during BRITAIN’S HOTTEST summer in 40 years, spare a thought for Peter Layton and his band of artists. While most working people in London troop into air-conditioned offices, they step out of the brain-sapping heat of Bermondsey Street and into a hotter environment still.

In the studio of London Glassblowing, in temperatures that instantly bring on a torrent of sweat, the resident glass-smiths are absorbed in a merry riot of activity. Molten glass orbs are twisted and rolled on iron rods, placed into the fire, plunged into buckets of water, which sizzle and bubble on contact, and deftly shaped with tongs. Centre stage in the blackened, breeze block workshop is the main furnace: maintained at 1,100°C and turned off only on Christmas Day. The open skylights and the fans whirring in every corner do little to ward off the heat.

‘Why would you do such a hot, sweaty job if you weren’t in love with the medium?’ says Peter, pouring water over a piece to bring down the temperature. ‘What’s so amazing is the malleability of the material. Every slight change alters the form. It’s magical.’

Just turned 81, but looking a good 20 years younger in his rolled-up jeans and Converse, Peter has been in London on and off since studying ceramics at the Central School of Art and Design in the ’60s.

He started working with glass a few years later, experimenting with colour and process in a studio on the banks of the Thames. (‘We used to cool off on a little balcony, dangling our feet over the river,’ he says.) He was inspired to create one of his first series by the pattern of oil floating on the surface of the water, and the studio soon became known for the iridescence of its pieces.

Fast-forward five decades, and Peter is considered one of the world’s foremost glass artists. He has no plans to retire when there is still so much to learn – and so much learning to impart. ‘The thing with glass is that historically it wasn’t available to every Tom, Dick and Harry,’ he says, retreating to the cool white gallery at the front of the studio. ‘Venetians had squads of assassins ready to track down anyone who tried to sell the method. It was always a very secret trade.’

One of Peter’s missions is to dispel that secrecy, by guiding and inspiring other glassblowers, and revealing some of the form’s mysteries to the public.

‘My raison d’être is to promote the medium, have others come and try it, and see how it works,’ he says as visitors shuffle around the gallery, leaning in to admire the swirling colours and delicate shapes of works arranged on high tables and shelves. Many brave the ferocious heat of the studio, plopping into plastic chairs and unwrapping sandwiches to watch the artists of London Glassblowing at work.

‘These days, there are all sorts of skills disappearing,’ continues Peter. ‘There used to be a very vibrant glass industry in this country, but it’s almost all gone. This studio is the industry really. It’s a huge job to create public awareness and interest, but people value handmade things now, and the effort the artist has put in.’

The stream of visitors through the door and the presence of young glassworkers in the studio suggest that the future may be in pretty good shape.

‘When the medium is so bewitching,’ says Peter, ‘the potential really is inexhaustible.’

This feature first appeared in the October 2018 issue of Lonely Planet magazine. All copyright owned by Lonely Planet