From Mine to Masterpiece: How Baguio's Silversmiths Survived Against All Odds

When I met Tita Elizabeth at Manila FAME 2025, she told me something I'll never forget: I was the answer to her prayer. For over 40 years, she's kept Baguio's silversmithing tradition alive through her business, PDES Batong Asul House of Silver. But today, rising silver prices and a shrinking market threaten what the 1990s economic crisis and the pandemic couldn't destroy—the last remaining silversmiths of Baguio City.

In a region once teeming with silver workshops, only a handful of artisans remain. Their hammers still ring out in small studios tucked along Session Road and Leonard Wood Road, but the sound grows fainter each year. This isn't just about jewellery—it's about preserving a craft that has shaped Baguio's identity for over a century, a tradition recognised by UNESCO as part of the Philippines' cultural heritage [3].

This is their story. And now, it's part of ours.

Ancient Roots: Metalwork Before Baguio

Long before Baguio became known for its silver, Filipino communities were already master metalworkers. Archaeological evidence shows that as early as 1000 BC, early Filipinos mined and crafted gold, silver, and copper into jewellery and ornamental objects [1]. These weren't crude trinkets—they were sophisticated pieces that demonstrated advanced metallurgical knowledge, from gold ingots called bulawan to intricate ornamental jewellery that rivalled the craftsmanship of neighbouring civilisations.

The indigenous peoples of the Cordillera region—where Baguio sits—had established extensive trade networks based on precious metals, exchanging gold and copper with lowland communities for cloth and livestock. When Spanish chroniclers arrived centuries later, they documented a "flourishing inter-Cordillera and lowland trade" centred on Igorot gold [2]. The mountains of Benguet weren't just rich in ore—they were home to skilled miners and metalworkers whose knowledge had been refined over millennia.

Metalwork wasn't just commerce—it was culture, identity, and artistry passed down through generations. The Cordillerans understood that what they pulled from the earth and shaped with fire wasn't merely metal. It was memory, made tangible.

The Birth of Baguio Silver

The formal silversmithing tradition that Baguio is known for today began in the early 20th century, when Belgian CICM (Congregation of the Immaculate Heart of Mary) missionaries introduced silversmithing into local vocational training programmes [4]. This wasn't colonisation through force—it was an exchange of knowledge that built upon the indigenous metalworking traditions already present in the Cordillera.

As Baguio developed into an American colonial hill station and mining town, the city's cool climate, scenic beauty, and growing tourism industry created the perfect conditions for a silvercraft boom. Visionaries like Maximo Bautista built Baguio's reputation as a hub for exceptional craftsmanship, and by mid-century, silver pieces from Baguio had become iconic souvenirs—not just for tourists, but for dignitaries and collectors [4].

By the 1970s and 1980s, Baguio's silver industry was thriving. Session Road was lined with silver shops. Mines View Park stalls glittered with handcrafted rings, necklaces, and figurines. Families like the Marcelos (who founded Pilak Silvercraft in the 1970s) and Tita Elizabeth (who began as "Elizabeth's Silvercraft" in the 1980s) built generational businesses, training their children in the craft from a young age [5].

This was Baguio's golden age of silver—a time when the city's identity was inseparable from the gleam of sterling and the sound of hammers shaping metal into art.

The Crisis That Nearly Ended It All

Then came the 1990s, and everything changed.

An economic downturn—likely connected to the broader Asian Financial Crisis of 1997—devastated Baguio's silver industry. Tourism declined sharply. Demand for handcrafted silver plummeted as cheaper, machine-made alternatives flooded the market. Rising costs and shrinking profits made it impossible for many artisans to continue.

One by one, the silver shops closed. Families who had spent decades perfecting their craft were forced to find other work. The skills passed down through generations—the precise angle of a hammer strike, the patience required for filigree work, the knowledge of how silver moves under heat—began to disappear.

Rommel Marcelo of Pilak Silvercraft later reflected on this period with stark honesty: "We're trying to keep everything afloat kasi 'pag nawala kami, wala nang gagawa ng silver" (if we don't, no one else will keep making silver) [5]. It wasn't an exaggeration. By the time the dust settled, Baguio's once-thriving silver industry had been reduced to a handful of survivors.

