Guiding Light

Much inspired by (IN)DECOROUS TASTE and her FABULOUS crystal encrusted table (the one everyone must see this exact moment…) we had the overwhelming urge (although this was IN NO WAY advocated in her post) to run around the neighborhood draped in nothing but stands of chandelier crystals. Now before the blessed (?) event could take place we came to our senses (??) and realized it is November in Seattle (and hypothermia be damned) the constant rain was going to cut down the spectators to our spectacle…ouch…someday you will see us on the news in some interior décor related act of anarchy. Do not say that you were not warned…

We will be the first to admit that we have some serious issues regarding lighting fixtures and their proper use and function. One will not find a traditional silk shade in attractive (as in putrid) shade of beige anywhere in our studio. Instead you will discover a singular and wonderful Art Nouveau table lamp with a stunning glass shade (a cherished antique that belonged to Seraph’s grandparents and then to his parents before making its way to our eccentric Obsidian Halls.) In a desperate cry for attention this lovely lamp has taken to spitting sparks and breaking bulbs thus becoming the latest (in a long list) of inanimate object disrupting the tranquility our lives…HA!

Along with the unruly heirloom we have a growing collection of pierced brass lanterns. Several have elaborate arabesque domes and dangle from spindly chains while others are adorned with beaded fringe and studded with mirrors. And there is one of course that looks as if it is from a Spanish dungeon (an erotic one that is…) Slowly most of the incandescent lights have been replaced with red bulbs giving an infernal glow that would make the Dark One feel right at home and forces our guests to stumble through dimly lit corridors just to find the powder room. (Did we mention that our relatives have stopped visiting us…hmm…?)

Speaking of unwelcome guests, the lighting fixtures that are installed in our apartment are new and from IKEA. Never has there been an uglier assemblage of track lighting, vanity bulbs and odd UFO inspired ceiling fixtures in the existence of mankind. We kid you not. Fearing an alien abduction or an unwanted interplanetary rift appearing in our parlor ceiling we finally broke down and hired an electrician to replace the offending fixture with a vintage chandelier. OK, “hired” is a strong word, actually we just gave the man that wanders around here doing maintenance $20 to put the thing out of its misery and return its body to the aliens. And for those keeping track at home this was NOT the same guy that came by to fix our drippy faucet, crawled under our kitchen cabinet and never came back out. The current theory (OK, the one we just made up on the spot) is that he was devoured by rats or is under there still living on crumbs from our under sink recycling bin …

Now the odd twist of this tale is the fore mentioned chandelier turned out to be the ORIGINAL FIXTURE (!!!) that was cruelly ripped from its proper home and discarded in the garage amid a pile of equally unloved cardboard boxes and delinquent patio furniture. Now it seems that over the month of unwilling exile all of its crystals were slowing taken by various vagrants and miscreant that lurk in the subterranean depths beneath our building. Needless to say by the time we rescued it needed both physical and emotional refurbishment. But after a little TLC and a dozen or so pounds of crystal shards, spikes and garland it once again illuminates our parlor…Tell us, dear readers, what illuminates you?

Black Sun Ascends. Forevermore.

Granted to the elected is the key to Chaos core.

Judge me now oh shining one, by blood and fire.

To wield thy sword, oh Lord and Master.

The eleventh and the first.

Whose wordless word echoes Chaos!

(“Legions of the Black Light” by Watain)

Art Department Part I

Now seriously folks, we have a Rembrandt hanging right next to a gigantic Brueghel (the elder, no less) along with an assortment of dark and dreary 17th century Dutch florals adorning our front parlor. And no, we have not won the lottery or have been caught drinking too much absinthe again… (although our garbage disposal…er, excuse us, our    “IN-SINK-ERATOR” as it demands to be called is starting to sound like the Beherit album “The Oath of Black Blood”…) But that is a problem for another day…No, our parlor is full of vintage reproductions. This is due to various factors including budget, questionable good taste and a perverse design aesthetic. Do not get us wrong, they are truly quite lovely clad in their crumbly gilded frames and the fact that they are grimy and smoke damaged only adds to their old world charm. And they look quiet authentic if viewed by candlelight and slightly inebriated…and in denial of reality…

Now if things were as they should be and we could pillage the museums of the world at will, our walls would be drenched in the finest of art. A great shrine to the beauty and mystery great art evokes. Now to avoid the consequence of a Thomas Crown Affair style incident here at Chintz of Darkness (we simply do not have the time…) we must appreciate our beloved artists from afar. This has perhaps been our excuse to begin to fill our studio with our own works. We personally draw much inspiration from the darker paths of art, especially works that transcend modern culture and instead focus aspects of mythology and the occult that still touch our everyday lives. We continue to work on our series of infernal beasts for Seraph’s Blood Etching project. Recently completed is the upper helm to our Beloved Prince sculpture. More to come on that soon…

