to his consummate artistry with hot glass.” The titles of his works, dedicated to the people and places that inspired them, were gestures of gratitude. Through these journeys, Marvin built a worldwide network of artists bound by shared respect and affection — his living legacy.
He also founded and developed the glass program at what is now California College of the Arts in Oakland, nurturing generations of glass artists who carry his influence forward.
Marvin Lipofsky was a formidable figure — visionary, uncompromising, and endlessly generous. His humor, often dry and mischievous, could soften any moment of tension. His longtime friend and Murano collaborator, Gianni Toso, once said Marvin’s greatness sprang from “his inability to tolerate mediocrity, his intellectual honesty, and his generous heart.” Collector Dorothy Saxe called him “a giant in the art world,” whose impact will be felt for years to come.
I was privileged to call him a friend. Marvin, we miss you deeply — but your brilliance, laughter, and spirit will always remain close by.
In loving memory of Marvin Lipofsky (1938–2016), artist, teacher, traveler, and friend — may his glass continue to catch the light for all of us.