devilish or divine?

HALLOWEEN tricks or treats can be devilish or divine, respectively. But there's always an edge of one or the other with either—the good always comes along with the bad. Disguised blessings seem to be the rule—one has to stay cognisant of the bright side of things or the lesson learned. My beautiful Calico cat Luci (photo in this post) was diagnosed with cancer (squamous cell carcinoma) affecting her tongue just this week, so I'm greeting this holiday season with a grim perspective of how precarious life can be. I'm trying my best to keep in mind that I still have more precious time with her until that day comes. I try to find solace in knowing that she's fifteen—a ripe old age for a cat. Keeping hopes for the best, her future is uncertain. Cancer of this type is an insidious disease that is practically untreatable. As long as she is not suffering too much, I have her, but I won't let her suffer for my sake. I hope she'll let me know for sure when it is time.

HER NAME is actually Lucifur in longhand. In Latin, the name literally means "light-bearer." It is almost always used as a name for the devil (Lucifer) in Christian convention. The pagan myth of the fall of angels associated with the morning star was transferred and personified as Satan. But in my life with this incredible cat, I can't  begin to think of that name in a negative light. Some contend that Satan and Lucifer are two different beings. It's all mythology to me. Fallen angel or morning star, all I know is that my Luci has been a constant source of light for me and all those who know her.

ALTHOUGH a mischievious and playful kitten, she is quite a divine diva in her adulthood—and deservedly so. Instead of being a devil, she has always been a complete joy. She's the Cat in Man and Cat Omnidesign. Whatever amount of time she has left, she does and will live in my heart—a shining light and a true familiar spirit. She has become a part of my soul.

THE FRIVOLITY of the holidays is always balanced with things to spoil all the fun. St. Nicholas in Europe (especially in Austria) is accompanied by his companion Gruss vom Krampus (or Krampus for short), a devil-like creature with a long tongue (what a terrible irony with Luci's diagnosis). As St. Nicholas travels door-to-door leaving gifts for all the good boys and girls, Krampus deals with the ones who have behaved badly over the course of the year. Krampus is pretty harsh. He shackles the bad ones and stuffs them in a wood-staved pail on his back and carts them away, flailing them mercilessly with a switch from his birch bundle. The jolly, twinkly-eyed St. Nicholas is an American invention, patterned largely  on Washington Irving's tale of the good saint as chubby, pipe smoking and industrious figure. Irving was a member of the New York City Historical Society which promoted St. Nicholas as its patron saint. The writer Clement Clarke Moore's "Twas the Night Before Christmas" and the classic cartoon of Santa by Thomas Nast which illustrated Washington Irving's (under the pseudonym of Diedrich Knickerbocker) "History of New York from the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty" popularized the modern form of Santa in America. This fictional history took hold and pretty much erased modern memory of St. Nicholas' discipline-dispensing companions. European traditions of St. Nicholas always rewarded the good and unleashed the punishment of the bad with his dastardly and devilish companions. 

ON THE EVE of St. Nicholas (December 5th), hordes of people gather in Austria and Hungary to participate in an unusual winter festival called "The Running of the Krampus" (or Krampuslauf). It is an Old World tradition in which young men dressed as Krampus are brought into town by the gift-giving St. Nicholas in his long robe, glistening miter (a bishop's hat) and carrying an ornate pastoral staff—and unleashed on the crowds. The furry Krampus costumes are largely handmade and elaborate, sometimes towering seven or eight feet tall. This all serves as a reminder to all that goodwill to all men and charity toward one another should be the modus operandi for all of us in the coming year.

MY CAT LUCI reminds me of all this with complete simplicity. All it takes is a nuzzle and a lick or a bite on the nose to let me know that good behavior is reflected back toward one in many unexpected and mysterious ways. One has to take the bad with the good. Love is as ephemeral as the morning star. Love bites, licks and is warm and furry. And regretfully, it is ephemeral in the end. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

DEVIL IN THE DETAILS | A publishing anomaly it seems (not available at this time), I found this beautifully-designed "Red Fire" edition Bible (above, right) at Ross on the clearance book shelf. It is a bit of cultural anthropology that illustrates the sometimes myopic and unwitting mistakes the culture of publishing makes, along with the sometimes desperate attempts to moving the young masses by modern religion (to make it "cool"). It is accompanied by a mouthblown and handpainted devil/Krampus head ornament by Inge Glas of Germany. Imagine a proselytizing barker standing on the street corner holding this Bible toward heaven and yelling out fiery words of hellfire and damnation.

