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- 31st Jul 2026
Simon Lewis Wards
The Memory Maker
Part artist, part engineer, Simon Lewis Wards works in a West Auckland space humming with kilns, sandblasters and three-phase power. It's here, in ten-second bursts of molten heat, that some of New Zealand's most beloved objects are reborn in glass.
The kiln lid lifts and the countdown begins.
At around 650 degrees, a slab of molten glass sits inside, glowing with heat.
Dressed in a heavy protective jacket, gloves and face shield, Simon Lewis Wards grips a makeshift steel tool while one of his team raises the lid. The temperature starts dropping immediately. He has roughly ten seconds to work.
In that brief window, he folds, curls and shapes the glass by hand, creating the soft waves and bends that will eventually make it look as though it has just tumbled from a lolly packet. Then the kiln closes again before the glass enters the danger zone and cracks.
It's hot, noisy, technical work. More industrial workshop than artist's studio.
The result? A giant rainbow sour strap.
"It's been called the world's most dangerous candy shop," Simon laughs.
For anyone familiar with his work, the contrast feels fitting. The Auckland glass artist has built a devoted following creating oversized glass versions of childhood favourites, Jet Planes, milk bottles, fried eggs, gummy bears and mixed lolly bags. His sculptures are playful, nostalgic and instantly recognisable.
Yet behind every brightly coloured piece sits a process involving kilns, machinery, engineering and split-second timing. "My job is to deal with all the drama and difficulty in the studio," he says, "then put it out into the world and have it feel bright and playful."
That balancing act between technical precision and pure joy sits at the heart of everything he makes.
The Studio
Today, Simon's studio occupies a substantial industrial space in Auckland's west, complete with multiple kilns, sandblasters, specialised machinery and the three-phase power needed to run it all. It's a far cry from the image many people have of an artist working quietly with a sketchbook.
Glassmaking, he says, sits somewhere between art and engineering. "A lot of people think of painting or drawing when they think of artists, but glass is different. It takes a lot of equipment and a lot of space."
The studio team numbers around five, with each person playing a role in bringing the work to life. Alongside them is Simon's wife, Keya, who joined the business several years ago after a career in fashion and brand development.
While Simon focuses on creating, engineering and production, Keya oversees the business side of things. "It's nice because I get left to what I'm good at," he says.
That practical, problem-solving mindset runs through much of his work. Sometimes a breakthrough comes from experimenting with materials.
When developing his soon-to-be-released sour strap sculpture Simon discovered the perfect finishing touch almost by accident. Looking for a way to recreate the sugar coating, he opened a container of crushed clear glass. "The moment I saw it, I thought, 'That's it. That's sugar.'"
"The meeting point between an idea and the technique or material needed to make it happen, that's where the magic is for me."
If the process is complex, the subject matter is wonderfully simple. Simon has spent years turning some of New Zealand's most familiar objects into art. Lollies, power poles, paper bags and bubble wrap have all found their way into his kiln.
The challenge is deciding which ideas will translate. "There are plenty of things I'd love to make that just don't work," he says.
A pineapple lump, for example, might be one of New Zealand's most iconic treats, but as Simon discovered early on, chocolate simply doesn't translate particularly well into glass. "Sometimes the thing just has to stay as the candy and not live in my world."
The pieces that do make the cut often have something deeper running beneath their bright surfaces. Spend enough time talking to Simon and it becomes clear he isn't really making sculptures about lollies. He's making sculptures about memory.
For many New Zealanders, those memories begin at the local dairy. "Lollies are probably a lot of people's first purchase," he says. "You watch your parents buy things your whole life, then one day you've got your own twenty cents and you walk down to the dairy. You feel like a grown-up."
That observation helps explain why his work resonates so widely. A giant Jet Plane lolly isn't simply a Jet Plane lolly. It's Saturday mornings, school holidays and childhood independence wrapped into one object.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Simon has discovered a similar pattern among his collectors.
"I've had dozens of people tell me this was the first piece of art they've ever bought."
That accessibility has become one of the most rewarding parts of the job. There was a time, he admits, when he worried about being defined by his candy sculptures. Like many artists, he felt pressure to move towards more conceptual work.
"My ego wanted me to make huge, serious pieces and live in a different part of the art world." Instead, he learned to trust his instincts. "I had to put my ego aside and realise I love making this stuff."
These days, some of his favourite moments come not in the studio but during installations, when he sees work arrive in its new home.
His large-scale Big Spills, collections of glass lollies tumbling from oversized bags, have become particularly popular. Installing them allows him to meet collectors and witness their reactions first-hand. "A lot of the work brings up lovely memories for people or just makes them smile. To have any job where you can do that for people is pretty special."
That appeal is now extending beyond New Zealand. Following the launch of an Australian lolly collection, Simon has discovered nostalgia travels remarkably well.
Red Frogs resonate in Australia much the same way Jet Planes do here. Elsewhere, gummy bears, fried eggs and Coke bottles trigger memories that cross borders and generations. "It's made me realise this isn't just a Kiwi thing," he says. "There's a common denominator there."
Away from the studio
Colour takes a back seat. Simon and Keya live on a ridge in the Waitākere Ranges, where the drive home winds through native bush and expansive views over Auckland.
Their house is a cottage-style home filled with texture rather than bright colours. "Our mantra at home is cosy." Think oversized sofas, layered fabrics and a calm, tonal palette. After days spent surrounded by vibrant glass, it's a welcome contrast.
The artwork on their walls tells its own story. Much of it has come through trades with other artists over the years. "I'd say about 90 per cent of the artwork in our house is by friends. It's special because I know the people who made them."
It's a sentiment that feels surprisingly similar to the work he creates himself. Behind every lolly, power pole or sour strap is a personal story, a memory or connection.
And perhaps that's the real magic of Simon Lewis Wards' work. Not the kilns. Not the engineering. Not even the ten-second window where molten glass must be shaped before it cools.
It's that after all the heat, machinery and technical complexity, he somehow makes you feel six years old again, standing at the dairy counter with a fistful of coins and the entire lolly cabinet waiting to be explored.