The foreground to this post is the haunting and otherworldly paintings of Jørgen Boberg that were featured in Avant Garde magazine in May 1970. These works by the self taught Danish artist are truly remarkable. The series of images portray the enigmatic Teresa (perhaps inspired by wicked version of Teresa of Avila, a 16th century mystic.) The paintings are both sensual and disorientating, ethereal landscapes under skies of dread. Foreboding and mystery abound. Teresa is depicted as if her very body and soul have been dissected for a lavish and disturbing look into her being. Within her we see her dreams and nightmares intermingle with concepts of death and rebirth…Take a moment to contemplate these works if you will, dear readers…

Jørgen Boberg

Impersonal Whirling Cynical Hate

Abrupt Irritation Morphed (into) Anger

Pounding Exploding Ravishing Grimness

Genes Drenched in Ferocious Wrath

Chronic Deviant Mood Reactions

Vindictive Instincts greeted with Glee

Completely Born and Built to Loathe

A Dreary Hell's in Store of Me

(“Ravishing Grimness” by Darkthrone)

Costume Brawl

Judging from the looks we get in the grocery store we assume that we do not appear completely normal and assimilated with the society at large. Some weirdo is always gawking at us while we are selecting our day’s fruits and vegetables with an expression that seems to say “why aren’t you freaks in the smoke crack / worship Satan isle (oh, that is going to fill up the hate mail bag here at Chintz of Darkness…AGAIN…) And by the way that isle is usually right next to the orange juice and breakfast cereal … not that we would know…

Now just so that the correct picture is painted, we are not one of those lovely Gothic couples with perfect eyebrows (damn them, we shall infiltrate their ranks and steal their secrets) and gazelle like grace. No, dear ones, we are MUCH, MUCH worse. With that said, it usually comes as a surprise that we do not enjoy dressing up for Halloween. Every year there is some dumbass article on how to pick the PERFECT costume. “Dress as the person or thing you would most like to be” seems to be a popular concept. Now does anyone REALLY want to endure that at their next Halloween party, with our fiery horns poking everyone in the eyes and our tails singeing holes in the carpet? Another option that is often presented is to dress “OPPOSITE” of one’s normal self. HA! Do you really want to see Splendor with her hair brushed properly, wearing a white blouse and a sun bonnet? Or Seraph with his infernal aura covered by a sports jersey or a priest costume? Or perhaps, the insipid article will go on to say: “costume yourself as your hero, the person you look up to the most.” That is not going to work for us either, again just too much fire and brimstone to clean up in the morning…

For those of you still planning to take the plunge, we have gathered together a few helpful (?) ideas…Dressing as a piece of furniture is quite esthetically challenging, not to mention rather bulky and cumbersome. This fabulous 1960’s Swedish window display pictured above is an inspiration none the less. In our opinion installing a functional chest of drawers onto one’s torso is taking the concept TOO FAR. To simplify the outfit one could always attach drawer pull to one’s nipples or if shy to ones knee caps…

Costuming yourself as a book is wonderful for the literary minded. You can spend the evening with your pages romantically fluttering in the wind and your dust jacket can serve as a makeshift bib at the buffet table. Another advantage to this costume is if the night gets truly dull you can always go home and read yourself…hmmm…

A drapery treatment is a perfect costume for anyone in the design field (please note the lovely example that leads this post). You can use tricky words like galloon, jabot and fustian to confuse and frighten your friends and neighbors. It is a wonder that Seraph is not already swathed in goblet pleats and cockades with a lambrequin draped from arm to arm. We once had a client who would turn a becoming shade of scarlet every time we uttered the word “cockade” and we could never figure out why… (Side note: Seraph actually HAS been used as a semi surly living mannequin at times, adorned in elaborate headdresses that we made for charity balls …also, but DO NOT tell anyone, he has been known to drape himself in an elaborately appliquéd parlor blanket and run around the studio like a baroque superhero (and this was on a strictly voluntary basis.) Perhaps, after everything is said and done, everyday IS Halloween around here… (Thanks for that one Uncle Al!)

Halloween is the night

The legend says the ghost will rise

On Halloween they can't redeem

A restless soul from ancient scene

At the sound of the demon bell

Everything will turn to hell

("At The Sound of The Demon Bell" by Mercyful Fate)

Tented Gloom

OK, here at Chintz of Darkness we have participated in some strange activities and still have the scars and bruises to prove it, thank you very much. With that clearly stated there still remain several activities that we steadfastly refuse to partake in under any circumstance. Acts so vile and insidious that they cannot be spoken of in polite company and only whispered about in dingy doorways and dark alleys. You may ask, dear readers, what are these evil deeds that must be avoided simply to save ones soul? Why none other the insidious acts of DANCING AND CAMPING. Now we are not even going to dignify the subject of dancing. Suffice to say there are only two reasons one should dance 1) you are being electrocuted 2) NEVER!!! End of subject. 