Tita Elizabeth was one of them. Operating as Elizabeth's Silvercraft and later rebranding as PDES Batong Asul House of Silver, she survived through what the business itself describes as "sheer resolve, persistence, and the grace of the Almighty" [6]. While others closed their doors, she kept her workshop open, kept training craftspeople, kept the hammers ringing.

But survival came at a cost. The industry never fully recovered. Today, the silver shops that once lined Session Road are mostly gone, replaced by cafés and clothing boutiques. The artisans who remain are ageing, and fewer young people are learning the craft.

Recognition and a Fragile Revival

In 2017, Baguio City received a designation that acknowledged what locals had always known: this was a city shaped by craft. UNESCO named Baguio a Creative City for Crafts and Folk Art, recognising its rich tradition of woodcarving, weaving, tattooing—and silvercraft [3].

The National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) officially recognised Baguio's silversmithing tradition as part of the city's Cultural Heritage Treasure [4]. UNESCO described Baguio as "a colourful, multicultural city full of diversity where artistic culture ranges from crafts and folk art expressions to woodcarving, silver craft, weaving and tattooing" [3].

It was a moment of pride—and a reminder of what was at stake.

With this recognition came renewed support. The Department of Trade and Industry's Cordillera Administrative Region office (DTI-CAR) began facilitating participation in national and international trade fairs: Manila FAME, CITEM, the annual Sikat Pinoy Arts and Crafts Fair [6]. Organisations like PHILEXPORT-CAR (the Philippine Exporters Confederation) offered membership and resources to help remaining silversmiths access broader markets [6].

Pilak Silvercraft began offering workshops, teaching students to create basic silver pendants, rings, and earrings in just two weeks. They even coordinated with TESDA to train displaced miners—men who had spent their lives extracting ore from the earth, now learning to transform it into art [5].

But the revival remains fragile. The artisans are ageing. The workshops that once employed dozens now operate with skeleton crews. And a new crisis looms: the price of silver itself has soared, making it increasingly difficult for small, independent silversmiths to sustain their craft.

When Tita Elizabeth told me I was the answer to her prayer, she wasn't being dramatic. She was being honest. Every order matters now—not just financially, but as proof that this craft still has a place in the modern world.

The Craft: What Makes Baguio Silver Different

Walk into a remaining Baguio silver workshop, and you'll understand immediately why this craft matters. There are no assembly lines, no industrial moulds, no machines stamping out identical pieces by the thousands. There is only the artisan, the metal, and the tools—many of them decades old, worn smooth by generations of hands.

Baguio silversmiths work with sterling silver—92.5% pure silver, though some artisans like Pilak Silvercraft use even higher purity levels of 95% or above [4]. This isn't plated jewellery that will flake and fade. This is solid silver, heavy in the hand, designed to last not just years but lifetimes.

Every piece is handcrafted using traditional techniques that have remained largely unchanged for over a century:

Filigree: Delicate wirework twisted and soldered into intricate patterns
Repoussé: Metal shaped from the reverse side to create raised designs
Engraving: Fine details carved directly into the silver's surface
Precision soldering: Joining components without compromising the metal's integrity
Stone setting: Semi-precious stones like turquoise, jade, and agate carefully secured into silver bezels

The process is slow. A single pendant can take hours or even days, depending on its complexity. The artisan must understand how silver responds to heat, how much pressure to apply with the hammer, when to anneal the metal to keep it workable. These aren't skills learnt from a manual—they're passed down through apprenticeships, often within families, with children trained from a young age [5].

Rommel Marcelo of Pilak Silvercraft recalls: "Bata pa lang na-train na kami" (We were already trained as kids) [5]. This is how the craft survives—not through formal education, but through the patient teaching of one generation to the next.