KRAMPUS AND CAT | A valuable antique Krampus (probably German) scrap ornament framed by a circle of lametta tinsel is from the mid-to late 1800's. It is shown with Halloween postcards, one of which is postmarked October 28, 1908. The stalwart cat sitting on a fence and silhouetted by a full moon is a die-cut Halloween invitation from the Martha Stewart Crafts line at Michael's (2008). The small bumpy glass ornaments from Martha Stewart Everyday at Kmart.

KRAMPUS IN DISGUISE | An unusual candy-colored interpretation of Krampus (left) by talented illustrator Ana Bagayan is deceptively inviting (used with her permission). Her blog is here.

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, 

photography and styling by Darryl Moland, illustration ©Ana Bagayan

folk wonderworks

GOOD FOLK ART has a resonance that seems timeless and without a place—except in our imaginations. The pure and childlike simplicity (or complexity) of it combines a myriad of ideas in a friendly and accessible way. Santa Claus has always been the subject of folk art. His origins date back to a Dutch (Sinterklass) folk tale derived from the historical figure Saint Nicholas, who was also known as Nicholas, the Wonderworker because of the many miracles attributed to his intercession. Just as primitive art forms visually inform in the most sublime way, the verbal art of storytelling and oral history is passed from generation to generation. It is as if the gift-giving that Santa is known for starts with the spoken tradition of storytelling passed down to the next generation. It is interesting to note that modern Dutch life in the Netherlands heralds St. Nicholas Eve (December 5th) as a much more important holiday than Christmas.

WITH SO MANY varying stories about how and where Santa originates (depending on what country you're from and depending on which form of Santa is popular), it's no wonder one starts seeing Santa as early as Halloween (if not all year in some form). Living in Atlanta (home of the Coca-Cola Company), the ubiquitous American form of Santa in Coke ads helped shape his modern-day image. Although I don't condone kitchy Coca-Cola tree ornaments (why?), the well-designed World of Coca-Cola museum houses an incredibly interesting array of Coke ephemera, folk art and advertising (including a large array of Coke Santa illustrations and ads). To sell flavored, high-fructose corn syrup-sweetened water which is extremely bad for your health, the advertising has to be innovative. If nothing else, Coke is to be applauded for its cutting-edge advertising history. Born-and-raised in the American South, I was practically weaned on Coke-Cola (as true Southerners call it). There is nothing like an icy glass of Coke during the dog days of summer, although I try my best to steer clear most of the time.

IN THIS unusual, almost sinister-looking folk art figure that could be Santa, a snowman, Christmas or Halloween figure (above, right) is holding a pumpkin candy basket in one hand and a goose feather tree stem in the other, you see a wonderful amalgamation of the holidays right through Christmas, no matter what culture in which you learned about Santa. This little guy was so unusual, I had to bring him home. He illustrates such a wonderful and unapologetic folk art weirdness!

I BOUGHT a misfit candy container at a discount store that my friend David Schump retrofitted with a folk art Santa that he made (an incredible folk artist in his own right) from vintage trims and a rabbit fur beard and gave back to me (being re-gifted was never so good). He sculpted the face and hands from clay and painted them carefully. It was such a wonderful surprise to see what he had done (left). This little Santa has a similar effect on me. When looking at him, how can you help but smile and wish good tidings and cheer to everyone—whether Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas? The bubbles might burn your throat on the way down or even bubble up in your nose (like a Coke), but the sweetness will make it go down all right. Let the mash-up we call the holiday season begin! 

HALLOW'S SANTA |The Santa figure (Top) was distributed by Bethany Lowe Designs and originally made by an inspired folk artist Virginia Betourne of Trout Creek Folk Art. I bought it in Westside Atlanta at Star Provisions. 

