Goldsmith Juan Carlos Pallarols sits at his desk and takes a worn notebook with a blue cover out of a drawer.
—My grandfather left this notebook to my father, and my father left it to me. In reality, it was passed from hand to hand and my brothers and cousins told me, “You’re the one who keeps everything, so we’re giving it to you.”
As he strokes the pages, he summarizes the story of how his ancestors passed down the art of goldsmithing from generation to generation.
In 1750, his great-great-grandfather started trading in his workshop on Carretes Street in Barcelona. At the beginning of the 19th century, his ancestor traveled to Argentina to raise money, but had to fight in the English invasions and eventually returned to Spain. It was Juan Carlos’ grandfather who decided to settle in Buenos Aires due to the poor European situation at the time. The knowledge and tools were passed on from parents to their children.
– There is a part of the book that my great-grandfather wrote in 1854 when he was fighting in the Crimean War. And this part comes from my grandfather José Pallarols Torrás.
In the background you can hear the metallic knocking of his employees in the workshop adjacent to the room we are in.
—If you have time, I’ll read a little to you…
The walking stick that Pallarols made for President Ricardo Alfonsín in 1983.Mariana Eliano
Juan Carlos works and lives here. There is also a museum here where the works of previous generations are collected. Behind the display cases you will find silver crafts: Dupont pens, roses, buddies, light bulbs and pendants. Also, presidential sticks: A few months ago he had an encounter with Argentine presidential candidate Javier Milei after the goldsmith said the candidate called to ask about “the one with the little hair.” Above the tables, a replica of General José de San Martín’s saber, shields, knives and a quartz sculpture.
His nails are manicured and his fingers are wrinkled because, he says, he worked with a solution of sulfuric acid and water some time ago that made his hands rough. Next, apply a moisturizer.
—I take care of my hands. You have been insured with an English company for 10 years. Now I don’t know how much the policy will be worth, but at the time it was a lot of money.
He often returns to the blue notebook that recounts the memories of his great-grandfather and grandfather. Go back to see how your ancestors thought. It says: “In remembrance.”
—What always impressed me was how he encouraged us to work.
Read slowly. Use your index finger to mark the words you say on the paper.
– “For work is the father of fame and fortune, and if not, keep this maxim in mind: He who does not begin to work at a young age will very soon begin to question, and he who lives for want of it must ask.” Will work, it would be better for him not to have been born…”
His grandfather passed this passion on to him, which he now passes on to his two sons, Carlos and Adrián.
The workshop where Pallarols works with his four employees. In the background a bust of De San Martín. On the table some silver buddies.Mariana Eliano
In 1945, when Juan Carlos was two and a half years old, José Pallarols became Torrás’ widower and took him in as an apprentice. He taught him the craft through games. “What do you want to do today?” I asked him. “A cart, Grandpa.” “Well, first let’s draw it. Then look for the material.” They used scraps of sheet metal, sheet metal and wood: everything that was left over from the workshop. At the age of six, Juan Carlos was already well advanced in this profession.
When he was nine, his grandfather took him to a publishing house where they produced missals and Bibles. He showed him one, lined with red leather and metal caps. “Do you notice anything special?” “Yes, Grandfather, it seems to me that these little flowers are the ones that I make in the workshop.” There were eight or ten of them that decorated the book. “Exactly. That’s your job. “Did your father pay you for it?” he asked.
The apprenticeship left its mark on little Juan Carlos. A few years later, at age 12, he worked for a bookstore owned by Salesian priests. The owner wanted to haggle over the price of a small cup. “1,800 pesos? NO! This is not worth more than 1,000…” At that moment, Juan Carlos remembered what his grandfather had told him and angrily confessed that he would certainly be right. He left the bookstore and saw the streetcar coming a few blocks away. He took the cup and placed it gently on the path. The metal wheels drove over the glass and destroyed it. The man left the store screaming. “How are you going to do that?” “What if you told me I’m worthless!” the teenager replied.
“From then on they never spoke to me about the price,” says Pallarols. And I owe it to my grandfather.
He also owes his passion for work to his grandfather. The confidence that if he wanted to be someone in life, he should never quit his job. And patience.