What emerges from this process isn't just jewellery. It's what PDES Batong Asul calls "investing in a work of art" [6]. Each piece carries the fingerprints—literal and metaphorical—of the person who made it. The natural patina that develops over time isn't a flaw; it's proof of authenticity, a record of the silver's journey from raw metal to heirloom.

In an age of mass production and fast fashion, Baguio silver stands as a quiet rebellion: a reminder that some things are worth making slowly, by hand, with care.

Meet the Artisan: Tita Elizabeth and PDES Batong Asul

Tita Elizabeth's story is the story of Baguio silver itself—one of resilience, adaptation, and an unshakeable commitment to craft.

She began in the 1980s under the name Elizabeth's Silvercraft, operating during the industry's boom years when silver shops were thriving and tourists flocked to Baguio for handcrafted treasures. By the early 1990s, she had formally established PDES Batong Asul House of Silver, a name that would become synonymous with quality and authenticity in Baguio's silversmithing community [6].

"Batong Asul" translates to "blue stone"—a nod to the turquoise and semi-precious stones that feature prominently in traditional Filipino silverwork. It's a name that connects the craft to the land, to the mines of the Cordillera, to the earth itself.

For over 40 years, Tita Elizabeth has kept her workshop running from its location on P. Lamug Street in Baguio City, with an additional presence at Porta Vaga Mall on Session Road [6]. Her pieces—rings, pendants, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and charms—are all crafted from sterling (92.5%) silver, with options for plain works, semi-precious stone settings, and intricate turquoise inlay [6].

But what truly sets PDES Batong Asul apart is its philosophy. As the business states: "Buying a product made by PDES Batong Asul is not simply purchasing a piece of silver jewellery but investing in a work of art" [6].

"Buying a product made by PDES Batong Asul is not simply purchasing a piece of silver jewellery but investing in a work of art"

This isn't marketing speak. It's a statement of values. Every piece that leaves Tita Elizabeth's workshop carries her standards, her eye for detail, her refusal to compromise on quality even when cheaper alternatives would be easier to produce.

When the 1990s crisis hit, Tita Elizabeth didn't close. When silver prices began to soar in recent years, making it harder to source materials and maintain margins, she didn't quit. Even through the challenges of the pandemic years, she held on—adapting, persisting, and continuing to train craftspeople in the traditional techniques that define Baguio silver.

Her work has been recognised by the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI-CAR), and she's a member of PHILEXPORT-CAR, the Philippine Exporters Confederation [6]. She's a regular exhibitor at Manila FAME, where she connects with buyers, designers, and partners who understand the value of authentic, handcrafted work.

It was at Manila FAME 2025 that our paths crossed. I was searching for a partner who could help me bring authentic Filipino silverwork to the UK diaspora—someone whose craft and values aligned with Aking Sinta's mission of celebrating heritage through jewellery. When I met Tita Elizabeth and saw her work, I knew I'd found exactly what I was looking for.

And when she told me I was the answer to her prayer, I understood the weight of that statement. This wasn't just a business transaction. It was a lifeline—for her craft, for Baguio's silversmithing tradition, and for the stories these pieces carry.

The PILAK Collection: Symbols in Silver

The PILAK Collection was born from a simple but powerful idea: that jewellery can be more than decoration. It can be memory, identity, and connection—especially for Filipinos living far from home.

Each pendant in the collection is handcrafted by Tita Elizabeth and her team at PDES Batong Asul, made from authentic sterling silver, and designed to celebrate symbols that are deeply woven into Filipino culture. These aren't generic designs mass-produced overseas. They're carefully chosen icons that tell the story of who we are, where we come from, and what we value.

These initial designs are just the beginning. As our partnership with PDES Batong Asul deepens, we'll continue to expand the collection with more symbols, more stories, and more ways to wear your heritage proudly.

The Jeepney: Resilience and Ingenuity

The jeepney is perhaps the most recognisable symbol of the Philippines—a rolling work of art that emerged from the ashes of World War II. When American forces left surplus military jeeps behind, Filipinos didn't just use them. They transformed them: stretched the chassis, added colourful paint and chrome, turned instruments of war into vehicles of community and creativity [7].