FOLKSY GIFT |My friend David Schump (a fellow graphic designer) embellished this snowball candy container (Above) in a most sublime way. I'll cherish it for years-to-come. He even placed a surprise in the inside with red-and-white-checked pleated round with a die cut Santa head in the middle. 

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

spinning a holiday web

USHERING IN the holiday season is Halloween. Alongside the shelves of the ever enlarging Halloween merchandise available every October, the Christmas shelves start to fill. There always has to be a trick with a treat to keep good little boys and girls in line. The Christian co-opting of these holidays had a lot to do with this. Several of the oldest European Christmas traditions seem more like Halloween traditions—tricks for bad, treats for good. The old-world traditions were modified to keep the sins of humanity in check in the Christian world. The meaning and symbolism depends on how you look at the magic and mystery of the holiday season that begins with All Hallows Eve. Halloween has its roots in the Celtic festival of Samhain (a celebration of the end of the harvest season) and the Christian All Saints' Day. Although the latter holy day now occurs one day after Halloween, they were both originally celebrated on the same day. But with the blending of holidays one-into-the-other every year, it's hard not to get them all mixed up (like Jack Skellington did—more below).

LEAPING FROM Halloween to Christmas isn't hard web to spin at all. According to German and Ukraine legend, a poor woman was unable to buy decorations for the holiday tree and decorated it with fruits and nuts. Spiders that were displaced in the holiday cleaning of the house spun beautiful webs all over the tree Christmas Eve night. When Father Christmas visited the house, he saw the web-covered tree and changed the webs to silver. Christmas morning, the family awoke to a sparkling tree covered in silver "tinsel." The legend of the Christmas spider is commemorated by placing a silver spider in its web and using tinsel on the tree. The magic of the holiday season is ushered in by the sinister things associated with Halloween (like spiders) every year. The stories have all been modified to fit how one sees best—religious or secular.

IT'S HARD TO to believe the 1993 Tim Burton stop-motion animated movie The Nightmare Before Christmas has already celebrated its 15th anniversary (last year). In the movie, Jack Skellington from Halloween Town opens a portal to Christmas Town and becomes enamored with Christmas, and the fusing of the holidays ensues to great effect. This movie is Tim Burton's best animated film in my opinion. It has a purely magical quality that stands above many of his successive films. It is consistently rated as one of the best Christmas films and  blends the two holidays in an unprecedented way. It's not hard to see how Jack Skellington was inspired by Christmas, even though his attempts are off-kilter because all he has known is Halloween.
 

HALLOWEEN FESTIVE | (Above, right) The large white pumpkin topped by a bewitched bird is from Ross. Green and orange Polish ornaments are reminiscent of a pumpkin and the calyxes of Chinese lanterns. The cat head noisemaker, along with the pumpkin/lantern ornaments are from Cost Plus World Market, and shown nestled with a real miniature white pumpkin and seasonal gourds (from Publix). The cat head noisemaker's (jingle bells attached with a pipe cleaner) original checked bow was replaced with a bow tied from 'Happy Halloween' ribbon from Martha Stewart Crafts at Michael's (2008). The small bumpy ornaments from Martha Stewart Everyday at Kmart round out this fall-colored collection. 

SPIDER SENSE | A Christmas spider in a large white bugle-beaded web ornament (above, left) was bought from a vendor at Scott Antique Market—I believe it is Czech in origin. The reproduction old-fashioned tinsel garland in a coil is from Bayberry Cove by Bethany Lowe Designs, was marketed for Halloween on one side of the sleeve it was packaged in, and for Christmas on the other side. It is attended to by a cardboard spider silhouette from Martha Stewart Holidays at Target (a test market?). The tiny orange and black Halloween baubles are from Border's. 

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

glass houses, stone calendar

T H E   I D I O M  "people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones" is a well-worn one (idiom, not stone). Of course, it means that anyone criticizing anyone else should have their own house in order before they throw stones (criticism) themselves. It's a hard thing to do for most people, including me—especially the 'house-in-order' stuff.

