In the back room of the studio

Elias Guerrero shares with John Gregory in the Dallas Design District, a seemingly hopeless pile of chipped pink glass, wire, and ill-fitting parts occupies a few square feet of shelf - the kind of rubble one might find buried in a grandparent's attic. That pile is about a week away from illuminating someone's foyer or dining room, a week away from being an antique Venetian chandelier once again.

This is what Guerrero does : he turns parts into wholes - he turns hopelessness into light. It has been two years since Guerrero joined Gregory's studio, and business is brighter than ever - literally, considering the spaces now filled throughout the building by his restored Venetian and Murano fixtures. "If he wasn't here, I wouldn't have the nerve to buy a lot of the fixtures I buy," Gregory says. "On some of these chandeliers, the Venetians and Muranos, there's no one else in town who can do the kind of work he's doing." And as word of the work he's doing spreads, Guerrero's name is getting out there in the antique circles. It's also out there at 1201 Slocum St., on the front of the studio - a recent addition as of the end of last year. Not bad for someone who broke into the business by vaccuuming floors.

A native of Mexico, Guerrero spent eight years at nearby Crow Chandeliers, hired when he was new to Dallas to labor more or less as a wage-earner but eventually learning all the facets of the business, from wiring lights and installing chandeliers to restoration and eventually into management, running the whole show. Gregory took notice of Guerrero's work at different job sites, and the partnership was born - freeing Guerrero from the books and the perils of being a boss, turning him loose on his true talent. "I never thought that [design and restoration] was something I wanted to do," he says of his early days at Crow. "At the time, it was something to do to stay alive - to survive." And even now, "I thought it wasn't time for my name to be on the street," Guerrero says. "It's never the right time," Gregory counters. "You just have to do it."

Guerrero has faced seemingly impossible odds before. What antique restoration artist hasn't? A recent, particularly gruesome drama came courtesy of an improperly repaired, gilt-wood chandelier that had been sent to the studio for a little miracle work. When the crate was opened, Gregory says, the six-foot by six-foot piece "disintegrated - it broke into a hundred pieces." After two and a half weeks in Guerrero's care, the piece was restored. Truth be told, Guerrero was never all that worried. "Some of the things that get sent here, you just look at and say, 'What do you expect to be done with that?'" Gregory says, "But he puts it together and makes it work."

The secret may not only be in Guerrero's skilled hands, but in his photographic mind as well. He remembers the work he's done - each and every work, with intricate attention to detail. "I'm not good with names," he confesses, "but when I see something, I remember it." Walk through the studio with him and study the lights. He can tell you where each piece was damaged, how he restored it, and what details in the piece prove it was his handiwork that salvaged it. He points to one Venetian piece that looks flawless to a novice. Without a second's thought, his finger points out the imperfection - a broken glass arm resurrected delicately into one piece. A Murano in the back room was missing part of the frame that holds the delicately shaped glass in place; he fashioned its replacement from other pieces salvaged from other projects. Again, it's the kind of work he has to point out. Like an official at a sporting match, or an editor at a publishing house, Guerrero's work is at its best when it goes unnoticed. Every missing piece, every chipped glass, every inch of tarnished brass is available for total recall. He also remembers with savant-like speed the random assortment of parts he and Gregory find on their buying trips to markets, fairs, and countrysides in Europe - enough parts to fill a wharehouse. "It's a big mess, but it's worth it," Guerrero says. Guerrero designs chandeliers also, but the triumph of doing what all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't really drives his passion for the work. "You have to use more strategy to install older fixtures," he says. "It's more challenging. There's a challenge to finding and dealing with something you've never seen and getting it to work." He has had successes with a variety of materials - glass, brass, bronze, and even alabaster - and with a variety of styles - Venetian, Murano, Italian, to be certain. But as his expert education continues, perhaps his successes are best measured one fixture at a time, one solved puzzle at a time.

"Having him here has opened a lot of doors, " Gregory says. "You never know it all. There's something new to learn every day." Either in the back room at the studio, or at his Oak Cliff welding shop, Guerrero studies the pieces and looks for logic, for lines - for answers. When inspiration strikes, Gregory says, Guerrero becomes an unstoppable force, a one-man show without need of an audience. For Guerrero, the work explains itself. So do the results. "Some people just give me a box of pieces and say, 'Make it pretty'," he says. "So far, I haven't had any complaints