– One day he brought me some pebbles, covered them in a pot of water, turned the heat to low and said to me: “Cook these mongetes.” “Don’t call me until they’re tender.” I did stirred for three hours. I knew they would never let up, but I also knew he would hit me if I called him. At the end he asked me what I had learned. “In life you have to be patient, grandfather. That without patience nothing will be achieved.”
One of the roses he made in honor of Princess Diana of Wales.Mariana Eliano
Pallarols stands up, opens a display case and takes out a fountain pen to illustrate his point. Note that the platinum pin, sucker and plunger are from the French brand Dupont. On the cap and on the base there are portraits of European Romantic composers: Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart, Liszt, Brahms.
– There are about twenty portraits made by striking with a tembleque: it is a small iron with a curved tip. You grab it with the vise, hit it on one side and it vibrates on the other side. You move it gently, gently, thereby increasing the relief.
He says each portrait took four to five days. The complete pen takes about three to four months. It is a very precise work and therefore the price if sold would be between 30,000 and 40,000 dollars.
– And this rose?
Pallarols says his grandfather gave it to one of his daughters for her silver wedding anniversary in 1949. Years later, another of his grandfather’s daughters asked him for one. And on August 31, 1997, the day Lady Di died, she was in Paris with some friends who were also acquaintances of the Princess of Wales.
—You asked me for a tribute. I made a silver rose and gave the cap a red gilding and a patina with potassium sulfide, which created a black, reddish-brown color, like those English flower buds that don’t fully open.
Pallarols forges the paten of a chalice. He uses the same tools as his ancestors 200 years ago.Mariana Eliano
He says the photo appeared on the cover of the magazine “¡Hola!” and the French newspaper Le Figaro. And when he arrived in Buenos Aires, he had many orders. In one year she made 300 roses.
—The second famous wedding was the wedding of Máxima Zorreguieta.
Some of his works are commissioned. Others are things that come to mind. And that usually sells. Sometimes he works 8 hours, sometimes 10 or 12 or 14.
—It happens to me that at dinner I’m thinking about something that’s coming up. So I go back to the workshop (which is 10 meters away), solve the problem and fall asleep in peace because there is no schedule here.
—And the holidays?
—I had two cousins who worked in a neuropsychiatric clinic. I visited them, sometimes I had lunch there and one day I saw a crazy person writing on a blackboard: “If you work what you want, you are on vacation all year round.” And I thought: “This is happening to me!” I I’m on vacation all year round.
—Were you always self-taught?
-Absolutely. When I was in high school, my father’s house was auctioned off and he had to work in a monastery in the province of Corrientes. In the evening I went to the Academy of Fine Arts. But one day I said to my mother, “If dad dies, I won’t learn anything.” “But if you leave fine arts, you won’t have a degree,” he replied. “But what should I learn? Painting, drawing: I can learn that from Dad,” I told him and went with him to work in Corrientes. My father died at the age of 69. That’s why I took advantage of him for the last 20 years of his life.
—What do you know today, at 80, that you didn’t know 40 years ago?
-So many things. The more you know, the more you realize how much you don’t know. And since I have the patience to turn over the stones, I keep learning, I keep learning. I have a good pulse, good eyesight and a lot of desire. For me, life is a never-ending adventure. I don’t know how long I will live: at the moment I am healthy … But I knew healthy people who also died.
—Being self-taught requires strong discipline, right?
-I don’t know. Today I get paid well to give lectures. And when I see people listening to me, I say, “Well.” I felt pretty insecure because I couldn’t finish high school or go to university…
Heating sealing wax to bond the handle of a presidential cane. Mariana Eliano
He takes out a box from one of the display cases.
-See. This is the honorary doctorate they gave me at the University of Buenos Aires. “To the honorary doctor Juan Carlos Pallarols…”. When you get old and are about to die, they give you all the prizes [ríe].
—Are you thinking about death?
Daily. Since I was little. But in a positive sense.
-What do you think?
—In the Corrientes monastery where I lived as a teenager, there was a skull on the bedside table with ink written on its forehead: “I was what you are. You will be what I am.” And that makes you think …But death is a natural fact. This forces you to adore, respect and enjoy every day of your life. Use it wisely, gloriously, and joyfully. And leave the best thing you can leave behind.
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