Tell us about your everyday life in New York. You mentioned your father loved people and was very sociable.

Adria:
At first, we lived in Queens. Dad would cross the bridge into Manhattan, where his studio was located—on 18th Street. When I was five, we moved to 22nd Street in Manhattan. Then, he would come home for lunch, take a nap, and go back to the studio. His studio was in a three-story building. The ground floor housed the stained glass workshop, filled with various tools and equipment. On the second floor was a professional photography studio. The third floor, filled with natural light and views of the sky, was where our father worked. My brother and I even once built a small sailboat in that studio.

Albinas:
By the way, we lived in that building until around 2004. When we first moved in, Manhattan wasn’t a luxurious or expensive area—it only became that later on.

Adria:
Nearby was Gramercy Park and the National Arts Club, where exhibitions could be held. Our father became a member of the club. The environment was stunning—elegant, with classical interiors. We would often go there.

We were very lucky to live in such a beautiful, historic area. We played in the park near old buildings. The park was locked, and only residents of the surrounding two blocks had keys. We also had many friends, including a number of Lithuanians. Our parents enjoyed hosting parties—friends would play the piano, people would dance. Our mother loved dancing, and we children were always encouraged to perform something too. I played the guitar, for example.

It sounds like your father encouraged you to explore the arts. Albinas, you even showed us some of your stained glass work.

Albinas:
I never felt any pressure from my father to do something unless I truly wanted to. When I was younger, I sang in our Catholic church choir. The choir director also worked with the New York City Opera chorus. When I was eight, he invited me to sing with the opera choir. My father was incredibly supportive and wanted me to continue singing. But I didn’t really want to become a professional opera singer. I didn’t feel that good at it and wasn’t very interested in pursuing it further. I wanted to play basketball or baseball. At some point, you have to decide what you want to do professionally and fully commit to it.
My father may have been a bit disappointed, but he never pressured me—on the contrary, he accepted and understood my decision.

Arilda:
We really did spend a lot of time in our father’s studio—painting on glass, creating our own small stained glass pieces. He taught us. Every year, he encouraged us to design Christmas cards that we would later send to friends and relatives.

Adria:
I loved to dance. My sister and I both took dance classes. One day, we saw The Nutcracker and I became curious about the children on stage. They were from the American School of Ballet. My parents encouraged me to apply. I studied there for ten years—performing both in ballet and in opera. The same choir director who taught Albinas also invited me to perform. Our father always came to our performances—he would take photos or film us.

He truly supported you, it seems.

Arilda:
Absolutely. He loved being present during those moments. When I quit ballet, he was disappointed. But for me, it had become too difficult—both physically and emotionally. I didn’t even tell my parents I was quitting; I just went to school and said I wouldn’t be coming back. It was hard for him to understand how someone could walk away from something they had worked so hard at. I was also born with a heart condition, which played a role. And I’m not a competitive person, which the ballet world really demands.

Still, Dad always encouraged our artistic expression—he’d frame our work and hang it on the wall.

Albinas:
I, on the other hand, just can’t draw… So none of my pieces made it onto the walls (laughs). I think I made two stained glass pieces in total. One of them definitely features a clown. We still have it. If I remember right, it hangs in the outhouse. Not quite cathedral-level stained glass, but not bad either… (laughs). Maybe I didn’t inherit the gift, though Dad actually liked that clown.

Right before I left for college, he told me I should live my life and do what brings me joy. He admitted he sensed I didn’t yet know what that was—but assured me that direction and passion would come. That’s exactly what you want to hear from a parent. Kids have to follow their own paths. He had an intense passion for art and his work, and he really wanted us to feel that same kind of passion—though not necessarily for art.

You visited Lithuania with your parents in 1971. Do you remember that trip?

Arilda:
Dad wanted to see his parents one last time before they passed. They were already in their 80s. The Soviet Union granted a special permit. We flew from New York to Paris, then on to Moscow. We spent a few days there because our luggage got lost. Eventually, we made it to Lithuania. Dad’s parents met us in Vilnius.

People there seemed very serious and repressed. We were used to being playful and a bit silly, but we didn’t see many kids behaving that way in Lithuania.

We stood out in our usual clothing—it was far more colorful than what locals wore. People really stared at us. I remember older women dressed in dark clothes, sweeping the streets of Vilnius and cleaning rain gutters. Another strange thing: the Soviet-era hotel we stayed in had uneven stairs, so we had to watch every step to avoid falling. I don’t know how they built it so poorly. But when you come from a well-functioning country, those things stand out more. Of course, I was just a child at the time.

Adria:
In the U.S., if you wanted lemonade, you bought a can. But there we saw machines with a single shared glass—you could pour yourself a drink and use the same cup.

We were also closely watched in Vilnius. We weren’t allowed to travel outside the city, and our relatives had to come meet us in the capital. From what I understand, that was standard practice for visitors from abroad.

The exhibition “Albinas Elskus. Heavenly Light” is on view at the Kazys Varnelis House–Museum, a division of the National Museum of Lithuania, until August 31, 2025.
Albinas Elskus (1926–2007) was a stained glass artist, painter, essayist, and passionate sailor. Having spent much of his life in exile in the United States, he became a legendary figure and one of the most respected authorities in the world of stained glass. In 2000, the Stained Glass Association of America honored him with a lifetime achievement award. His manual The Art of Painting on Glass (Vilnius, 2009) has been reprinted several times and remains the most authoritative text on the subject to this day.