endless summer

THIS SUMMER has been an unbalanced liquid mixture of emotions which tilt to one side or the other and give me the feeling that I will never regain my sea legs. I've been thrown off balance like never before through a lost relationship and other surrounding turmoil. That's why I haven’t posted on my blog for a while. But with time as our most constant and dependable friend, things have a way of finding equilibrium and balance again. One really finds out who their friends are during times like these. I've realized that instead of giving all my love away, I have to begin with a good portion for myself. It's definitely one of life's hardest lessons to learn (and relearn). Once again, I'm finding my way back, finally. And again, I'm sure I'll forget, because when I love, it's from a deep place in my heart and soul and I lose my head in the clouds of what could have been.

BEACH BEAUTY | This festive tree combines a beach-inspired assemblage of mercury glass shell ornaments; starfish ornaments of all shapes, colors and kinds; glittered "sea creatures"; mother-of-pearl covered orbs; and tiny mercury glass ornament punctuations of teals, greens and gold.

EVEN THOUGH I haven't made a trip to the beach since last November (to Mexico), the abundance of the summer rain this year has been a welcome relief from the heat of a landlocked city. Fortunately, an effect of this seems to be that there has been a cleansing of souls all around. Astrologically speaking, June and July this summer were dominated by what is called the Grand Water Trine. According to Michael Lennox, a newly discovered astrologer I've enjoyed reading (and watching), it’s an astrological configuration created by Neptune in Pisces, Saturn in Scorpio, and all of the planets that have recently been in Gemini entering into the early degrees of Cancer—the three water signs. When the planets line up in this way, they create a harmonious flow between them, offering up the benefits of such a flow of energy. And water simply moves around and over any obstacle instead of getting trapped. This so-called Grand Water Trine assists us in finding the flow.

SEASHELLS by the SEASHORE | A thoughtful mixture of sea-themed ornaments creates a magical memory of the beach.

THIS BEACH-THEMED TREE celebrates a shift toward a much-needed matriarchal softness in the world that the recent astrological events are supposed to bring. My previous posts entitled Under the Stars and Heartstrings were mostly laments. Ironically enough, this post’s tree was planned well before either of the former posts, as I've carefully gathered the elements for it for many months, starting last autumn. It has been a process-oriented gathering, which I could never get to come together because I always felt something was missing. What was missing was me, and my ability to pull myself together—I had all the elements in place all along, but I have to say that a few key items were added to the mix along the way that made a symbolic difference. This tree has the bright magic of a subdued summer Christmas, which is entirely appropriate—at least figuratively. 'Tis the season.

LUCKY STAR | This pressed tin star (Hecho en Mexico) is a symbol of my last trip to the beach in Tulum, Mexico last November. One of the last additions to my gathering of decorations for this tree, I bought it at Atlanta's High Museum Shop during their fantastic Frida and Diego exhibit this year (now closed). Associations like this give resonance to the ornaments I use to create a tree.

BOOK of DREAMS | Available here.

The preface of the summer section of my book based on this blog still resonates and amplifies the metaphors I associate with the ocean. Memories of childhood trips to the beach, riding the waves and soaking in the summer sun have replayed in my mind all my life. Reality has caught up with me again and I'm metaphorically (and astrologically) riding the waves created back to solid ground again. Devin literally saved my life when I was overwhelmed by the ocean waves in Tulum, Mexico one day last November, and now I've found myself having to save my life all on my own. It's funny how reality can become metaphor again. Here is the preface of the summer section of my book in its entirety (as adapted from my original blog post):

ONE OF MY FIRST MEMORIES is of pointing to the ocean. Throughout my life my parents told me that the first word I uttered was “see” as I pointed out to the sea. A trip to the beach with my parents and siblings was a yearly summer ritual. In true road-trip fashion, there were few finite plans made before hitting the road. The drive to the beach would begin before the crack of dawn to ensure we could find a place to stay before nightfall. Since I was the youngest of four siblings by a ten-year gap, it was always a middle-of-the-backseat trip. I would lean with my elbows on the back of the front seat between them. Daddy's Lincoln Continental was like a smoothly cruising land yacht sailing to paradise. Because he was so anxious to reach our destination, it was almost impossible to get my father to stop during our trip. Once there, we would check out the scene at the beach before finding a motel with a vacancy. The limitless horizon of the ocean 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. Recalling and projecting in my mind's eye the flickering Super 8 movies my father made of our summer vacations, I can ponder the limitless possibilities in life and death. In my dreams, summer never really ends.

SUMMER SPREAD | The opening spread of the summer section of my book (which gathers decorating ideas for celebrating the four seasons).

TOP SHELL | I simply removed the cap from one of the mercury glass shell ornaments and turned it upside down to produce a unique tree topper.

READ IT AND WEEP | Remember the 2010 Gulf Oil Disaster? Still buying gas at BP? Read this scathing article. 

