A Room Full of Angels

I've noticed a running theme in my bedroom's decor... one that I cannot explain.

It recently came to my attention that my bedroom is filled with angel-themed decor. My older sister Caitlin pointed it out during her last visit. “I wasn’t expecting your room to be so religious,” she said, eyes roaming as she took in my newly decorated bedroom. In true second born fashion, I took umbrage with my older sister’s opinion and instinctively sought to discredit it. Scanning the room, I found only three pieces of outwardly “religious” art: a small prayer card featuring a renaissance painting titled “Madonna,” a mirror from Santa Fe, and a Mexican candle displaying Our Lady of Guadalupe. “These are clearly here to be art pieces, not signs of religious devotion,” I countered.

“Okay… but there’s like a ton of angels,” She said. My eyes narrowed into slits as they swept the room but quickly widened to the size of saucers. There were a ton of angels in my room, more than I had realized. To my great horror, my older sister was right, which left me no choice but to go on the offensive. “It’s a shame you didn’t inherit Nana’s artistic eye like I did,” I said. My sister rolled her eyes and that was the end of it… for her at least. Upon her departure, I crept around my room like a detective searching for clues and took angel motif inventory. The final tally: 11 pieces of angel-themed decor, much higher than my initial estimate of “a handful.”

“Keara, how could you not notice 11 pieces of angel decor in your room? I mean, it’s your bedroom for Christ’s sake!” You chide. But if you saw my bedroom, you would understand. Hanging on the smallest wall of my bedroom are four framed paintings, four poems, six postcards, a 3D shelf in the shape of a Grecian pillar, a “Doors of Ireland” key holder, a key, a bracelet, a roll of film negatives, a cowboy piggy bank, a watch, a papier-mâché flower I received from Caroline Calloway, and more. A maximalist at heart, I view an empty bedroom the same way Michelangelo once viewed a slab of marble: material for a masterpiece. But unlike Michelangelo, I require more than a mere chisel to bring my pièce de résistance to life. I require decor and I require a lot of it. Lucky for me, I have just that! I began amassing my empire of decorative accoutrement about a decade ago and continue the process to this day - after all, Rome was not built in a day. Every few months or so, I’ll find myself inexplicably drawn to eBay.com, a website where my mantra of “buy first, find use for it later” has never led me astray. The miniature zebra planter on my vanity may have been created with the purpose of housing a small cactus, but it was destined to store my q tips!

Still, I find myself a touch embarrassed for not noticing my apparently strong affinity for angels earlier. I myself purchased many of these items, I myself took great care deciding where they should go, I myself hung them up and rearranged them accordingly. But the things we love are not always obvious to us at first. As Mr. Darcy once said, “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” One by one, the angel decor built up over time, and before I knew it, I had a room full of angels. But why? I think to myself, Why am I so drawn to these heavenly creatures? What is it about them? What is it about me? Perhaps, if we examine these angels one by one, we can find out.

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The Desk Angels:

1. Lute Angel: Pictured above on the top left side is a printed cutout of what appears to be an adult, male angel playing the lute - so let’s call him Lute Angel. He hangs on the wall above my crown-molded bookshelf, my favorite amenity of the room. The drawing was originally in black and white so I shaded it in myself with colored pencils, which has proved itself to be a handy life-hack when you’ve just run out of colored ink. I pasted Lute Angel to my wall simply because I liked the look of him - I saw no deeper meaning at the time. But on closer inspection, I’m realizing that Lute Angel looks eerily similar to my ex boyfriend. Oh god. The curly hair, the wide eyes, the nose, the jawline, the facial expression - it’s identical! Then there’s the lute of it all! My ex constantly played the guitar, which is both of similar shape to and a direct descendant of… the lute. Though I harbor no ill will towards my Ex, the resemblance may be too uncanny for me to bear. I don’t think I can unsee it. Anything that I would feel the need to cover up should my Ex ever enter my bedroom should, at very least, be reconsidered.

2. Baby Cupid Angel: Directly underneath Lute Angel is a credit card sized printout of an angel in cupid form (cupid means “baby” in angel speak). Naked and midair, Baby Cupid aims his signature bow and arrow at an unseen figure below. Judging from the one eye he has closed for accurate depth perception, it seems that Baby Cupid Angel is about to strike. I love him for his comically large, pudgy tummy and the mischievous twinkle in his eye. I wish I could see where his arrow lands!