 

As to the issue of camping, we live in a part of the country where the practice is held up to near mythic proportions. It seems that trudging around in the middle of nowhere trying to find some crappy place to sleep constitutes “communing with nature”. To us this concept is not only overrated but potentially life threatening. Why risk getting lost in the woods, falling down a ravine or getting devoured by a clan of mountain trolls? Every so called “outdoor activity” can be performed effortlessly from the comfort of our own home AND there is no need to get ants in ones pants or bitten by a hobgoblin.

A tented room is a great beginning to ones indoor activities. We started festooning our studio walls with wall hangings and banners as soon as we moved in. Soon the kitchen doorway was transformed into a fearsome entrance to an exotic pavilion with the ceiling draped in cloth of gold. Now the whole design theme has started running rampant. One must duck through gauzy passageways just to find the powder room and we have begun carpeting our apartment’s communal hallway (much to our neighbor’s dismay…)

Another activity that is well suited to the indoors is picnicking. Outdoor picnics are simply out of the question due to the fact that our tablecloth collection has ended up as wall upholstery and our placemats and napkins have been made into pillow sets. It goes without saying what we are not about to pack our fine china into some rickety food stained wicker basket or risk losing a silver spoon in the undergrowth simply to eat our lunch in the yard. Now by “fine china” we of course mean an absinthe fountain, a martini shaker and a set of blood red goblets. As for the silverware, our favorite set is stainless steel and resembles a Karl Blossfeldt photograph. Unfortunately the forks were stolen piece by piece by a pair of thieving ghetto witches that gained access under false pretenses and then riffled through our belongings at will. But that is a story for another day…YIKES, is it any wonder why we are hesitant to leave our abode to go wander around in some park looking at the trees? It is much more fun picnicking on fried chicken and potato salad while lounging around half naked in front of a velvet curtain on a luscious pile of pillows. But if you remain stubborn, dear ones, you can try this outside as well, but there is usually no place to hang the draperies…

In the future perhaps we shall tackle the controversial subject of blending interior decoration with hiking, but until then enjoy our indoor inspirations…

Last but not least, Thomas Britt’s amazingly lovely tent of gloom…

 Goblins of oaks and denizens of darkness

Bathed in the wine of a delightful night...

And lives there, but dies at dawn…

Dies in me with barbarous voice.

The dark forest enchants me!

("The Dark Forest" by Behemoth)

Chaos Incorporated

There seems to be rumors of late that Seraph + Splendor have gone missing again or are perhaps simply derelict of duty regarding their blog posting responsibilities. Have you ever stopped to think that the closets here at Chintz of Darkness have finally exploded into a hostile and violent rebellion and have taken us hostage? Now not everyone’s closets are armed and dangerous but ours apparently are. We kid you not, dear readers, we have spent the last several weeks cleaning and organizing in an attempt to appease our wicked captors. (By the way, the hall closet seems to be the instigator of this uprising and will be harshly dealt with when we regain the upper hand…like that’s ever going to happened…at least it has untied us and is allowing us to use the internet again…)

Live / Work is a concept that must be experienced to be truly understood. And no, simply having a small home office tucked away in a discreet corner of your house does not count. You must imagine combining your entire household with the sum total of your profession. The fun part is making business calls in your underpants; the downside is of course being taken captive by an inanimate object (or perhaps developing an overactive imagination…)

The other disadvantage to Live / Work space is that we have only the vaguest notion of where our personal belongings are. We can of course find our socks, house keys and black nail polish (his & hers) but have only the faintest idea of the whereabouts of things like birth certificates and photo albums. Our address book has faded into obscurity (although it has been amusing making up fictitious addresses for our friends and relatives such as Rivendell, Mythago Wood and the Shire. In actuality some of our family would fit nicely in the Shire, while others would be better suited to Mordor…ouch…)

The first lesson one learns about a Live / Work lifestyle is that rooms are rarely dedicated to one purpose and tend to shift like desert sand. There are times when we cannot see the sofa for days on end because it has become a rack for the product we produce. The dining room has been missing for years and we have been known to store bolts of fabric in the back shower along with a decade or so of tax paperwork and a set of heirloom china (the rational being “who needs formal china, when one cannot find the dining table?”) Our foyer (whose original purpose was apparently to just waste space in the original floor plan) has become our shipping and receiving department. It also contains an average of 23 bolts of fabric, a haunted dollhouse and a collection of antiques knives. The only visitors of late to our guest room have been several hundred pillow forms, which while quiet and well behaved tend to make the room smell like it is inhabited by a flock of flatulent ducks…

