Glass beads growing on trees?

Miçangas in the Amazon: a history of trade, craftsmanship, and living cultures.

Imagine someone telling you they grow shrubs on which small, colored glass beads sprout. You would probably want to see these extraordinary trees!

Yet, this is a story reported at the beginning of the 20th century by the Dutch explorer and ethnographer Claudius Henricus de Goeje. According to his account, members of the indigenous Saluma people told members of the indigenous Tiriyó people that their glass beads grew on shrubs they cultivated themselves.

These glass beads, the smallest of which are often called seed beads in France and miçangas in Brazil, did not, of course, grow on trees. So, why tell such a story?

To understand, we must discover the role these small beads played in trade and how indigenous artisans integrated them into their own creations.

Before the Miçangas, jewelry made with materials from nature

Long before the arrival of European glass beads, the indigenous peoples of the Amazon were already crafting jewelry using materials available in their environment: seeds, plant fibers, shells, bones, or animal teeth.

These materials were not chosen by chance. Depending on the people and the creations, they could play a role in aesthetic, social, ceremonial, or protective traditions. A necklace was therefore not necessarily a simple accessory: it could hold a special place in the lives of those who wore it.

Seeds, in particular, occupied an important place in the making of many pieces of jewelry. Some were sought after for their shape, color, or durability. And not all plants grew everywhere: a seed coming from another region could be obtained through trade between peoples.

Then, as trade with the outside world developed, a new material appeared: the glass bead.

How did glass beads arrive in the Amazon?

With European colonial expansion, glass beads circulated throughout the Americas. They were among the objects traded between Europeans and indigenous peoples, then continued to circulate through trade networks between different peoples.

We sometimes speak of them as "currency" to explain their role. The term helps to understand that they could be sought after and traded for other goods. But this does not mean they functioned everywhere like our current money: their value and uses varied according to the people and the situation.

For artisans, miçangas also offered new possibilities: varied colors, small regular shapes, and a material that could be threaded, assembled, and associated with other elements.

Glass beads did not create the art of jewelry in the Amazon. They arrived in cultures that already possessed their own expertise.

Why would the Saluma have spoken of bead-bearing shrubs?

Let us return to the anecdote reported by De Goeje.

Members of the indigenous Saluma people allegedly explained to members of the indigenous Tiriyó people that their glass beads grew on shrubs they cultivated themselves.

At first glance, the story seems almost fantastical. But if one considers the importance of trade, particularly that of seeds and plant materials in the making of jewelry, another interpretation becomes possible.

Could the Saluma have wanted to keep the origin of their beads a secret? By implying that they grew them themselves, were they seeking to present themselves as the producers of a sought-after resource, to preserve a privileged position in trade, or even to maintain a monopoly with their trading partners?

The image of the shrubs could also have been important. The seeds used for jewelry came from very real plants, sometimes absent from the region where those who wished to obtain them lived. Presenting glass beads as a kind of new seed, coming from shrubs one cultivated oneself, could have made their origin more familiar and more credible. It would also have suggested that one controlled their production and that other peoples needed to continue to come to one to obtain them.

This is a possible interpretation, not an intention we can confirm with certainty. The historical record does not allow us to know exactly why this explanation was given, nor if the Saluma really sought to maintain a monopoly.

This anecdote invites us to look at beads differently. At a time when seeds and plant materials played an important role in the making of jewelry and in trade between certain peoples, the idea of beads growing on shrubs could fit into a familiar universe.

After all, some seeds sought after for jewelry came from plants that did not grow in all regions. Presenting glass beads as a new kind of seed, cultivated locally, could thus give them a concrete and recognizable origin, while implying that the Saluma controlled the supply.

If such was their intention, this story could also serve their interests in trade: by presenting themselves as those who cultivated these beads, the Saluma could have encouraged their partners to continue to come to them to obtain them. The question was then not just about possessing beautiful beads, but perhaps also about maintaining a privileged place in their circulation and trade.

Adopting Miçangas does not mean abandoning one's culture

This is undoubtedly the part of this story that touches me the most.

When we look at an indigenous piece of jewelry made with miçangas today, one might think that glass beads have replaced the materials used in the past and, with them, a part of the culture of those who wore them.

But changing materials does not necessarily mean changing culture.

Indigenous artisans did not simply receive an object from elsewhere to reproduce what Europeans were doing. They were able to integrate this new material into their own creations, according to their tastes, their techniques, their uses, and their cultural references.

Miçangas thus became, in different contexts, a new way to express already living skills. They could also be associated with seeds, fibers, and other materials rather than replacing them entirely.

A tradition that evolves

This does not mean that all peoples welcomed glass beads in the same way, nor that the upheavals linked to colonization were without consequence. It means that indigenous artisans were also agents of these transformations: they made their own choices and gave new forms to their creations.

When a tradition meets a new material

And what if a material we associate with modern life could find its place in traditional jewelry?

Among the Asurini of the Xingu, an indigenous people of Brazil, some necklaces traditionally made with monkey teeth have been recreated using an unexpected material: white PVC pipes. Artisans cut out pieces that reproduce the shape of the teeth.

Why this choice?

The Asurini explained to anthropologist Fabíola Silva that gathering the teeth necessary for making the necklaces required a lot of work. Furthermore, the teeth would yellow over time.

PVC, on the other hand, was easier to find and maintain. It allowed for preserving the sought-after whiteness and presented another very concrete advantage: the necklaces were lighter for dancing.

