Like most young artists, my earliest endeavors were created with specific spaces in mind. The carefully colored card was designed to accompany a Mother’s Day breakfast. The family portrait – outsized dog included – was a purposeful refrigerator piece. And the construction paper ball, liberally festooned with globs of glue and a healthy helping of glitter, was always destined to become part of the family collection of Christmas tree decorations.
In our household, my creations seemed to make the tree for more years than I preferred. Every year, these increasingly crumpled paper artworks, having shed a bit more of their glittery shine, were placed on the tree — front and center. I found it embarrassing in much the same way a naked baby picture draws a blush.
Finally, as a teenager, I remember asking my mother if some of those first toddling attempts at art might be retired for something a little more tasteful — like a Hallmark Darth Vader. She shook her head and laughed.
“Steven,” she said. “Why does Christmas have to be tasteful?”
That was something of a revelation to me. I remember looking around the living room where beautiful Yule objects clashed conspicuously with slightly less-refined Uhles objects. There were Christmas candles that glowed softly, illuminating the mismatched stockings where one was included for the dog. There were garlands fresh from the forest and figurines selected at European markets. We also had a dancing Santa Claus. In fact, the only thing our motley collection of holiday objects and decorations had in common was that they all meant something to us — including my bedazzled paper ornaments.
Later, I would move to England and spend a few holidays with my girlfriend (now wife) and her family. I remember arriving at the house in early December to find foil garland draped across the ceiling. To my uneducated eye, the effect seemed garish and lacking a certain Christmas gravitas. But then I went into another home, and then another, discovering along the way similar foil garlands across ceilings, wrapped around the banisters and carefully tacked to mantles. What I saw wasn’t an aesthetic choice as much as it was an adherence to tradition. That was the way the English celebrated.
The truth is Christmas celebrations don’t need to be tasteful and from a purely academic standpoint, they usually aren’t. I remember one year squinting proudly at the hazardous tree that I managed to cram 1,500 lights onto — how it glowed like the sun until I set those lights to flash. Then it felt more like a supernova. Beneath that tree, and every tree since, sat a stuffed Chihuahua in reindeer horns and tighty-whities. Lovely to look at? Absolutely not — but woe was the wrath of the Uhles children should “Rendeer” not make an appearance. Even an old pair of my baby shoes is usually nestled in our tree branches as it, ensuring the circle is unbroken, memorializes my kids’ first art project.
The point: Christmas doesn’t have to be tasteful.
I would venture to say there is not a defined aesthetic as diverse, and debated, as Christmas decorations. For instance, my dream tree is a mid-century aluminum model, complete with a rotating color wheel. Throw on some transparent glass ornaments and I am dreaming of a holiday season bathed in reflected and refracted light. Perfect. Except my wife and children hate the idea. They think it’s tacky. They may be right.
The other end of the spectrum, of course, are those color-coordinated and carefully designed environments where the ornaments all match, lights are never askew and the stockings, hung by the chimney with care, clearly came as a set. I find that uninspired, unimaginative and not at all in the sentimental spirit of my Christmas wishes. I would go so far as to say that I find that kind of homogeny distasteful. But it isn’t my house, it isn’t my tree and it isn’t my joy.
In the end, holiday decorating is really a very distilled version of how we approach and appreciate any creative endeavor. We bring ourselves into the experience, the things we love, the memories we cherish and those baubles and bangles we find appealing. Perhaps my family’s approach to decorating feels a little haphazard — I prefer to think of it as impressionistic. Perhaps the Homogeny House lacks soul in my eyes, but for others it might be a carefully constructed symphony. As in all creative pursuits, there is no right. There is no wrong. There are no standards to adhere to, blueprints to follow, or rules that must be obeyed — except, of course, the preferences of one.
Happy holidays, my friends.
Seen in the November/December 2024 issue of Augusta magazine
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