T R A N S P A R E N C Y  seems to be the catch-word of the day. It seems we live in times where privacy is non-existent. Could this be part of the paradigm shift in consciousness talk about coinciding with the end of the Mayan calendar on December 21st, 2012? Is it the apocalypse? Or just another day of slow, tedious destruction of our life-giving natural environment? Maybe it's just good fodder for another cataclysmic Hollywood movie.

H O M E   S E E M S  to be  the only safe space left—in order or not. And it's always where my cats are (hence the name of my freelance business—Man and Cat Omnidesign). My calico named Luci and my Bengal named Abella seem to have it all figured out. They spend their days relaxing, sleeping and eating; while the rest of us get all geeked out on doomsday stories or the more pressing stuff that fills our days to exhaustion. Maybe cats have already shifted their consciousness and we should take a cue from them to just relax. Why else would the Egyptians have thought them to be gods? Ancient civilizations (like the Mayans and Egyptians) seemed to be onto something cataclysmal, but life-affirming. 



GLASS HOUSES | These mercury glass house ornaments were collected from (top, right) Cost Plus World Market (with snow), Star Provisions, Ebay (antique gold with trees), and a Christmas shop at Biltmore Estates (gingerbread house ornament mouth-blown and hand painted in the Czech Republic by Holiday Lane). The stones are from the creek bed that was the neighborhood swimming hole when I was a boy—well, worn and ready for throwing. 

WARM AND FUZZY | The Man and Cat Omnidesign mascots, Luci and Abella (above, left). Luci, the Calico is the most incredible, magical cat I've ever had. She likes her yogurt in the mornings and has been with me for 16 years now. Much younger than Luci, Abella, the Bengal is loud and rambunctious. She always wants to drink from the tub or sink faucets. They are my constant companions and I adore them.

CALENDAR MYSTERY | The mysterious Mayan calendar (right) ends (or transforms consciousness somehow) on December 21, 2001 (Winter Solstice). The Maya had precise knowledge of our solar system's cycles, which they thought coincide with our spiritual and collective consciousness. No one really knows a lot about how or when the Maya culture began, but they have an enduring prophesy. The archeological evidence of them is shrouded in mystery. We'll have to wait and see what mystery will be unveiled during the holidays of 2012.

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

flowers for my mother

THE PINK ROSE has become a supernatural symbol of my mother since her death. I dug up my mother's favorite pale pink rosebush from my childhood yard before my siblings and I sold their house a few years ago. Planted in a large container now, it has bloomed only on mother's day and my birthday—literally, the first blossoms opened on those particular days in the last couple of years. Whatever blooms were set in bud those days were the only ones of the season. In another unexpected instance, eight unusual pink paper roses arrived unexplained in a small box within a larger box of other items I had mail-ordered. I distributed those eight paper roses between my siblings as a posthumous gift from my mother. I didn't dare inquire why, but I had a sense that my mother has something to do with those roses being packed in the box.

I TOOK a colorful vase of homegrown roses from my mother's hospital room that my parent's neighbor, Jo Aultman, had brought to her during her last days. I left the hospital after mother died and drove the short trip home—the place where I had grown up. I looked at the roses and the air became electric. It felt as though I was seeing the life energy of those roses vibrate in front of me. I felt this incredible energy enter through the top of my head and travel throughout my body, all the way to my toes. If this is what Nirvana feels like, I felt it. I had an incredible sense of giddy happiness and a sudden inexplicable peace wash over me. It was as if, once she had realized she had passed on, she wanted to touch me one last time—even though I was holding her hand at her bedside when she died.

I KNEW it was my mother's spirit. Nobody can tell me any differently. In talking to my brother Mal later, he had a similar experience. That confirmed it. I wasn't loosing my mind in grief. I knew my mother was free of her failed earthly body and in a happier, more peaceful place. I knew that everything would be alright. Beyond that, this experience was a coded knowledge—something was there that I still can't explain. I've held that feeling with me in low times. It must have been a taste of the freedom one's soul feels after death—a confirmation that our souls have a life beyond our physical selves. What a gift! 

