Kitsch love

Kitsch. Technically, it’s a German word that translates as “in bad taste.” In the arts, the term is used to describe a work that is vulgar, pretentious, or lacks sophistication. But it’s seems to be a typically American thing. It’s almost like we invented it. Otherwise, an online dictionary defines kitsch, or kitschy, as follows:

Noun

Art, objects, or design considered to be in poor taste because of excessive garishness or sentimentality, but sometimes appreciated in an ironic or knowing way.

"The lava lamp is an example of sixties kitsch."

Adjective

Considered to be in poor taste but appreciated in an ironic or knowing way.

"The front room is stuffed with kitsch knickknacks, little glass and gilt ornaments."

Yes, the lava lamp was—and still is—a true icon of kitsch. But there’s so much more. Lawn flamingos, paintings of kids with big eyes, snow globes, and everything associated with Tiki culture—including most of the cocktails. In the 70s, one could argue that life in general took a kitsch turn with alarming men’s apparel including the likes of belted sweaters, leisure suits, and acres of plaid. The lapels of blazers and neck ties of the time could have been measured in square footage. Then the 80s dawned, bringing Reaganomics, narrow ties, and lapels. And for women, shoulder pads and big hair.

And yet kitsch remained. It seems timeless, even seasonal, like pink aluminum Christmas trees and Easter Peeps in every color of the rainbow. But what is it about kitsch that’s so oddly appealing? That makes it at once timeless and yet ever-changing. Perhaps context is part of the reason. Sometimes, circumstances may force one to accept the inherent kitsch of the moment.

The latter happened to Carla and me in 2002 when we moved into the Pacheco St. house in the City, where we would live for the next 15 years. Even before getting settled into the new digs, we stood in the small bathroom off the kitchen, staring despondently at wallpaper that had probably been installed during the Ford administration, and a sink and lighting fixture combo that looked like prop rejects from a community theater. Then, in a moment of brilliance and inspiration, we decided to embrace the tackiness. We would make the bathroom a shrine of sorts dedicated to Elvis. After all, I had Elvis artifacts a-plenty thanks to my late brother Ted’s gift giving over the years. As seen above, the bathroom was soon filled with Elvis kitsch, from votive candles to a life-size Jail House Rock Elvis cutout on the ceiling to a fat Elvis suit complete with a pink boa hung on the back of the door. For the record, I tried on the suit once. I started singing alto almost immediately.

The Elvis bathroom became a thing of legend, especially among students would come to the house for coaching. But the kitsch didn’t stop there. I had plenty of little kitschy bits on display in Pinched Versailles, my office, that I’d accumulated during my travels.

There were also unspoken rules in the house concerning time and place for kitsch. Specifically, it had to be confined to certain spaces and didn’t belong in others. Take, for instance, the time I decided to temporarily replace two prints hung in the dining room above the hutch with reproductions of big eye paintings. I thought I’d surprise Carla with the change in artwork and didn’t tell her.

On returning home, she immediately spotted the prints and said something along the lines of “what the hell is this?”

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“Nice,” she responded, “but put the other prints back up. Now.”

I sighed and replaced the artwork, wistfully thinking of a day when I would find a home for the two adorable bug-eyed urchins.

When we moved back to New Mexico in 2017 I made sure to have touches of kitsch in my new office, which initially was in the laundry room. The same laundry room with an aging washing machine that had an evil red eye that looked like Hal 9000. It sounded like a rear end collision every time it went into the final spin cycle.

These days I have my own office. It’s fabulous but the walls still need a bit of art work. Over time I’ll carefully select original pieces. But I’ll still leave some wall space for the uber-mundane. That’s because I believe in kitsch. I do, I do. In fact, as I write this, I’m eyeing the room looking for a perfect place where I could hang the two prints of those adorable little scamps with the Frisbee eyes. I may have to consult Carla. She’ll know exactly where to put them.

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My new book, “Strong Water,” will be released on Tuesday, November 12th, 2024.

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