Christmas ornaments are made by the millions. They are blown in factories, molded from plastic, covered in glitter, and shipped around the world long before the first snowfall.
But in the Czech village of Poniklá, nestled in the foothills of the Krkonoše Mountains, a very different tradition has survived. Here, a Christmas ornament still follows a long journey: from a simple glass tube and the breath of a craftsman to dozens of hollow glass beads that are silvered, painted, cut apart, and finally assembled with fine wire.
What makes this tradition fragile is not only the glass itself. If the remaining craftsmen—and the skills they pass from one generation to the next—were to disappear, the world would lose far more than a particular style of ornament. It would lose an entire way of making one.
How has a craft that emerged more than a century ago survived the age of mass production—and why has it endured in this one small village?
They Were Never Meant to Decorate Christmas Trees
The story did not begin with Christmas.
In the 1870s, the craft of blowing hollow glass beads reached Poniklá, where the beads were primarily used for costume jewellery and decorative embroidery. The first local craftsman, Jan Hajna, arrived from the Jablonec nad Nisou region and introduced villagers to a trade that soon proved more profitable than weaving. Before long, weaving looms in mountain homes began giving way to workbenches for glass blowing.
The first company producing glass beads in Poniklá was founded in 1902. Christmas ornaments appeared in its catalogue later and became especially popular after the First World War. The earliest designs were simple geometric forms assembled from hollow beads and coloured glass tubes.
One of the Czech Republic’s most remarkable Christmas traditions, then, did not grow out of an ancient holiday custom. It evolved from an existing glassmaking craft whose artisans found a new purpose for the skills they already possessed.
How a Glass Tube Becomes a String of Beads
Everything begins with a long glass tube.
The craftsman heats it over an open flame until the glass softens, places it inside a precisely shaped brass mould, and blows air through the tube. As the glass expands, it fills the mould, forming an entire chain of perfectly hollow beads connected to one another.
Watching the process in person reveals just how delicate it is. The glass must become soft enough to take the shape of the mould, yet its walls must remain thin and even. Too much heat—or too much pressure—and the entire piece can collapse.
Visitors to the Rautis workshop can watch every stage of production, from glass blowing and silvering to painting, cutting, and final assembly. According to the workshop itself, every single bead passes through at least six pairs of hands before it becomes part of a finished ornament.
Why the Beads Are Silvered from the Inside
Freshly blown glass beads are almost transparent. They do not yet resemble Christmas ornaments.
To create their distinctive brilliance, each bead is coated with a reflective silver layer on the inside. This internal coating gives the glass its metallic glow without adding weight.
Only then are the beads painted and decorated by hand. The colour remains on the outside, while the light is reflected from within the thin glass shell itself. That is why these ornaments seem to glow from the inside, appearing both luminous and surprisingly light.
These Ornaments Are Not Simply Blown—They Are Built
A traditional glass bauble receives its final shape while it is being blown.
The ornaments made in Poniklá work differently. Blowing produces only the building blocks. The real construction begins afterwards.
The connected strands are cut into individual beads and glass tubes. Each element is then threaded onto fine wire and assembled into stars, snowflakes, angels, animals, baskets, carriages, and intricate geometric forms.
The beads function almost like an alphabet. Rearranged in different combinations, the same elements can create an entirely different ornament.
During the 1920s and 1930s, craftsmen drew inspiration from everyday life and new technologies. They produced miniature coffee grinders, rolling pins, handbags, motorcycles, airplanes, trains, and even cannons. Alongside these appeared stars, angels, fish, and spiders—the latter traditionally regarded as symbols of good fortune.