I BROUGHT mother roses from that bush innumerable times when I was a child. She brings roses to me now as an adult. That pale pink rose is a symbol that she is gone, but has become more than that. An excerpt from "Calling All Angels," a song played at mother's funeral in July 2005 (that I had played for her after my father died) says it as only poetry can:  

. . . and every day you gaze upon the sunset
with such love and intensity why it’s...it’s almost as if
if you could only crack the code
then you’d finally understand what this all means 

but if you could...do you think you would
trade it in all the pain and suffering?
ah, but then you’d miss
the beauty of the light upon this earth
and the sweetness of the leaving . . .
                                                        —Jane Siberry

THIS LAST DAY of summer, I give my mother flowers once again, this time for all to see. This is a medium of light and energy, after all. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. She and my father gave me a life that continues to blossom. They are the bedrock my roots hold onto and draw nourishment from. As hard as it is sometimes to keep my head up, all I have to do is remember them and I bloom with the palest, most pure intent. They are still shining beacons of hope to me. And hope does die last.

SUMMER'S END | This collecton of mercury glass flower ornaments (above, top) spill from a pink container next to a preserved rose wreath I gave my mother for mother's day a couple of years before she died. The pink roses are German-made ornaments, the orchids and pansy ornaments are made Poland—all of which are from Martha Stewart's now defunct Martha by Mail catalog. The three amaryllis blossoms were bought at Kmart a few years back and were purchased from the Martha Stewart Everyday Christmas Luster collection. The yellow trumpet flower clip ornaments are painted glass made in Poland and were found at Saks Fifth Avenue in Phipps Plaza, Atlanta. 


FLYING HOME | The aforementioned paper roses (above, left) that arrived inexplicably in the mail after my mother's death. Two birdhouses are tiny ornamental representations of the homes of free spirits. Birds, of course, can build their own homes, but are practical enough to feather their nests in whatever shelter they find.

LOVEBIRDS | My parents, Hubert and Virginia Moland (right), in a giddy moment early in their long life together. Photographer unknown.

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

summer immortal

These are the days when birds come back, 

A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June,
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!

Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,

Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!

        —Indian Summer by Emily Dickinson 

AS  SUMMER days come to an end this year, I remember my father. Born September 18, 1922, today would have been his 87th birthday. This day seems more significant to me now than the day he died—a day that is strangely all-too-easy to remember. He won't be here for the day I die, but there's always the feeling he's somewhere nearby. I have living memories in my head. The immortal wine has been tasted. 

GROWING  UP, it was a rare occasion to have wine in our house, except for the time around Christmas. My mother was old-fashioned in her beliefs and frowned upon "the drink." Grape juice was passed around with the communion crackers at the local Baptist church we attended religiously. Mother would relent and my father would ritually buy a bottle of Mogen David Concord Grape once a year which would be used to soak the fruitcake she made. As a small act of defiance, daddy and I would sneak a sip or two when he thought I was old enough. It was my first lesson about the hypocrisy of the church—no matter if Jesus' turning water into wine was only symbolic. We would be washed clean by our actions, not by our thoughts. We were all taught to do what's right, whether we thought about it or not. Mother and daddy grew up during the depression and knew that when times got tough, everyone should pitch in and help those in need, not hold tight to what was "theirs." They worked hard and were the give-you-their-shirt-off-their-back kind of people. And I loved them for it.

A  ROAD  TRIP to the beach was almost always our summer vacation. The drive to Florida would begin before the crack of dawn so we could find a place to stay before nightfall on our travel down the Atlantic coast. Our destination was usually Daytona Beach, but one time I remember we rode almost to Miami. Since I was the youngest of four siblings (by a gap of ten years), it was always a middle-of-the-backseat trip. I would lean up on the seat between my parents in my father's Lincoln Continental, which was like a smoothly-cruising a land yacht floating down to paradise. I think my father favored the beach at Daytona because it was so wide you could actually drive your car on it. It was hard to get him to stop until we reached our destination, when we would head down the beach in the car to check out the scene before we found a hotel vacancy. It was always exciting to me. From the quarter-fed Magic Fingers vibrating beds to the sand dollars and starfish I would find, I loved the beach and everything that came with it.

