From Mushrooms to Mickeys: The Origin of Artglas Studios

Years ago, I was running a gourmet mushroom farm in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. I had partnered with a well-known chef and we had a small operation in Coaticook. We grew oyster, lion’s mane, shiitake, and chestnut mushrooms, supplying top-tier restaurants in Montreal and the surrounding towns, as well as selling at farmers markets.

Then COVID hit. Suddenly, everything changed. It became difficult to keep the business going, so I sold my share to my chef partner. At 30 years old, I moved back in with my parents in the countryside just outside of Pembroke, Ontario—emotionally drained, uncertain about the future, and feeling like I’d failed.

Glass had always been a small hobby of mine. My dad, Jef, taught me stained glass when I was a kid. Not long before the pandemic, I happened to wander into a stained glass shop in Saint-Sauveur, Quebec. The woman behind the counter, Kim Brewster, chatted with me as I looked around. I mentioned that while I grew up in Toronto, my family originally came from the area.

Then she asked me something unexpected: “Is your father Jef Melamed?”

“Yes,” I said, completely surprised.

She pulled out a massive photo album, flipped to the very beginning, and showed me a picture of herself and a young man with a Weird Al–style afro. It was my dad. She told me that decades ago, they used to make stained glass windows together for homes and churches. It had been nearly 40 years since they’d seen each other. She also showed me her new kiln and introduced me to the concept of glass fusing.

When I got back to Ontario, I told my dad about the reunion. We ended up buying a small kiln together just to play around. When the world shut down, I found myself in my parents’ basement again, overwhelmed and unraveling. I started smashing up glass and rearranging the pieces into something new. Somehow, this process became a lifeline. It felt symbolic: I was taking the shattered parts of my life and turning them into something beautiful.

That’s where the phrase “from broken to beautiful” was born.

I remember one of the first abstract pieces I made that actually looked like something. I brought it upstairs and showed my dad. He paused, looked at me, and simply said, “You have to keep going.” I figured he was just being supportive, but every once in a while, I’d catch him standing by the hallway window, staring at the growing collection of glass sculptures I was making.

They were colourful. They looked like icy explosions of light. They reminded me of the frozen art we used to make in the snow as kids.

Despite my doubts, my dad kept encouraging me. I couldn’t shake the thought: “Who’s going to buy my broken glass?” But he persisted. “What else do you have to lose?” he said. Only later did I learn that at my age, he had also walked away from everything to pursue stained glass full-time. Maybe, in encouraging me, he was also speaking to his younger self.

That same year, on a family trip to Disney World, I wandered into a glassblowing demonstration at Disney Springs. I got talking with one of the artists and she asked how I knew so much about glass. I told her I was dabbling in fusing. She said the timing was perfect—Disney had just asked their lead artist, Keith Bryan, to start a fused glass workshop in Epcot, but most of the artists were only trained in blowing.

She gave me Keith’s number. I called him that night on the Disney bus. He didn’t pick up, so I left a message.

The next morning, I got a call. It was Keith, back from 25 years working in Disney Tokyo. He told me they didn’t need help but appreciated the call. I almost left it at that—but something told me to call him again. I offered to volunteer, help cut glass, whatever they needed. He declined but then paused: they had no fused products, and Disney was pushing him to get new items on the shelves in just two weeks. If I had anything to show, he said, maybe they’d consider buying it.

I went home and worked like a maniac. My dad helped me make wood bases for the pieces. We created around 150 works and priced them out. I sent Keith an email with photos, and to my surprise, he called back.

“In the 30 years I’ve been blowing glass, I’ve never seen anything like this, it doesn’t mean it’s not out there, I’m just saying I haven’t seen it…” he said. “How many can you make? How fast?”

That night, my dad and I brainstormed names. He came up with “Artglas”—a play on the term “art glass,” which refers to the kind of glass used in stained glass art. It felt like stained glass 2.0.

Two weeks later, we were driving to Florida with 75 pieces in the trunk. At Disney Springs, we met Keith outside the Arribas Brothers studio. He took a couple of pieces inside to show his team. I waited outside, trying not to lose it.

After what felt like an eternity, Keith came back and said, “I like them, my boss likes them, my boss’s boss loves them, and my manager thinks they look like sh*t… but hey, not everyone was into Led Zeppelin when they first started.”

It was one of the best compliments of my life.

I stayed for the week to help them cut glass and set up displays. They got the pieces on the shelves at Epcot—but nothing sold. Except one piece… to my mom. To be fair, the parks were still mostly empty because of COVID.

But I had something bigger: my foot in the door.

I later got into the One of a Kind Show in Toronto and began building my business. Disney was my very first customer.

A year later, Keith called again. He was swamped—Disney wanted him to make ornaments, but he had no time. I offered to design and produce them. My sister was playing around in the kiln and came up with something that would later become our famous wreath design. A few weeks later, my dad and I were on the road again, this time with thousands of ornaments in the car. They took them all.

To this day, our ornaments are still sold in the Disney parks—including Disney Springs and the German pavilion at Epcot.

We’re now working with them on a Mickey Wreath.

Since then, Artglas has grown into a full studio with eight staff. We’ve been invited to exhibit in Venice during Italian Glass Week. We’ve made government trophies, shipped across North America, and collaborated with renowned galleries. And through it all, my dad has been right there with me—designing, sanding, cutting, brainstorming, and encouraging.

I couldn’t have done any of it without him.

 He saw something in me when I wasn't able to see it in   myself. He gave me space to fall apart, and support to build something new.

 This Father’s Day, I just want to say thank you—to my   dad, my partner in art, and my best friend.

 Happy Father’s Day, Jef.

 From your son, David

 support@dsartglas.com

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