The Memory of Metal
The conversation with master silversmith Juan Ramos, his daughter Amira Ramos, and the entire family is a journey through the history of Yucatecan filigree: a dialogue between memory and continuity. In their workshop, the scent of annealed metal mingles with the master’s soft, measured voice as he recalls a lineage forged with fire and patience. His children listen attentively as well: they embody the present and the future of the craft—the generation that inherits not only the technique, but an awareness of its value.
Family Roots and the Arrival of the Craft
Amid family anecdotes, Master Ramos reveals the origin of a century-old inheritance:
“We know that our great-grandfather arrived from Málaga on a galleon. He knew how to make filigree, and when he arrived in Mérida, he devoted himself to working the technique.”
That arrival—amid the flows of colonial trade and the expansion of European crafts—planted a seed that would take root in southeastern Mexico. From then on, Yucatecan filigree became a family art, passed down from generation to generation, transformed by each pair of hands yet never losing its original pulse.
The reference to the “galleon” in family memory should not be read as historical precision, but rather as a way of naming the long durée of Spanish imperial routes. Although the Manila Galleon did not reach Yucatán, its existence was part of the same global system that, between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, enabled the circulation of people, techniques, metals, and knowledge among Europe, Asia, and the Americas. Within that network, artisans trained in Mediterranean traditions arrived in New Spain by various routes, bringing with them technical knowledge that adapted to local contexts.
The filigree practiced by the Ramos family is not an intact imported technique, but a transformed body of knowledge—adjusted to the availability of materials, to the climate, to Yucatán’s limestone soil, and to a workshop economy grounded in observation, metal economy, and mastery of fire. Thus, the memory of the great-grandfather who arrived “on a galleon” names not only a journey, but this lineage’s insertion into a global history of the craft, where knowledge is transmitted more through hands than through archives.
Material Preparation and Ancient Processes
The master speaks of metal with reverence:
“For it to obey and for the filigree to come out beautiful, you have to heat it well—it needs that bright, glowing reddish color.”
From casting through annealing and acid whitening, mastery of fire is central.
He explains that before clay crucibles—scarce in Mérida due to the limestone nature of the soil—casting was done with ingenuity and thrift:
“We used wood. With a gouge we carved a hollow in a plank, burned it with the bellows, and prepared a paste of ash, water, and borax, which we applied to the hollow and heated to compact it; that’s where we melted the gold. If the ash wasn’t properly prepared and applied, it would crumble and the metal would be lost through the cracks.”
In those workshops, fire, wood, borax, and ash were enough to create tools. Everything was learned by watching, and mastery of heat was the true test of the master.
The History of Metal Prices
The country’s changes can also be read through metal:
“In 1963 a gold centenario cost 500 pesos; in the nineties it went up to 2,800.”
Amira interjects, her gaze fixed on the present:
“But $500.00 pesos back then was a lot of money. Today the centenario costs $87,600 mxn . Silver granules, ten years ago, were $8,000.00 mxn per kilo; now they’re at $32,000.00 mxn”
The Ramos family’s story is also the story of a living economy, where the value of gold sets the rhythm of the workshop—and sometimes determines whether production can continue or must pause.
The 1976 World Crafts Convention
Framed and hanging on a wall, the master keeps a diploma on amate paper, handwritten, bearing witness to a historic moment:
“The Mexican Organizing Committee of the 7th General Assembly and International Conference of the World Crafts Council hereby awards this diploma to Juan Ramos Durán for his outstanding work in the metalworking workshop.”
It was presented in Oaxtepec, Morelos, in 1976, during the World Crafts Convention. For Ramos, this recognition represented not only a personal honor, but acknowledgment of the craft itself:
“It was beautiful, because for the first time the work of our hands had a name and a surname at an international congress. There were two jewelry competitions, one national and one international.”
Trajectory and Links to Research
The master also appears in the book La platería en Yucatán by anthropologist Silvia Terán, where an innovative model for its time is documented: the famous juego montado, composed of more than 115 filigree pieces. To this day, the set continues to be produced in the workshop as a symbol of identity in Mérida, and it participated this year in the runway show at Original Mérida.
His participation in Terán’s work helped document technical processes and oral knowledge that might otherwise have been lost. He also recalls fondly the relationship and support provided by Luz Elena Arroyo Irigoyen, then director of the Casa de las Artesanías, who managed the acquisition of his filigree production.