3. Poems by Mr. Gray (otherwise known as Swan Angel): Next to Lute Angel and Baby Cupid Angel is a framed poster of the book cover for Poems by Mr. Gray by Thomas Gray. The book cover features a bright white angel (or what looks like an angel anyways) riding a large, flying swan (or what looks like a swan) through the air. The angel holds the swan’s reins in his right hand and a white lyre in his left hand, which may be a case of distracted swan driving. But I can’t say for certain as I am unfamiliar with the rules and regulations of steering a giant, flying swan. The background is pale blue, my favorite shade. I cannot tell if the angel is meant to be man or woman or neither and it does not concern me.

The Bed Angels:

4. Horatio, The Shy Cherub: Last September I undertook my first ever home decor DIY project: a wallpaper headboard with a crown molding border. For the wallpaper itself, I landed on a 60 inch wall mural of Jose Del Castillo’s 1775 “Allegory of the Music.” The centerpiece of this painting is a cherub, who I named Horatio because of a joke my roommate Evan made about the name. But here’s the thing: only the top half of the headboard is visible, the bottom half is hidden by my bed, and Horatio is almost entirely concealed by pillows. So no one entering my bedroom sees Horatio… that is, until the dramatic reveal! I always wait until the guest and I are settled, lounging on the bed and gossiping as friends do. Then, at the moment they least expect it, I say, “Would you like to meet Horatio? He’s very shy… but he would like to say hello.” The guest agrees, albeit with a wary look on their face, and then I pull my pillows apart and voila - it’s Horatio! This bit makes me feel as if I’m pulling a book from the shelf and revealing a turning, secret passageway. It never gets old.

5. Moon Angels: Hanging above my headboard are the Moon Angels, who live inside a 5x6in gold picture frame that I stole from my parent’s basement. The Moon Angels are an octet of women with long, flowing hair and even longer, flowier tunics. They fly around the moon looking beautiful and graceful, not at all weighed down by the baby cupids clinging to their feet. Though they seem to revel in their moonlit flight, I suspect that soaring over the moon is a part of their specifically assigned angel duties. If so, they serve as a shining example of how to balance motherhood with one’s career.

6. Twin Cherub Shelf: Watching over the Moon Angels is Twin Cherub Shelf, an early angel-themed purchase that I acquired from Ebay.com during my 2022 “fun shelf” phase. My previous bedroom lacked in square footage but boasted an uncommonly high ceiling, so I had to get serious about vertical storage solutions. I am ashamed to admit that the crack in Twin Cherub Shelf came from a traumatic incident it suffered last summer at my hand. I accidentally dropped it during the moving process and it broke in two. Thankfully, my emergency super-glue reattachment operation was successful and Twin Cherub Shelf made a full recovery, albeit with a scar. On top of Twin Cherub Shelf stands my Gramere’s vase, which my father gifted to me because I am the only one of his daughters who appreciates knick knacks.

The Vanity Angels:

7. Heaven Hell Mirror: On the wall adjacent to my bed hangs a funky mirror from Santa Fe, New Mexico that - you guessed it - I stole from my parents basement. The mirror depicts heaven at its top, the wasteland of purgatory in its middle, and the fiery bowels of hell at its bottom. My mother hinted that she would like the mirror returned when I visited home last Christmas and I intend to use this as leverage some day. You see, last summer my mother and I visited the newly opened Luna Luna exhibit in Los Angeles and this exhibit had a gift shop. Available for purchase inside this gift shop were the original, vintage 1987 posters from the open-air amusement park at a high yet reasonable asking price. My favorite of the lot was the poster featuring every artist’s interpretation of the moon and upon learning that it would likely never be replicated, I decided to splurge. My mother, the daughter of an art history professor, approved of this purchase and offered to go splitsies, which we did. Though the poster is technically ours, my mother has claimed first rights to it and it currently hangs in the living room of my childhood home. When the time is right, I plan to ransom Heaven Hell Mirror in exchange for Luna Luna. It’s only fair!

8. Mother and Child Angel: Of all the angels adorning my bedroom, none are sweeter to gaze upon than the Mother and Child Angel above my vanity. How strange it is that something so small makes me feel so much. The oval cutout features a mother angel holding her baby angel and pays homage to Duccio di Buoninsegna’s “Madonna and Child.” Mother and Child Angel hold each other close, cheek to cheek, relaxed smiles on their faces and eyes closed in a moment of pure love and peace. Every time I look at Mother and Child Angel, I become overwhelmed with happiness and the love I feel for my mother. I think of all the times I laid on her chest the same way. I think of how my mother and father are the only two people in the world whose hugs I can actually feel when I remember them. I think of how everything good in me comes from my parents.

