Sacred Transformations: Recycled Glass to Timeless Treasure
“What are you doing, mom?” Standing on the granite counter reaching up to the top of the tall kitchen cabinets, I replied, “I am organizing the glasses. The peasants cannot be on the same shelf as the royalty.” With an understanding look on his face, my sons walked away shaking their heads and I continued to organize the hand-blown blue-rimmed Mexican glassware. Simple clear bubbled blue-rimmed glasses go on the bottom shelf for everyday use. Afterall, they can be found in just about any thrift store in the U.S. because invariably one in a set gets lost or broken, and the remaining odd-numbered remnants are delegate to a donation box. The assortment of tall stemmed wine glasses belongs on a higher shelf to bring out for special occasions. The delicate curved lip on the top of the glass is striking, yet impractical. Beside them, the conical martini glasses sit waiting to be used for puddings and other such desserts. Any set of Mexican glasses would not be complete without the margarita glasses with their blue rims yearning for salt. On the highest shelf are the curved blue swirl juice glass from the glass factory in Ciudad Juarez purchased during one of the many trips to that border city as we were building our house in Albuquerque. They are only used for special house guests or mornings that I wanted to treat myself.
When we arrived at the glass factory in Cantel, Guatemala, I walked through the dimly lit rooms, my eyes searching for unique designs, something that I did not already have in my collection of hand-blown glasses. As I took time and carefully searched through each shelf, Wayne made his way to the back of the building where a cooperative of men were taking broken pieces of recycled glass and making them into pieces of art. Knowing that I would want to watch too, he tore himself away and went to find me. As I stepped outside of the retail store, I observed heaps of broken glass just waiting to be recycled. Standing out from the clear chards, was a large pile of blue shimmering slithers that immediately caught my attention. Beyond the broken glass mountains, the room opened into a large space with two rows of ovens back-to-back in the middle and a row along the wall behind them. Men seemed to be working effortlessly and without talking, since the roar of the ovens make communication impractical anyway. Mesmerized at the whole process, I observed further the social interactions. The master artisan worked with one or two men in syncopated rhythm, with the master anticipating the arrival of the molten glass and then the workers supporting his expert transformations as the mass of glowing liquescent glass quickly took on its shape. With calloused hands, they took long, hot, hollow tubes and dipped them into ovens. They seemed to work effortlessly, yet masterfully, as they pulled out lustrous blobs of molten hot lava-like material from the ovens. At varying stages of the process, some lifted the tubes to their lips and blew while other rolled the hardening glass or placed it into molds. The process of taking our trash, broken jars and bottles, and turning them into works of art is mysterious and magical to me, even though I have observed it on several occasions.
With a box of new glasses in tow, I made my way to the front door, but just before I exited, a little blue figure caught my attention. On a small shelf surrounded by vases and glasses of various sizes were a couple of glass angels. One was unusual because the core was cobalt blue, the same as the rim on my collection of glasses. I went back and purchased one, because there is something about the gravitas of angels, their breathtaking majesty. An angel appeared to Mary and Joseph in Bethlehem and they are intricately connected with the Christmas story. I don’t like storing them in boxes only to be brought out for a few weeks each year. I like to keep them around my house as reminders of the invisible divinity that envelops us every moment. The more that I considered the little blue angel, the more details I noticed. The clear crimped wings contrast with the blue fluted skirt. The praying hands curve up to the mouth and the long hair flows down the back.
On the long drive back to Guatemala City, still marveling over our always surprising kismet. What good fortune to arrive at the glass factory on a day that the ovens were lit, and men were working on an order! We decided that this was an experience that must be shared. We put in an order for blue angels and asked to be notified when they would be made so that we could be present and participate. Early one Saturday morning a few weeks later, we showed up to watch a host of blue angels being made from recycled bottles. The slideshow above shows how the crafts are made, and we certainly hope that you will enjoy sharing the details of this adventure with your family and friends!