Take the portrait to a hot shop. The sitter becomes a solid sculpture of coloured glass, gathered, blown, and marvered so the face, hair, and stance still match the photograph. Transparent and semi-opaque colours follow the original clothes. Air bubbles sit under the surface where a gather trapped them. A punty scar is hidden at the base, not on the face.
The room around them is glass as well — a second gather that became the environment, optically thick, distorting the far wall the way real glass distorts. Somewhere off-frame a glory hole still throws orange light along the edges.
This is furnace glass, not a leaded window, not cut crystal with facets, and not a photograph seen through a pane. No metal cames. No stained-glass saints.