Alejandro Pachón has been immersed in the world of glass for as long as he can remember—since he was five years old, to be exact. He learned it from his father and holds onto the memory of an entire childhood surrounded by many mentors like him. He has the bittersweet distinction of having grown up in a neighborhood where glassblowing was the primary trade: the San Cristóbal neighborhood, in the south of Bogotá. It’s bittersweet because, over time, the neighborhood lost its identity to industrialization, and today, Alejandro and his children are among the few who still carry on this unique craft. Though their business has expanded to include industrial production, Alejandro will never give up on the artisanal side of glassmaking. For him, it’s a link to memories, and the place where he became a master glassblower more than 40 years ago.

His is a long story, and when he tells it, it feels as though he’s speaking of a bygone era—one where a community once thrived around a highly specialized craft that, tragically, disappeared with the rise of machines. But this wasn’t centuries ago; it was in the 1960s, when Peldar, the company that would go on to produce all the glass consumed in the country, was founded. As it expanded, it gradually wiped out the small workshops of master glassblowers, one by one. Alejandro recounts this with a hint of sadness in his voice, imagining what could have been for his community. Still, life allowed him to preserve the craft, and that, in itself, is a rare fortune.

In the mid-1970s, Graciela Samper, Artesanías de Colombia’s director, recognized the need to bring back to life the glassmaking trade, which had been largely forgotten for over a decade. She enlisted the help of Alejandro’s father, the master Julio Vicente Pachón, along with two other master craftsmen—one of whom was his uncle Miguel—and set them up in a workshop near the Artesanías headquarters in Las Aguas, in downtown Bogotá. They were offered a place to revive the craft, and revive it they did. But it wasn’t easy. Alejandro clearly remembers the long shifts, sometimes lasting 36 hours, when he and his father took turns watching over the furnaces to ensure they never went out. At the time, Alejandro was 26, and from that moment on, the craft became his life.

He speaks of glass with affection, just as he does of fire, the essential force that transforms this raw material. But don’t ask him to explain the process in detail. As he insists, it’s something you need to see with your own eyes—something you have to witness firsthand to truly appreciate the wonder of watching liquid glass take shape through heat and become an object, like that jar we all have that, he says, took him out of poverty. It’s an object we use every day without ever questioning how it came to be. To tempt us further, he drops a little bait—terms from the world of glassblowing that are sure to pique our curiosity: foot and leg lifter, posta lifter, glass lifter, glass blower, machinist… All of these are roles in the chain of production of a single glass piece.

So, here’s the invitation: to prepare ourselves for the heat, to surrender to the fire, and to watch as dozens of artisans play with alchemy, captivating our eyes with their hands.