Please revisit my original post lamenting the BP disaster if you missed it in 2010 or have forgotten about it (I refused to ever call it a "spill"). In a season of beach-themed trees for The Decorated Tree, it's entirely appropriate to get mad about the BP cover up all over again. I hope the beauty of the beaches you visit and the lull of the ocean springs you back into action to do something to raise awareness to keep this sort of thing from happening again. (Regretfully, the stickers my friends and I made—detailed at the end of the post—to remind people about the devastation that was happening are no longer available). 

©2013 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

under the stars

IF FOR NO OTHER REASON than to wish for a true soul partner—gazing upward at a starry sky from an unencumbered beach unspoiled by the lights of civilization—can bring one’s destiny into focus. An entirely romantic notion? Possibly. But it is worthwhile to succumb to the humbling presence of limitless sky. In a fleeting moment, you can feel as though you’ve tapped into the divine plan for the universe. 

SEASHELLS AND CANDLELIGHT | An assemblage of shells and other objects, a few of which were found on the beach at Tulum; encroach the container of this driftwood tree. The candle (its cucumber lime scent being named Tulum) was one of a few thoughtful birthday gifts this year from Devin Borden, my fellow traveler (and partner of two years) to that magical place in Mexico last November. The small "tree" attached to a piece of coral was found during a walk down the beach at sunrise on the last morning of our trip. Aside from the many unforgettable memories, this is the most cherished souvenir I returned home with—a piece of nature serving as a sort of divining rod to uncover the inspiration and resonance for this post's writing months after this life-changing trip.

HAVING THIS EXPERIENCE with someone you wish to be a living and growing part of your life will ignite a fire at your core that can never be extinguished by absence. If anything, if you truly love someone, “absence does make the heart grow fonder.” Plato theorized that each person is half of an androgynous being split by the gods, creating male and female. Within us, at a deeply subconscious level, we know something is amiss; and we seek wholeness again.

THE DIVIDE might not always be a distinct separation between male and female. There are components of both in all of us. Like puzzle pieces without an image imprinted on them, it is difficult to recognize how the fit comes together. But with enough turns, and enough inward and outward examination, the shapes can finally be matched and locked together.

DRIFTWOOD AND STARS | The garland loosely wrapped around this driftwood tree is made from plastic-coated electrical wire in yellow and green, strung with metal stars implying the "electric circuitry" of the night sky. These stars have been oxidized to create a rich verdigris patina—representing the alchemy and magic seen in the night sky layered with millions of stars.

THE LIGHT REFLECTED from the stars speaks to us. When laid bare before our eyes we are reminded that we are tiny pieces of an unimaginably infinite universe. We can be manipulated by change as easily as the slightest breeze wafts yesterday’s dust into a corner. But we can will ourselves to make our lives happen right before us. We always have a choice to seek, to learn, and to find our own paths.

SUPERNATURAL TOPPER | I've cherished this unusual winged mermaid for many years. Holding the treetop star, she finds a symbolic home atop this tree. With her fish tail and wings, she embodies the link between the earth and the sky, creating a perfect visual metaphor for the larger-than-the-both-of-us connection we felt that night under the stars.

THIS IS THE STUFF of life. Our journey, our meanderings under an infinite immovable sky, are revealed to us in an awesome glory, guiding us in ways beyond our will, beyond our reality, and beyond our imagination. Finding this resonance with a soul partner is the ultimate intent of my dreams. I want us to grow together into a creation unimagined by our limited view of events and ideas for which we absurdly place a label of truth.

STAR PATINA | Some of the metal stars developed interesting color patterns during the oxidation process, forming a varied, but cohesive palette for the neutral background of driftwood assembled into a tree.

THE REAL TRUTH is found in our humblest moments. Moments that resonate at our core in an honest movement through time and space that is entirely precious and profoundly creative. This creative force is love—pure and simple. What our past was, as seen from our future deserves more than a blink when looking back across our shoulders. It is possible that an eternally binding love still grows between us.

MAY THE BLINDING ambient and “civilized“ artificial light of our daily lives not obscure the stars. May we always remember the way we felt and what we saw in that multi-layered night together. And may we learn to cherish those who make us whole again. May we learn to assemble those fleeting moments into a union as sure as the footprints we leave in the damp sand. And maybe we’ll finally see those limitless moments as clearly as the unobscured starry skies we look deeply into to navigate our futures—together—even if we’re apart.

ONE MUST STILL HAVE CHAOS IN ONESELF TO GIVE BIRTH 

TO A DANCING STAR. 

—NIETZSCHE

TULUM MEMORIES | A vacation collage assembled from only a few of the photos from our trip to Tulum, Mexico in November 2012. In the photo of me at bottom left, I'm holding a diminuative "tree" embedded in a piece of coral, after finding it on the last morning of our stay there. Instantly becoming one of my most cherished trip souvenirs, it makes a reappearance among the seashells in the photos above—a definite talisman of good memories and future dreams.