And here is what touches me particularly in this story: the Asurini continued to wear these necklaces during their rituals. The material had changed, but the artisans had kept the form they sought and the place of this jewelry in their cultural practices.

Just because an artisan adopts a new material does not mean they abandon what their creation represents to them, or their culture.

And among the Marubo?

The Marubo, another indigenous people of Brazil, also make jewelry that combines different materials. The National Museum of Indigenous Peoples of Brazil preserves, among other things, Marubo necklaces composed of white PVC beads and small elements carved from the tucumã pit, the hard part of a palm fruit. Its collection also includes creations combining PVC, plant fibers, and animal teeth.

This encounter between plant materials and recovered materials is something I also discovered through the work of Jackson Marubo, a partner artisan whose creations I offer in the Amazonikaa Marubo collection.

Jackson explained to me that he recovers abandoned materials to give them a new life. In the forest, he collects, among other things, empty snail shells, which he transforms into elements for bracelets. He also recovers PVC tubes and other discarded plastic objects, notably white bottles, which he finds among the trash and cuts up to create jewelry.

I particularly remember a bracelet that Jackson showed me. He had cut recovered white PVC into tiny cubes and carved small cubes from the tucumã pit, which is black. Then he had assembled them by alternating the colors: a white PVC cube, a black tucumã pit cube, then a white one again, a black one… The result was a black and white bracelet, with a very graphic contrast, that I found particularly beautiful.

By associating a natural material with recovered plastic, Jackson showed that a discarded material could find a new place in an artisanal creation.

I was already familiar with this form of bracelet, as I had selected creations by Jackson for Amazonikaa made with small tucumã pit cubes. Upon discovering his version associating tucumã with recovered PVC, I saw how he could evolve the same model by playing with materials and colors.

This encounter reminded me how important it is to look at an artisan's work and listen to them tell the story of their choices before deciding, in their stead, which materials would or would not be "authentic."

Can plastic become a material for responsible creation?

We know today that plastic poses significant environmental problems. It is therefore natural to wonder when we find it in artisanal jewelry.

But to understand a creation, one must also be interested in the origin of its material and the way the artisan uses it.

In the case of Jackson Marubo, the plastic he works with comes from discarded or abandoned objects. By recovering a PVC tube or a bottle, then cutting it into small elements to create a bracelet or another piece of jewelry, he gives a new life to a material that had been relegated to the trash.

We can speak of recycling in the common sense of the term. More precisely, this is a case of recovery and creative reuse: Jackson transforms used objects into jewelry, without melting the plastic to manufacture a new material.

This approach is not unique to Jackson. Examples of the reuse of plastic bottles and buckets to make jewelry have also been documented among the Akuntsu, another indigenous people of Brazil.

This does not mean that all PVC jewelry is made from recovered materials, nor that reuse erases the environmental problems associated with plastic. But in Jackson's work, recovery is an essential step of creation.

What touches me in his approach is this capacity to look at a material differently. An empty shell found in the forest, a piece of discarded PVC, or an abandoned bottle can become, in his hands, the elements of a piece of jewelry.

And behind this transformation, there is much more than a choice of material: there is Jackson's eye, his gestures, and his expertise.

A living culture is not a frozen culture

We often associate traditional craftsmanship with ancient materials and gestures that have supposedly remained identical for centuries.

Yet, preserving a skill does not necessarily mean repeating every detail of the past.

An artisan may choose a new color of miçanga. An artisan may associate small elements of recovered PVC with plant elements. A creation can evolve while maintaining forms, uses, or meanings important to the people who create it.

The essential thing is not to confuse the external perspective we have on an object with the meaning its creators give it.

And that is precisely why we must listen to the artisans: only they can tell us what they wish to transmit, what they have chosen to modify, and what their creation represents.

Behind every bead, a person and a story

When I discover jewelry made by artisans in Brazil, I do not only look at their colors or their shapes.

I want to know who created them, why this person chose these materials, and what story they wish to transmit through their work.

This is also what I try to share with Amazonikaa, by selecting Brazilian artisanal creations to introduce them to France.

The story of beads that grow on trees makes us smile at first. But it ultimately leads us to look at these small objects differently.

A glass bead can cross borders. A material can change. An artisan can invent a new way to create.

And behind the jewelry, there remains a person, a skill, and a living culture that deserve to be known.

And today, it is the jewelry itself that crosses borders.

Those that I select from partner artisans in Brazil arrive in France, then find their place in the lives of people who, sometimes, do not yet know the stories hidden behind them.

To discover these skills through the creations of our partner artisans, explore the Indigenous Jewelry collection from Amazonikaa.

This is what I love to share through Amazonikaa: making these creations travel without detaching them from their origins, and making people want to discover the women, men, and skills that bring them to life. 💚

Sources and references

Caroline Fernandes Caromano, Walid Dani Kaki and Tinde van Andel (2026), Amazonian Seeds and Fruits Used in Indigenous Body Ornaments: A Literature Review, Ethnobotany and Economic Botany, 80, p. 448–466. This study reports the anecdote of the bead-bearing shrubs by citing Claudius Henricus de Goeje, Beiträge zur Völkerkunde von Surinam (1910), p. 26.

De Goeje's account is cited here based on this study; his original text was not consulted directly.

Fabíola Silva - study on the Asurini of the Xingu and the use of PVC in making necklaces imitating monkey teeth.

National Museum of Indigenous Peoples of Brazil - collections of Marubo jewelry combining PVC and plant materials.