BEFORE  my parents even met, my father was an Army paratrooper in WWII, distinguished by being a Sergeant in the 101st Airborne Division. It was late summer and autumn of 1944 before Adolf Hitler made a last effort to hold his terrible German reign, and on Dec. 16, 1944, German troops surprised and overwhelmed American forces in the Ardennes Forest in the crucial Battle of the Bulge. It was a pivotal moment that ended the tyranny of Nazi rule. The Germans lacked the troops to maintain their success and within two weeks, my father (and the other American soldiers), commanded by General George S. Patton, stopped the German advance into Belgium.

DEFENDING the world’s freedom in the good fight of World War II, as part of America’s Greatest Generation, my father felt this was his utmost accomplishment. He owned a part of  history. He learned to conquer fear. He was a hero to all of us. We became a family of teachers of one sort of another. My sister Donna taught American History. My brother Ronald coached tennis, taught math and eventually became a high school principle. My brother Mal continues to teach unselfishness, kindness and love (like my parents did). And I like to think I'm good at teaching others about art, design and beauty.

THEY WERE MARRIED soon after daddy's arrival back home after the war. They went unceremoniously to the courthouse in Decatur, Alabama on December 23, 1945, so the holidays were always wrapped up in an anniversary. My parents had 59 years of wine-soaked fruitcakes before they both died in 2005. My father led the way, as always, in February of that year, and my mother died soon after that in July. Our family was witness to a boundless love that connected two people at a level that transcends separation. 

MOTHER AND DADDY always gave me a Whitman's Sampler on Christmas Eve every year after I figured out who the real Santa Claus was. It nearly always was placed on the sofa across from the tree in front of the living room picture window—the sofa where I always sat and stared and dreamed, until my eyes blurred with the sparkle of  lights, ornaments and tree melding together. I was hooked.

I RECEIVED another Whitman's Sampler this past Christmas Eve from my friend Jon. Ironically, it was the first year since my parents death that I had completely forgotten to buy a box for myself. And it reminds me every year that life is [truly] like a box of chocolates—and Santa does exist—if you believe in the magic of Christmas as I was taught to do.

ONE OF MY very first memories is pointing out at the ocean. My parents always told me I used  the word "see" when I pointed to the sea. The limitless horizon and the rhythm of the waves never cease to lull me back to that place where the breezes cool, even as the sun warms my face. And, I can ponder the limitless possibilities of life and death, recalling and projecting in my mind's eye, like the flickering Super 8 movies daddy made of our vacations. Summer never really ends.

SEASHELLS AND STARFISH | (Top) Collecting sparkle from the sea, these ornaments (above) evoke a trip to the beach. Like a ship's figurehead, a carved wooden mermaid with wings takes a flight of fancy all-her-own, and a blown mercury glass seashell from Homegoods sparkles like the water. Two glittered starfish from Martha Stewart Everyday Sunshine Celebration line from Kmart and five conical seashells are cast to form a single golden star from Margaret Furlong designs. An antique stretch glass plate serves as the blue of the ocean.

PRIDE AND PALMS | (Second from top) A photo of Hubert L. Moland, my father (above, right), taken before redeployment in 1942 after ending a tour in Africa before advancing to Germany. The flag is one that flew on his grave for a short while. The Sears Craftsman pocket screwdriver was carried on his key chain for years—always at-the-ready to fix something.The coins are ones he collected and represent different eras of American history—from a 1921 Buffalo nickel, a 1979 Susan B. Anthony dollar, a 1976 Bicentennial Eisenhower dollar with the Liberty Bell in front of the moon, to a 1971 Kennedy half dollar. The seashell was one that daddy kept in his medicine cabinet for years, "probably only because it had a hole in it" my brother Mal told me. And the ring to the left of the seashell was the second wedding ring my father bought my mother because her first wore through after years on her hardworking hands. It's the one I always remember her wearing since I came along so late in their lives. 

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

tree of light

IMAGINING the first holiday tree, it must have been the lighted ones that really touched the primal spirit of our collective psyche. Like the first magical fire that danced in front of man's eyes, the addition of light brought the sparkle and wonder alive. There is no doubt that the decorated tree has become one of the most beloved and well-known symbols of life during the holidays.