The Dresser Angels:

9. The Two Cherubs: Sitting atop the center of my dresser is a decorative yet functional tray whose inside depicts The Two Cherubs, who are themselves part of a larger painting by Raphael titled “Sistine Madonna.” The 1513 painting depicts Madonna, flanked by saints on either side, holding the Christ Child in the clouds of heaven. It is only at the very bottom of the painting that we see The Two Cherubs, who look up at Madonna from below with expressions of boredom and disinterest. I think The Two Cherubs might be the most accurate depiction of children that I have ever seen. Little kids have this innocent yet restless nature about them that I can’t help but admire; they hate the role of bystander, even when bearing witness to events of great importance. They don’t care about what’s happening unless they can get in on the action and I find this trait adorable. The large oval tray that The Two Cherubs reside in functions as the permanent home of my hair brush and the halfway house for any bits and bobs I don’t feel like putting away at the moment.

9. Baby Angel Trinket Box: On the right hand corner of my dresser sits Baby Angel Trinket Box, a small, porcelain trinket box whose top features a cross legged cherub figurine. There’s something about the cherub, perhaps his pensive pose or the dreamy look in his eye, that makes me feel as if I’m stealing a cookie from the cookie jar whenever I open the trinket box. I like to imagine that the cherub was tasked with guarding the contents of the trinket box but is too sleepy or distracted to notice when I open it. Baby Angel Trinket Box currently holds my tiny hair ties but could also function as a clever hiding space for drugs, if you’re into that sort of thing. I, of course, wouldn’t know anything about that.

11. Angel Lamp: Behind Baby Angel Trinket Box stands Angel Lamp. I’ll bet that when you first read the words “Angel Lamp,” you assumed the lamp shade would carry the angel motif, not lamp base. But oh, how wrong you were! The lamp shade is a boring, plain white with no texture or frills. Forget about the lamp shade, fuck the lampshade, burn it for all I care! It’s replaceable! The lamp’s base, however, is not to be forgotten, fucked, burned, or replaced as it is dear to me. Angel Lamp’s base is all texture and frills and stands steady despite the precarious claw foot situation it's got going on. Jutting out in the center are two cherubs who we’ve caught in the midst of two opposing tasks. Another set of cherub twins? Perhaps twins are more common in heaven than on earth? I can only speculate as I have never been to heaven. If these cherubs are indeed twins, they seem to have opposing personalities. One cherub flies through the clouds while at the same time playing the lyre, an impressive feat of multitasking. The other cherub sits on a cloud and reads a book and somehow remains undistracted by the flying and lyre playing going on overhead. Despite their opposing interests, these two cherubs find common ground in fashion and sport tasteful swaths of fabric over their nether regions.

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So, why do I have so much angel decor? Honestly, I still don’t know. I thought I would have an answer by now. I thought that maybe, if I took my time and examined each angel closely, I would understand. But I don’t understand. And strangely, I am not bothered by this. When I think of the angels in my bedroom, I am reminded of my favorite interview. In 1999, the year I was born, James Lipton interviewed director Steven Spielberg for an episode of Inside the Actors Studio. We’re 30 minutes into the interview when Lipton and Spielberg get to discussing Spielberg’s 1977 film Close Encounters of the Third Kind and it is here that Lipton makes an important connection for Spielberg. “Your father was a computer scientist, your mother was a musician. When the spaceship lands, how do they communicate?” says Lipton. Spielberg breaks into a wide, goofy smile and replies, “That’s a very good question. I like that… You’ve answered the question!” To clarify the answer for the audience, Lipton states, “They make music on their computers and they are able to speak to each other.” At this revelation, Spielberg holds his hands towards Lipton and says, “You see, I’d love to say I intended that and I realized that was my mother and father but not until this moment…” Spielberg trails off, seemingly at a loss for words, and the audience applauds. Right before it dies out, Spielberg looks Lipton in the eye and says, “Thank you for that.”

It had been 22 years since the making of Close Encounters of a Third Kind when that interview exchange occurred. It took Steven Spielberg, one of our greatest living directors, 22 years to realize that the film was an ode to his mother and father. What’s more, it took someone else pointing it out to him! Which is why I love this interview. It demonstrates the shortcomings of independent self reflection. The downside of being human, a fundamentally social creature, is that we cannot see our whole reflections without a little help. There is too much of us to see and we hold more mysteries in ourselves than we have time to solve. Sometimes we don’t understand the art we create until much later, if at all. Sometimes we don’t understand the deeper meaning until someone else points it out to us. Sometimes we love things for reasons beyond our and everyone else’s comprehension. If I never understand why I love angels, I’ll be happy to live with that mystery. If I eventually come to understand why I love angels, I’ll be glad I solved the case. And if someone else realizes why I love angels and points it out for me, I’ll give them a wide, goofy smile and answer as Spielberg did. “Thank you for that.”