The jeepney represents Filipino ingenuity, adaptability, and resilience. It's a reminder that we don't just survive hardship—we remake it into something vibrant and uniquely ours. Wearing the jeepney pendant is wearing that spirit: resourceful, unstoppable, unapologetically Filipino.

The Bahay Kubo: Simplicity and Community

The traditional nipa hut—the bahay kubo—is more than architecture. It's a philosophy. Built from bamboo, nipa palm, and other natural materials, it represents simplicity, sustainability, and harmony with nature. It's the house that appears in Filipino folk songs, the structure that embodies rural life and agricultural heritage.

But the bahay kubo also symbolises bayanihan—the Filipino value of communal unity and cooperation. Traditionally, entire communities would come together to physically lift and move a bahay kubo to a new location [8]. It's a reminder that we are stronger together, that home isn't just a place—it's the people who surround us.

The Lingling-O: Pre-Colonial Identity

The Lingling-O is an omega-shaped pendant that dates back to pre-colonial Philippines, worn as a symbol of fertility, protection, and status. Archaeological evidence shows these pendants were crafted as early as 500 BC to 500 AD, found in burial sites across Luzon and fashioned from jade, gold, and other precious materials [9]. They represent a time before Spanish colonisation, before Western influence reshaped Filipino identity.

For many Filipinos—especially those in the diaspora—the Lingling-O is an act of cultural reclamation. It's a connection to indigenous roots, to the ancestors who shaped gold and copper long before the missionaries arrived. Wearing it is a statement: our history didn't begin with colonisation. We were here. We were whole. We were already creating beauty.

Some versions of this pendant also incorporate Baybayin, the ancient Filipino script that's experiencing a revival amongst younger generations seeking to reconnect with pre-colonial heritage [10].

The Kalabaw: Strength and Patience

The carabao—kalabaw—is widely recognised as the national animal of the Philippines for its integral role in Filipino agriculture and rural life [11]. This sturdy, patient creature has been the backbone of Filipino agriculture for centuries, ploughing rice fields and carrying loads through the heat and mud.

The kalabaw represents hard work, endurance, and the rural Filipino experience. It's a tribute to farmers, to the provinces, to the quiet strength that sustains communities. For diaspora Filipinos whose families came from agricultural backgrounds, the kalabaw is a link to that heritage—a reminder of where we come from, even as we build lives in cities far from the rice terraces.

More to Come

These four designs are just the foundation of the PILAK Collection. As we continue working with Tita Elizabeth and her team, we'll be introducing new symbols that celebrate different aspects of Filipino heritage—from regional traditions to contemporary Filipino identity. Each new design will be thoughtfully chosen, authentically crafted, and rooted in the stories that connect us to our roots.

Why These Symbols Matter

For Filipinos living in the UK, Europe, North America, or anywhere outside the Philippines, these symbols are more than nostalgia. They're anchors. They're ways of saying, "I am still connected. I still belong. My heritage is not something I left behind—it's something I carry with me."

"I am still connected. I still belong. My heritage is not something I left behind—it's something I carry with me."

The PILAK Collection offers a way to wear that connection proudly, to spark conversations, to pass stories down to the next generation. And because each piece is handcrafted in the Philippines by artisans like Tita Elizabeth, wearing PILAK also means supporting the survival of a craft that has shaped Baguio's identity for over a century.

Why It Matters Today

Tita Elizabeth is in her 60s now. The silversmiths who survived the 1990s crisis are ageing, and fewer young people are learning the craft. The workshops that once hummed with activity now operate with small teams, often just family members keeping the tradition alive.

Rising silver prices have created a new crisis—one that's quieter than the economic collapse of decades past, but no less threatening. Every gram of sterling silver costs more than it did last year, and the year before that. For small, independent artisans operating without the backing of large corporations or investors, the margins are razor-thin. One slow season, one unexpected expense, and a workshop that has survived for 40 years could close for good.

This is why partnerships matter. This is why the PILAK Collection exists.

