In the hushed atmosphere of a museum gallery, discoveries are usually expected to come from cutting-edge technology or newly excavated artifacts. Yet in early 2023, an important insight into ancient Roman glassmaking emerged from something far simpler: a scholar turning an object around. That moment, experienced by Hallie Meredith at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, has reshaped how historians understand some of the most extraordinary glass objects of Late Antiquity.
Meredith, an art history professor at Washington State University and a practicing glassblower, was examining a private collection of Roman glass cage cups—also known as diatreta. These vessels, produced between roughly 300 and 500 CE, are among the most technically demanding objects of the ancient world. Carved from a single thick block of glass, each cup features an outer lattice connected to an inner vessel by delicate glass bridges. For centuries, scholars have marveled at their beauty and debated how they were made. What Meredith noticed had little to do with new tools or novel theories of production. Instead, it came from curiosity shaped by years of working with molten glass herself.
While studying one of the cups, Meredith did what many others had not: she turned it around and carefully examined the back. There, partially hidden from standard photographic documentation and display angles, she noticed abstract openwork symbols carved alongside a short inscription wishing the owner long life. These shapes—diamonds, leaves, crosses, and other geometric or vegetal forms—had long been dismissed as decorative fillers. Meredith suspected they were something more.
Overlooked Symbols and Makers’ Marks
Drawing on her dual training as both scholar and maker, Meredith began to see patterns where others had seen ornament. “Because I am trained as a maker, I kept wanting to flip things over,” she later explained. That physical impulse revealed what decades of scholarship had missed: these symbols appeared repeatedly across different vessels, in consistent combinations and placements. Far from random embellishments, they suggested a system of identification.
Meredith’s research proposes that these abstract symbols functioned as makers’ marks—visual identifiers used by workshops rather than by individual artisans. In this interpretation, the marks signaled the collective identity of a production group responsible for creating these luxury objects. Like modern brands or logos, they communicated reputation and origin in a visual language accessible even to those who could not read Latin.
Mapping a Community of Roman Glassworkers
This initial observation led Meredith into a much larger investigation of Roman glass production. In two academic papers—one published in April in the Journal of Glass Studies and another in October in World Archaeology—she traced the recurrence of these symbols across a range of carved glass objects dated between the fourth and sixth centuries CE. The repetition pointed to a shared visual system used by glassworkers over generations.
By closely analyzing tool marks, carving styles, inscriptions, and unfinished or damaged pieces, Meredith reconstructed the social organization behind these vessels. Her findings suggest that diatreta were not the work of lone geniuses laboring in isolation. Instead, they were produced by coordinated teams within workshops. Different specialists—engravers, polishers, apprentices, and possibly designers—contributed their expertise at various stages of production. Creating a single cage cup would have required immense time, physical stamina, and collaborative planning.
This recognition reframes the vessels themselves. Rather than silent masterpieces detached from their makers, diatreta become records of collective labor. The symbols carved into their backs serve as quiet signatures of communities whose identities were long overshadowed by elite patrons and inscriptions.
Rethinking Roman Glass Production
For over two centuries, scholars have debated how openwork Roman glass was made. Theories have included hand carving, casting, and complex blowing techniques. Much of this discussion focused narrowly on technical processes, sometimes treating inscriptions as the only meaningful textual evidence. Meredith’s work broadens the conversation by insisting that methods cannot be separated from the people who used them.
Each diatretum began as a thick-walled glass blank, likely blown or cast, which was then painstakingly carved to create two concentric layers. Thin bridges of glass were left to connect the outer cage to the inner cup. The result is astonishingly fragile in appearance, yet the process demanded extraordinary endurance and precision. Meredith argues that no single artisan could realistically execute all stages alone. The abstract symbols, therefore, marked workshop identity rather than personal authorship. As she puts it, “They weren’t personal autographs. They were the ancient equivalent of a brand.”
Craft Labor and Social History
Meredith expands these ideas in her forthcoming book, The Roman Craftworkers of Late Antiquity: A Social History of Glass Production and Related Industries, currently in production with Cambridge University Press and expected in 2026 or 2027. The monograph situates glassmaking within a broader network of ancient craft industries, emphasizing labor, training, and social relationships rather than elite consumption alone.
Her scholarship is deeply informed by practice. As an experienced glassblower, Meredith understands firsthand the physical strain of working with hot glass, the coordination required among team members, and the tacit knowledge that cannot be easily captured in texts. This perspective shapes her teaching at WSU, where she offers a course titled Experiencing Ancient Making. Students recreate artifacts using 3D printing, attempt traditional techniques, and use a digital app Meredith developed to virtually disassemble historical objects. The aim, she explains, is not perfect replication but empathy—learning to see ancient objects through the bodily experience of making.
Restoring Visibility to Ancient Artisans
At the heart of Meredith’s work is a commitment to restoring visibility to ancient craftworkers. Traditional histories have often focused on elites—emperors, patrons, and wealthy consumers—while treating laborers as anonymous. Meredith challenges that imbalance. When evidence is carefully assembled, she argues, far more can be known about the people who made ancient material culture than previously assumed.
Her next project brings together art history and data science. Working with computer science students at WSU, Meredith is developing a searchable database of unconventional writing on portable artifacts. Misspellings, mixed alphabets, and coded inscriptions—once dismissed as errors—are reinterpreted as signs of multilingual artisans adapting language for diverse audiences. These traces of adjustment and experimentation offer further insight into the lived realities of ancient makers.
Seeing Ancient Objects Anew
Meredith’s discovery reminds us that innovation in scholarship does not always require new machines. Sometimes it begins with a willingness to look again—to turn an object over and ask different questions. When light catches the lattice of a Roman glass cage cup, it reveals more than technical virtuosity. It reflects the collaboration, skill, and creativity of communities of artisans whose work still captivates viewers centuries later. Through careful observation and empathetic inquiry, Meredith has helped bring those makers back into view.
Source: Washington State University
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