Learning and Workshop Life
“I started working with gold when I was twelve,” he says. “Back then, they didn’t want kids in workshops because of Social Security, since the owner was required to hire and insure employees; but that wasn’t possible with apprentices—they lacked experience and speed. So the master told me: ‘Pretend you’re just coming to play with my son.’ That’s how I learned.”
In that context, children entered out of curiosity and learned by watching, repeating, making mistakes—until the fire recognized them as its own.
Safety, Accidents, and Empirical Learning
The master recalls an incident that marked his life in the workshop:
“For the bellows to work, you put gasoline in it—one third of the tank, no more. But gasoline ‘wears out,’ it loses volatility, so you have to remove it and put in fresh fuel, making sure the tank is never full. Once, a young man overfilled a tank and, when he pressed the bellows, gasoline shot out through the blowtorch nozzle, spitting fire across the workshop. Luckily—or out of precaution, he’s not sure—there was a tub of river sand, which we always used to clean the gold after annealing. The master used that sand to smother the fire. If we hadn’t had it within reach, everything would have been lost.”
Today, that anecdote still guides workshop practices: bellows are still used for casting, annealing, and soldering, and there isn’t a single gas tank in the workshop. Amira adds:
“Now we use a wire brush instead of sand, but the idea is the same: take care of the material, waste nothing, and work clean.”
In jewelry making, every accident leaves a lesson, and every lesson becomes method.
Institutions, Market, and Management
“I saw a call from IYEM about housing for artisans,” the master says. “It’s good that they offer support, but sometimes it falls short. The best thing would be for institutions to buy our production directly.”
He recalls the years when Beatriz Peralta, from the Casa de las Artesanías, made regular purchases:
“You’d arrive on Monday with the merchandise and get paid on Thursday. Later they stopped paying on time, and many of us drifted away.”
Amira listens and nods:
“It’s hard. If we don’t sell, we don’t have income, and we still have to support the household, pay for the kids’ schooling. Sometimes buyers want to pay less for more work, and that’s unsustainable.”
The structural problem—both agree—is the lack of direct sales channels, consignment without guarantees, and the undervaluation of the craft in the market.
Brand Registration and Valuing the Work
Amira was selected for a Fonart program that improved the workshop’s facilities, and she also managed the registration of their brand and logo. The challenge now is learning to handle that other, business-oriented side: brand positioning, costing, and marketing strategies. But when daily life depends on sales, it’s hard to invest money and mental energy in that.
The workshop thus becomes a space of economic resistance: producing, teaching, and sustaining the technique despite adverse conditions.
Teaching as a Strategy of Diversification and Resistance
In 2023, Lulú Herrera invited Amira to teach in CASA's diploma program. And as the saying goes, "you never know who you're working for," since Lulú's father had learned and worked in the Ramos family workshop. So, when Lulú declined CASA's invitation, she nominated Amira for the position.
This leaves an important lesson: collaboration among members of the craft, recognition of trajectories, and support among women jewelers. I was Amira’s student in that first edition and remember her confiding that it was the first time she had left Mérida and taught classes. But, as people say, “what is evident needs no judgment”: Master Ramos, her father, is a great filigree master, and Amira is living proof of that. She taught us the technique with discipline, order, and harmony.
Value, Identity, and Community
When asked what motivates them to continue, the master answers without hesitation:
“Pride. Every piece has a story, has identity. What we do connects us to our roots.”
Amira adds:
“And community. Being together, sharing knowledge. Like when we dance at the fair; after so much work, we keep celebrating. That’s also part of the craft.”
Artisanal work is also a way of belonging—of keeping collective memory alive through gesture, shine, time, and friendship.
The Ramos family, from left to right: Amira, Astrid, Juan (son), and Juan (father).
The story of Juan and Amira Ramos is that of a family that has kept the fire alive for generations. From the great-grandfather who arrived from Málaga on a galleon to the young hands that continue the tradition today, filigree has been a language of identity and dignity.
The international recognition of 1976, Master Ramos’s participation in Silvia Terán’s book, the passing of the torch to the third generation and to the students who now learn from them in the CASA diploma, as well as the current struggles for recognition of the craft, all trace a single line: that of artisans who work with excellence, yet still await a fair system of support—one capable of recognizing them not only as producers, but as cultural creators.
In his workshop, Master Ramos keeps ancient tools, full of character. They are a reminder of life and craft: the old is a tool for creating something new, and it is today, in the present, that the craft finds its way forward.
The flame remains alive, and with it the certainty that as long as there are hands that know how to listen to metal, Yucatecan filigree will continue to breathe.
