18 Nov Fire and Form: The Ed and Martha Biggar Story
In the rolling hills of Southwest Virginia, where morning mist clings to ancient mountains and the rhythm of farm life still marks the seasons, Ed and Martha Biggar have spent decades transforming fire and sand into art. Their story is one of creative partnership—in life, in work, and in the delicate dance between flame and glass that has defined their artistic journey together.
Ed’s introduction to glass came through an unexpected route at Oregon State University, where he was studying animal science before discovering the art department. “A guy named Maria Botticelli taught scientific glassblowing,” Ed recalls, “and he taught us ‘rotate, rotate, always rotate the glass.’ I’ve never forgotten that—it’s very important.” That fundamental lesson would become the foundation for a lifetime of working with molten glass, though Ed’s path would wind through welding life-size sculptures of boars and raising registered pigs before glass became his primary medium.
Martha’s artistic foundation was built at Virginia Commonwealth University, where she developed the design sensibilities that would later infuse all her work. After earning her teaching certificate, she spent years as an art teacher at Pulaski Middle School, sharing her passion for creativity with young minds. Her entry into glass came through Ed, just as his journey into jewelry began through her influence. “I think it was about 23 years ago,” Martha explains. “He was teaching glass bead making, I was teaching silver jewelry, at the same venue, and so we traded each other classes. We’ve been helping each other out ever since.”
Their creative partnership was forged at the Corning Glass Studio in New York, where they began teaching workshops together. The venue became a second home, inviting them back year after year to share their complementary skills with students eager to learn both glass and metalwork. When Martha was still teaching, they would travel together, bringing the magic of fused glass to middle school students across the region. “They got to make things for their parents,” Ed notes with satisfaction, remembering how the young artists’ faces would light up seeing their creations emerge from the kiln.
One of their most memorable teaching experiences came through a grant that allowed them to work with all the middle schoolers in Floyd County. For Martha, taking a year away from her regular teaching position to focus entirely on this artistic outreach felt like coming full circle—combining her love of education with her passion for making beautiful objects by hand.
Their inspiration flows from the natural world around them, though it manifests differently in each artist’s work. Ed draws from his background in marine environments and his fascination with light effects. “Sea life inspires me. Nature inspires me. And just, you know, adventure in light effects,” he explains. His work has ranged from neon plant-like creations that literally light up spaces to plasma pieces that generate their own lightning bolts, including a memorable plasma guitar that caught the attention of fellow musicians.
Martha finds her inspiration in natural forms but expresses them through the intimate scale of jewelry. “I like earrings because my mom liked earrings, so I have stuck with those,” she says, acknowledging the personal history that influences her artistic choices. Her preference for jewelry stems from a desire to create pieces that become part of people’s daily lives—”pieces that people can wear anytime, wear to work, wear to play, wear at home, wear to bed, not have to change out.”
Their shared workspace, which they affectionately call “the sheddio,” reflects their dual nature as both artists and farmers. Ed describes their daily routine as a balance between production work for galleries and farmers markets, farm responsibilities like running the bush hog, and the creative time that feeds their souls. “This is my favorite time, though,” Martha says of their hours in the studio, where torch work and bench work provide both challenge and refuge.
The farm itself tells the story of Martha’s deep roots in this place. “This is where I’m from,” she explains. “I have this farm here, and then the next farm over, my sister and I own. It’s the home place where we grew up.” She spent her childhood in these fields and woods, attending the church next door, knowing the gentleman who worked the land with a team of horses, never owning a tractor or even driving. The connection between past and present runs deep here.
Ed, self-described as “an old sailor,” came to the farm through Martha, though he quickly discovered his own connection to the land. “I couldn’t get him off the tractor when he came here,” Martha laughs. Ed found poetry in farm work, pretending the hay fields were ocean swells as he navigated his “diesel liberty boat” across the landscape. They ran cattle until 2013, adding another layer to their agricultural identity before focusing more fully on their artistic practice.
The technical aspects of their work require both precision and intuition. Martha explains how different torch tips serve different purposes: “The big tip, when Ed kicks that on, he’s working with the color glass… and you need much more heat. You’ll notice he heats up a lot longer piece of the color. And then you use the little tip for the pokies, the design part, blowing the holes.” The process demands constant attention to the material’s response to heat—too much and the glass will collapse, too little and it won’t cooperate. “You can tell by looking at your glass,” Martha notes, “but that’s a practice thing.”
Ed describes the delicate relationship between flame and glass: “The closer you bring the glass to it, the quicker and hotter it gets. But a lot of times you’ve got to find the sweet spot out at the end of that flame to do delicate work.” This dance with fire requires years of experience to master, developing an almost intuitive sense of how much heat, applied where, will achieve the desired effect.
