They try to tell you size doesn't matter. They lie. At least as far as Blenko Glass is concerned.
Lately, I've become obsessed with what collectors call "floor vases" and "architectural decanters" - items that no rational person would place on a table or countertop due to their scale. My obsession is mostly one of opportunity - in the last five months, I've stumbled on several of them in consignment stores, thrift shops, and even antique malls at bargain prices. As a a result, our hearth is festooned with colored glass, and one tall shelf in our den features a Rockettes-like formation in turquoise and olive green.
While all of these items ostensibly have a function, it takes a back seat to the splendor of each form. For example, designer Wayne Husted's recently-reissued "Chess Piece" decanter (which, I admit, was not among the bargain finds!) would be completely impractical as an actual decanter. (Though I would be quite fond of the host who had such a reservoir of bourbon.) And if some of the bulbous vases by Joel Phillip Myers were actually filled with water, it would take an Olympian to carry them across the room. (Dried flowers or grasses might work in these vessels, but then I'd feel a need to take up macrame and decoupage and listen to Pablo Cruise, and who has time for that?)
Therefore, I admire them as sculptural objects. I arrange and rearrange them like some maniacal curator. Each new juxtaposition brings out something different: the relation of shapes and colors to each other, the way that light hits and passes through the glass.