In architecture, as in so much else, context is everything. Glass blocks were popularised in Europe from the art deco period to post-war brutalism, bringing soaring walls of light and warmth to grand municipal structures. In the US, they became a signature of mid-century modernism, blending with clean lines and natural stone for that quintessential Palm Springs look.

By the time the glass block made its way into the vernacular design of Australia and New Zealand in the 1980s and ’90s, it was the stuff of suburban strip malls and mid-tier office blocks. Still an object of beauty, but often applied in uninspiring settings.

As the creator of Lumo Bloc, a new line of upcycled glass-brick lights handmade in rural Waitoki northwest of Auckland, Lauren Joyce is a champion of the chunkily elegant blocks. But even she admits their public image hasn’t always been great. “They were very unfashionable for quite a long time,” she tells Broadsheet. “They went through a bad period in Australia and New Zealand [because] our design was quite gaudy. So they are a beautiful product, but situationally they were in places that weren’t great.”

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Case in point: a dentist’s office in Panmure, east Auckland, where Joyce salvaged her first lot of glass blocks. Working in commercial property and developments, Joyce is used to contractors dismantling building materials for reuse and recycling. But this particular “aging 1980s glass-block wall” didn’t have any takers, so she rescued some of the bricks herself.

“I had one sitting on the windowsill of my workshop,” she remembers. “Every time I’d go in, depending on where the sun was, it was casting an amazing light.” Following some experiments with a light bar, Lumo Bloc was born: a customisable glowing architectural light source made from reclaimed glass blocks.

Each is set on a handmade base (which Joyce offers in woodgrain, paint or mirror finish) and contains a concealed battery-powered LED light bar that comes with five coloured Perspex lenses to suit a range of moods. Though she could have opted for an automatic colour-changing light, Joyce prefers the old-school option. “I like the idea of being really purposeful. You come home, you think, ‘What kind of colour am I vibing with?’ And then you actually physically put the colour lens into the block, and that’s your light.”

Lumo Bloc product descriptions include the local origin of each glass brick (a bathroom in Waitākere, an artist retreat in Puhoi) and – as far as possible – where and when it was first made. So far, Joyce has sourced them through contractor friends and word-of-mouth; she often finds them ready to be demolished or in unloved piles on private properties.

Turning them into Lumo Blocs is a sustainable practice, as well as a creative one. Joyce crafts each one to order in her home workshop in Waitoki. It’s located on her “useless farm” (meaning zero “food-producing elements”), surrounded by miniature horses, miniature cows and plenty of cats. The workshop also doubles as the animals’ food shed, so production can get quite noisy. “Every time I go in there, [the animals] all start neighing and mooing and screaming at me because they think I’m going to feed them,” she laughs.

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