WATCH THIS! WE HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY TO AWE:

©2013 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

oil and water

THE  IDIOM "oil and water don't mix" is a way of saying two beings or characteristics don't go together. So true in many ways with the ongoing Gulf of Mexico oil spill—literally and figuratively. The Gulf Coast beaches of Alabama and Florida have long been a late spring and summer getaway of mine since college. I go there for the pristine beauty—the clear emerald/blue water, the rejuvenating salty breezes so deftly maneuvered by calling seagulls, and the pristine white sands. All this has lulled me time-and-again to a paradise that is irreplaceable. I haven't visited in a few years, but now the Gulf beaches are threatened with an environmental disaster of crisis proportions. The damage has already been done in the ocean. Already endangered sea turtles and other marine creatures are dying and washing ashore. The shellfish population can't swim away from the spill and could be wiped out for a generation or more because they are poisoned by the oil (this decimates one of the largest populations of shellfish in the world). Our dolphin friends and other seafaring mammals are coming up to the surface of the water for a breath of what? Oil? 

WHAT  A  PARABLE  this has become. When the Deep Water Horizon oil rig exploded, eleven people (oil rig workers) were killed and the site is still spewing oil into the water which has reached shore in Louisiana and Mississippi, threatening one of the richest wildlife areas of the world. And this is not the beginning. There are oil spills all over the world. This one just happens to be in my "backyard." Look at the ever growing list of (major) oil spills here.

FOR  THOSE  OF  US  who consider our relationship with the natural world as something sacred, we have reached a point of no return—a point where we consider just how sacred it is to us. We are all complicit in the civilization we have created, whether it is having out-of-season produce shipped to us from continents far away or driving our cars to work. Our planet is in distress because of our actions—human actions—and the other inhabitants of this Earth, who we call "wildlife," are left unwittingly to the destruction and havoc we have wrought. At what point do the economics of a situation not matter? At what point do we shift into a collaboration with Mother Earth, instead of a war with her? We, as humans do not hold dominion over the natural world, except in its destruction.

THE  BEACH-INSPIRED  TREE  above was planned for a later post as purely a celebration of the beautiful beaches of the Emerald Coast I hold so dearly in my memory, but now it has become a poignant reminder. It has become an urgent call to find alternative sources of energy—to "think globally" and "act locally." I am truly at a loss for more words about how I feel about this. Words are no longer enough. We must really hold sacred our relationship with nature. It is lamentable that it has come to our own survival to force our hand.

BEACHED TREE | (Above, top) This "tree" is entirely fabricated and made from wire, rubberized plastic (a petroleum product), fabric leaves and who knows what else; is from Pottery Barn Kids (and is entirely unsustainable). But the decorations are mostly made from metal wire, willow, glass, starfish and natural shells (the jewels of the sea). It is held in a container from the defunct Smith and Hawken. The blue/teal pot was found at Marshalls. The silver starfish is made from polymer resin (another petroleum product) and is from Ross. The fisherman's floats (from Pottery Barn) are a reminder of what a struggle fishermen will have because of the spill for years to come.

COLLECTED  TREASURES | (Above, right) Seashells are the jewels of the sea as well as the  sea glass (see below), along with seeds, pods and other natural items are ironically the basis for this season's decorative trends . . . evident in many stores like Pottery Barn, West Elm and Anthropologie. The bag holding part of what I "collected" is made from brown plastic netting (a petroleum product). The round mat is woven of dyed paper "grass" from the 2005 Contemporary Home Collection at Target. Last, but certainly not least, a gorgeous porcelain ceramic bowl (interior is glazed a light teal color) is entirely handmade by local potter named Cara Gilbert.

THIS  WAY  TO  THE  BEACH | (Above) Assembled with wire, most of the ornaments are made from shells, starfish, glass beads and tumbled "sea glass." Sea glass actually tumbled and worn smooth by the sea is harder to find than what you usually see sold in bags in the market. It is a poignant re-offering of glass litter that ends up in the sea, and only one way nature has recycled some of our trash to remind us of the beauty and importance of our coexistence with it.

©2010 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

photography and styling by Darryl Moland

DO SOMETHING

Many of us have been wringing our hands. Cursing. Pacing. And praying about what’s happening to our beloved Gulf Coast. Wishing we could just do something.

This is the something a few friends and I decided to do (below).

These stickers will help spread the word. After all, the coast belongs to all of us. Blame, fury and responsibility do too.

My friends and I hope that this sticker will represent all of us as a people united by heartbreak—as well as determination.

And we hope the dollars collected and contributed will help rescue, rebuild. And restore.

It’s a drop in the ocean. 
But it’s something. 

CRUDE AWAKENING | It's CRUDE how our oceans  and our coastlines have been treated by Big Oil (ultimately, the mirror reflects back to all of us as long as we're not moving to change our dependence on oil). Buy 5 stickers for $10 and we'll donate a minimum of 50% to Gulf Coast restoration efforts. Or look to our site for at least 4 ways to contribute your time and effort to care 4 our coast. All here.

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