Palestinian Glass

In Spring, I was lucky enough to travel back to Palestine. I went to work with Mohammad Twam in his extraordinary workshop that sits on the ground floor of his house in a village outside Ramallah. Entering his workshop is like stepping into a cave of rainbows with stalactites of coloured glass. The shelves are full of glasses and vases, lamps and lanterns in a riot of colour. When the sun slides through the windows and hits the glass, it’s like being in a tiny and intimate cathedral with painted shadows of pinks and lavenders spreading across the floor. 

Mohammad Twam is an artist, he has been working in glass for 47 years, he is a master and a poet. It is fascinating to watch him moving around his studio, threading his way between gem-like nuggets of broken glass littering the floor, past tables of coloured glass rods and rows of handmade tools and torches. He knocks nothing; he handles the fragile material like it’s a child, with such gentleness, patience, and confidence. He never breaks the glass nor cuts himself; he is so at ease with his material. Mohammad explains his love of glass, sometimes he wakes at 4 am, alive with an idea that cannot wait till morning; he says he comes into his studio, and sometimes the hours pass like he’s in a dream, twisting, moving, and shaping his glass. 

There is a privilege in observing a magician at work. He blows and heats the glass, letting it grow red hot or inflate like a balloon, breaking it down and building it back up; blending coloured rods together, reforming and repairing any cracks. The glass is alive, it moves and forms, changes and shapeshifts, from solids to liquids and back again. I watched transfixed. I have never seen such a versatile material, like clay, yet with the lightness and transparency of a bubble and not the weight of the earth.

Mohammad Twam is humble and acknowledges his talent as a blessing. His sons work with him, and grandchildren totter in and out of the workshop. Work stops, and every child is swept up, embraced, kissed, and loved. The children navigate the workshop with the same ease as Twam does, despite my heart stopping seeing a child near the glass.

Mohammad Twam and I were working on an idea to recreate the ancient Palestinian beads, old and worn, caressed into new forms through centuries of touch from human hands. I brought with me strings of ancient stone beads I have collected over decades from around the world. Together, we studied the shapes and forms that time and loving wear have created. It was a challenge when blowing glass to leave a hole in the bead, but the master quickly worked out a method. We experimented with shades of cool forest teal coloured glass, blending in Spring leaf green. We made fruits, beans, and beads; like a shaman, Twam created forms and shapes from nothing, bringing life to the glass.
 
We shared meals with the family, enveloped in the love and kindness of strangers. Outside, not far, a genocide was raging; in this beautiful and troubled land, every act of creation, every smile, and each laugh becomes an act of resistance. 

Shop the Palestinian glass collection here.