AN ANCIENT custom, the decorated tree has played an important part of winter celebrations for centuries. Whether it was the Pagans honoring the spirit of nature with festivals incorporating decorated trees; the Vikings believing that the cold darkness of winter would end with the light of spring returning, as long as there was an evergreen around; the Druids of ancient England and France using fruit and candles to decorate oak trees—honoring the gods of harvest; or the Romans celebrating Saturnalia by arranging trinkets and candles on trees—the ritual of decorating a tree is stored deeply into the collective consciousness of our holiday celebrations.

IF  IT WAS the patron Saint of Germany, Saint Boniface chopping down the Oak of Thor in a stage-managed confrontation with the old gods and "heathen" tribes—and claiming the small fir tree growing up in the roots of this oak as a new symbol of Christianity; the initiator of the Protestant Reformation, Martin Luther being inspired to light an evergreen with candles to illustrate to his family, the twinkling of stars through the fir trees at night; or the German Christians adopting the evergreen indoors during the new Christian holiday, the decorated tree is a ritual that represents an inspired collective of ideas and beliefs.

THE TRADITION spread throughout Europe, culminating in the first real media attention for the custom when engravings of Prince Albert, who was German, along with his wife Queen Victoria decorated the first Christmas tree at Windsor Castle in 1841 and it was written up in the London Times replete with an engraving (see below for a later illustration in color). They decorated their famous tree with candies, gingerbread, fruits, nuts and candles to their children's delight.

GERMAN IMMIGRANTS came to America in the 1830's, bringing Christmas ornaments with them. Most Americans still considered the Christmas tree a heretical symbol of Paganism. One of the first public displays of a Christmas tree was set up by German settlers in Pennsylvania. But it wasn't until the late 1800's that Americans began adopting the irresistible custom of the Christmas tree.

EVEN  IF none of these legends are entirely true, the origin of the decorated tree in modern times has many connections to Germany where the first glass ornaments—humble representations of evergreen pine cones were made. Even in parts of Germany where evergreen trees were scarce, families would build a Christmas pyramid—a simple tiered structure decorated with branches and candles. Pagan or Christian, the act of decorating a tree, for whatever reason, resonates with most of the world's population. 

CHRISTMAS  TREES were then decorated with nuts, apples, cookies, strung and colored popcorn, and candles while European ornament collections were begun. Electricity brought strung-together lights in the early 20th century. The idea of  the lighted tree spread as quickly as electricity and Christmas trees became a household fixture during the holidays. And in communities across the globe large outdoor displays of holiday trees and lights have been adopted over the years—the world lighting up with the magic of the winter season.

ON  THIS  ELEVENTH day of September, we in America still have a lot of candles to light and a lot of thoughts and prayers to be answered, either by God or by our own actions. And it's not lost on me, but my eleventh blog follower, after resistance to the chaos he finds in my life, has finally realized that this blog is my way of digging through  the rubble of a passion to collect and making something of it. Thank you Mr. Jon Chavez for being patient with me and being the brightest light in my life. The number eleven has truly become significant for me (a time prompt from spirit guardians or not). I'm making a wish before I extinguish any flames. 

SPARKLE AND LIGHT | Pine cones—long symbols of fertility and even eternal life—were some of the first German glass ornaments made for use on the holiday tree. I gathered my collection to decorate the most perfectly-shaped fir tree I could find (photos above). Simply adorned with a widely-varied, but singular collection of old and new pine cone decorations, this tree evokes a timeless historical elegance. It is draped with an antiqued tinsel garland from Bethany Lowe Designs (above, right). The candles held atop the trees branches in metal pine cone-shaped clips from Germany create a beautiful flickering warm light unparalleled by modern electric lights. The lighting of the tree became an occasion that year (2007) and was a pure celebration of the origin(s) of the decorated tree. The finial glass tree topper was made for the brilliant Thomas O'Brien retromodern ornament collection for Target several years ago.

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
collecting and styling by Darryl Moland, photography by Jon Rou

HISTORY AND MYSTERY | In these two illustrations, Martin Luther is shown to be one of the first to place candles on the branches of the evergreen tree brought inside (above, left) and the English monarchy that was Victoria and Albert are credited for popularizing the decorated tree in 1841 (above, right).