Their approach to teaching reflects a generosity rare in some craft traditions. Ed contrasts their openness with the secretive nature of some glassblowing communities: “You go to Italy and if you’re a glassblower and you’re in Murano, if those guys know you’re a glassblower, they’re going to put their backs to you and not show you a lot of the process. I have never bought into that. I am open to teaching anyone who has the interest and the wherewithal to learn whatever I know.”
At their market stall, they keep photos of themselves working with torches, fielding questions from curious customers, especially children fascinated by how beads acquire their holes. “This is how you get the hole in the bead,” Martha explains, showing the mandrel that creates the opening. “That’s something that’s been done for thousands of years over in other places, in the Middle East especially.” They see themselves as carriers of ancient knowledge, part of a continuum that stretches back millennia.
Ed loves sharing the legendary origin story of glass itself: a ship caught in a storm off Mesopotamia, carrying blocks of soda ash. The crew made a fire on the beach using the soda ash as support stones, and in the morning found rivulets of clear glass where sand had melted around their makeshift hearth. “That’s supposedly how glass was discovered,” he tells listeners, connecting their contemporary practice to humanity’s earliest encounters with this magical transformation of earth into transparency.
The emotional rewards of their work come from both the creative process and the human connections it fosters. Martha’s face lights up when she describes customers returning to tell her they wear her earrings every day, or that they bought a pair for their mothers who have likewise adopted them as daily companions. “It makes me really happy when somebody comes back and tells me how they’ve enjoyed one of my pieces… they bought it four or five years ago.”
For Ed, the joy comes from the work itself. “I work more now than I did when I worked the nine-to-five thing,” he reflects, “but Mondays and Fridays are not something that you dread. Every day could be a Monday and every day could be a Friday.” He recalls dancing while working at his old hot shop, playing Gregorian chants while manipulating molten glass in the big furnace. Though he misses that larger-scale work, the economics of keeping a furnace running forced him toward the more focused approach he practices now.
The evolution of their craft reflects broader changes in the glass world. Ed remembers the early 1970s when finding colored glass was nearly impossible, when he scavenged broken fragments from supply houses because money was tight. “In those days, you couldn’t find color. There was no color,” he recalls. The development of the pipe-making community revolutionized glass availability, creating demand for the incredible array of colors now available. As one influential flame worker told pipe makers at a glass conference: “You guys have the tools, you have the talent, you have the creativity, make some art.” Some of those artists now create pieces that sell for thousands of dollars.
Their connection to the ‘Round the Mountain Art Network spans over a decade, providing both practical benefits and creative community. “Obviously there’s the first value because we make sales there,” Martha notes pragmatically, “but the second value is meeting people, even if they’re not in your craft per se.” Ed serves on the board as a vendor representative, making the long drive to meetings because he enjoys walking through the gallery, seeing new work, and connecting with fellow artists.
The network also provides opportunities for demonstration and education. Ed brings his equipment to show visitors the glass-making process, talking enthusiasts through each step. “People a lot of times don’t know what goes into the process,” he explains. “I talk a lot and indoctrinate everybody, let them know how it happens and how they can get into it if they want to.” This teaching extends their impact beyond their own creative practice, potentially inspiring the next generation of glass artists.
Being artists has taught them both patience and persistence. “You don’t always get it right the first time or the second time,” Martha observes. “But you improve with practice. Practice makes perfect, they say. I don’t know that I’ll ever reach perfection, but I keep trying.” Ed finds fascination in the experimental nature of the work, trying new gases whose effects nobody can predict, working with special clays that require specific atmospheric conditions. “I like to experiment with process,” he says, “and I’ve done some crazy stuff that actually came out.”
Their admiration for fellow artists like Bill Goodenrath at the Corning Studio reveals their appreciation for mastery and individual vision. Goodenrath, who creates Venetian-style medieval goblets entirely solo, exemplifies the kind of artistic dedication they respect. “He dances as he blows,” Martha describes, “not like popping around dance, but his movements are so graceful.” The dolphin and dragon-stemmed goblets he creates echo designs found in Renaissance paintings, connecting contemporary craft to historical traditions.
In Ed and Martha Biggar, we see how artistic partnership can enhance rather than compromise individual vision. Their complementary skills—his mastery of glass, her expertise in jewelry and design—create possibilities neither could achieve alone. Their shared commitment to teaching ensures that their knowledge will outlive their own practice, passing to new hands the ancient arts of fire and form.
Their story reminds us that the most enduring art often grows from the deepest roots, nurtured by place and partnership, tradition and innovation. In their Southwest Virginia studio, surrounded by the farm that grounds them and the community that sustains them, Ed and Martha continue the timeless work of transforming raw materials into objects of beauty—proof that some kinds of magic never go out of style, they only find new hands to carry them forward.