It takes one hour, not a single road sign and miles of blue pine trees along the highway to get to the Christmas decorations factory in the village of Klavdiyevo-Tarasovo west of Kyiv.
Once a famous hub of festive tinsel from garlands to hand-blown glass ornaments, it now has everything one wouldn’t expect to find in the magic factory.
Despite the wind blowing through its corridors, some 30 women, wrapped in wool to resist subzero temperatures, make Christmas baubles literally with their bare hands.
Built in 1949, the Christmas decorations factory near Kyiv is now a shadow of its past glory. (Joseph Sywenkyj)
“They are snow queens,” whisper students watching them at work. High school teachers organize regular field trips here in winter to spark the holiday spirit. But the theater of life played out in these derelict facilities reveals more than just a process of creating an ornament.
Founded in 1949, the factory produced glass syringes, flasks and other medical appliances for three years before being converted into the Christmas plant. Struggling to keep production going amid the growing chaos of the post-Soviet economy in 1990s, the factory, as many others at that turbulent time, was sold to the private company based in Lviv. Of 700 workers, eventually only 30 were left to run the plant.
“No more pine trees, decorations, Father Frosts or Snow Maidens,” says Raisa Sidakova, 59, recalling all the toys she used to make, having started work here at the age of 18. Christmas balls of different sizes make up the only variety at the factory these days.
Some 30 workers continue working in the facility, which has no proper heating. (Joseph Sywenkyj)
Glassblower Sidakova comes in at 8 a.m. and blows 180 balls on average during her eight-hour shift. Wearing several layers of clothes and a knitted green hat, she sits in front of a metal tap that spews out gas. Dipping a glass pipe into the flame, she bends over the equipment watching it melt. Before the glass starts dripping, she lifts the misshapen form and gently blows through one end of the pipe for three seconds until the melt becomes a crystal bubble. It looks as easy as blowing up an air balloon if you discount the 650 C stream of gas and no protective gear.
“Women here used to wear special glasses, but I never needed it. I have my own,” she says pointing to a regular pair of spectacles. Along with seven other women in the room the size of a football pitch, she doesn’t even notice the biting frost, in which even a pen freezes. “We are like walruses,” says Sidakova, laughing. She sounds upbeat and merely thankful to be allowed to work even after retirement. “It’s all for the children.”
One of glassblowers, Zinaida Sidakova, however, still considers the factory ‘the pride of Ukraine.’ (Joseph Sywenkyj)
In November through January, school trips run one after another. Factory workers take turns to guide students through three workshops – glassblowing, silvering and hand-painting. Other floors, once pumping with equipment conjuring up toys and Christmas trees, have nothing left but ragged Communist banners encouraging workers to toil harder.
Guiding some 30 students from Kyiv school number 175, an old mechanic wrapped in a heavy pea jacket starts off his tour by holding up a glass pipe. “We buy it from Poland, as well as paint, silver and..,” he stumbles. When a kid enquires what’s ordered in Ukraine, he seems even more confused. Searching through his memory, he finally lights up: “Glue! The glue’s made in Ukraine.”
On the glass-blowing floor, children melt in awe. Some film the process with their mobile phones costing as much as a glass-blower makes in a month, which is roughly Hr 2,000. When they leave, one of the workers lights up a cigarette saying, “it’s always nice to see their faces.”
In the silvering room, another worker fills transparent baubles with a special solution and then dips them into another chemical, which turns them silver.
When the children finally bundle into the shopping area, which looks more like an abandoned hospital than Santa’s fairyland, the holiday frenzy fills the air.
A worker paints up to 30 Christmas balls during an eight-hour shift. (Joseph Sywenkyj)
Pushing and shoving, they gaze at some 10 boxes with hand-made balls with simple drawings of rabbits and flowers decked on a few tables.
To service all of the young customers, the director of the factory steps in to help a sales woman. “One of our baubles costs 10 euros in Germany, but here it goes for only one euro,” says Oleksandr Sarkisyan. A former communist party member, he started working in Klavdiyevo 15 years ago.
From blowing and painting some 500,000 balls a year, the company earns around Hr 1.5 million. “It’s not enough to hire more people and expand production,” said Sarkisyan. “But even if we wanted to, it wouldn’t be possible. No one wants to be a glassblower these days.”
To liven up the holidays, the factory runs its little shop and excursions for the children. The money collected goes into a wooden till that looks more like a piggy bank for a rainy day. This is their miracle of Christmas, which happens only in winter when children come in on excursions.
And as for the Christmas trees, many workers said they don’t put them up any more.
Students from Kyiv school number 175 on a guided tour at the factory (Joseph Sywenkyj)
Kyiv Post lifestyle editor Yuliya Popova can be reached at [email protected]