When I buy from Tita Elizabeth, I'm not just purchasing inventory. I'm ensuring that her workshop can afford the silver it needs to keep creating. I'm proving that there's still a market for handcrafted, authentic Filipino silverwork—not just in Baguio, not just in the Philippines, but across the diaspora, in communities from Manchester to Edmonton to San Francisco.

And when you choose to wear PILAK, you're part of that story too.

You're saying that craftsmanship matters. That heritage isn't something to be preserved in museums, but something to be worn, celebrated, and passed down. That the hands of Filipino artisans—hands that have shaped silver for generations—deserve to keep working, keep creating, keep teaching the next generation.

Baguio's silversmiths have survived against all odds: colonial transitions, economic collapse, changing tastes, rising costs, pandemic disruptions, and a world that increasingly values speed and cheapness over skill and authenticity. They've survived because they refused to give up. Because they believed their craft was worth preserving. Because they kept the hammers ringing even when no one seemed to be listening.

Now, it's our turn to listen. To support. To wear their work with pride and tell their stories.

Because when Tita Elizabeth told me I was the answer to her prayer, she wasn't just talking about one order, one partnership, one collection. She was talking about hope—hope that this craft will endure, that the next generation will learn, that Baguio silver won't become a footnote in history but a living, thriving tradition.

From mine to masterpiece, from Baguio to the world, from Tita Elizabeth's hands to yours—this is the story of silver and survival.

This is the story we carry forward.

How You Can Help Preserve This Craft

The survival of Baguio's silversmithing tradition doesn't rest solely on the artisans. It rests on all of us—on whether we choose to value craftsmanship over convenience, heritage over haste, and authentic stories over mass production.

Here's how you can be part of keeping this tradition alive:

1. Choose Handcrafted Over Mass-Produced

Every time you purchase a piece from the PILAK Collection, you're directly supporting Tita Elizabeth's workshop. You're ensuring she can afford the silver she needs to keep creating. You're proving that there's still a market for authentic, handcrafted Filipino silverwork—not just in Baguio, but across the diaspora.

Your purchase isn't just jewellery. It's a vote of confidence in a craft that has survived against all odds.

2. Wear Your Heritage Proudly

The symbols in the PILAK Collection—the jeepney, the bahay kubo, the lingling-O, the kalabaw—are conversation starters. When someone asks about your necklace, you have the opportunity to share the story: the artisan who made it, the tradition it represents, the heritage it celebrates.

You become an ambassador for Filipino culture, for Baguio's silversmiths, for the idea that our history and identity are worth preserving and wearing with pride.

3. Share the Story

Tell your friends. Post on social media. Tag us, tag Tita Elizabeth, tell the world why handcrafted Filipino silver matters. The more people know about Baguio's silversmiths and the challenges they face, the more support this craft will receive.

Stories have power. Your voice has power.

4. Support Other Filipino Artisans

PILAK is just the beginning. The Philippines is home to countless artisans—weavers, woodcarvers, potters, embroiderers—who are fighting to keep traditional crafts alive. Seek them out. Buy directly from them when you can. Champion their work.

When we support Filipino artisans, we're not just preserving crafts—we're preserving culture, identity, and the knowledge of generations.

5. Pass It Down

The pieces you wear today can become heirlooms tomorrow. Sterling silver doesn't tarnish into worthlessness—it develops a patina, a story, a history. These are pieces you can pass down to your children, your nieces and nephews, the next generation of Filipinos who deserve to know where they come from.

When you gift a piece from the PILAK Collection, you're not just giving jewellery. You're giving a connection to heritage, a tangible link to the Philippines, a reminder that our roots run deep.

A Final Word

Baguio's silversmiths have kept their hammers ringing for over a century—through colonial transitions, economic collapse, changing tastes, and rising costs. They've survived because they believed their craft was worth preserving, even when the world seemed to have moved on.

Now, it's our turn to prove them right.

From mine to masterpiece, from Baguio to the world, from Tita Elizabeth's hands to yours—this is more than silver. This is survival. This is heritage. This is hope.

Explore the PILAK Collection and become part of the story.