The room which if inhabited by normal people would be referred to as the Living Room is dominated by our 4’ x 8’ design table. This table is the heart and soul of our space, as most of the day’s activities revolve around it. It is a shrine to our hard work and an altar to our creativity. . Our sewing machines (there are three now) and ironing board hold a prominent place near the window, but intermingled with the tools of our profession are several Victorian parlor chairs, a hand carved mahogany game table and a half dozen lovely yet mismatched cabinets. Tucked into the opposite corner is our minuscule library which measures a petite and precise 40” x 54” and includes three hundred books, an ornate ottoman, a miniature cocktail table, some disturbing artwork and a dainty black clad slipper chair.

Gathered for your enjoyment are some images of exquisite clutter that we have collected over the years…tell us,how do you deal with the disorder in your lives, dear readers?

And Behold

I saw Tiamtu, the watery deep

Yes, the ancient serpent of chaos

In all its horrid glory, raging relentlessly

At the fire that had become the self

Being slain... and born again

Naught in extension...

(“Khabs Am Pekht” by Ofermod)

Dismembers Only...

You know when you spend the better part of an afternoon looking for the hacksaw and a copy of “Taxidermy for Dummies” Volume 1 AND 2 that it must be time for an update on this summer’s family reunion. We apologize in advance to anyone reading this that actually has a happy and well adjusted extended family. We have never actually met anyone who does, but there must to someone out there somewhere…

Now when the blessed (HA!) day finally arrived things immediately got off to a bad start. The temperatures were forecast to reach into the triple digits and thus we were both forecast to be in a crappy mood for having to spend an afternoon outside in brain melding, skin searing weather. We were tempted to bring some parasols, but the only ones we appear to own are made of crackling antique lacquered paper that would have spontaneously combusted and lit our heads on fire. Now that probably would have entertained the kids (who were those kids, anyway?) for awhile, but we would NOT have found that amusing in the least.

Things continued to go downhill when Splendor’s dear father FLAT OUT REFUSED to get in the car and announced he would be spending the day at home alone. Now mind you, dear readers, this reunion was completely comprised of his siblings and their evil spawns and assorted progenies. We did not realize that this was an event one could opt out of at the last minute and instead spend the day (more productively) surfing craigslist and drinking beer, while sending his wife, daughter and son-in-law to do his dirty work. Perhaps this caused a minor tantrum on our part - no one will ever know (well, besides a six block radius of neighbors who undoubtedly heard the screaming…)

As we rolled up to the reunion, fatherless and pissed, in our black gas guzzling doom mobile (that no, we DID NOT cast aside like a dirty sock in that stupid Cash for Yuppies, er Clunkers program) we were greeted by an assortment of relatives, who to be honest looked less than thrilled to see us. After a rigorous interrogation as to the whereabouts of Splendor’s missing father we were allowed out in the yard to eat some salad and observe people barbequing creepy looking meat products.




Now on the surface everything at the reunion seemed to go relatively well. Crying was kept to a minimum, no fist fights or dog maulings occurred and there were no outright acts of incestuous flirtations. We put in our time, behaved ourselves and even dutifully submitted to have our pictures taken. Then we quietly slunk home to Land of Darkness and Misanthropy (otherwise known as our apartment.) Over the ensuing weeks our minor angers and irritations faded like our sunburns until we received an email with a link to the online album of reunion pictures. Cringingly we perused the pictures only to find that NOT ONE IMAGE of us was included. Not only were there pictures of every other family member in attendance, but also images of the mailman, a pack of stray dogs and the garden gate…all of this has put us in a mood to dismember our family’s self appointed photographers, oh excuse us, photojournalists. Here are some our inspirations…

You have no choice of life or death
My face you will not see
I'll rip your flesh 'till there's no breath
Dismembered destiny

(Piece by Piece by Slayer)

Orange Crush

Everyone knows that the single most important invention of the 20th century was the creation of black laundry detergent. Over were the days when black clad individuals had to roam the streets covered in disturbing white smears and splotches, resembling sloppy eaters (of one kind or another.) Now it seems that the “powers that be” became aware of the counter culture contentment and decided to do something about it. The coveted detergent suddenly became wildly overpriced and hidden with other products geared toward degenerates such as rat poison, pickled cauliflower and methamphetamine ingredients (if it was even stocked at all…)

Regardless of what detergent we are forced to use, laundry day is quite a sight to behold around here. Nothing but an overflowing sea of black, punctuated here and there by a daub of charcoal or dismal grey. Now if anyone is interested, Seraph does the washing (in our creepy communal apartment laundry room, complete with circa 1973 linoleum and a thirty year deposit of grim…) and Splendor does the folding. Sorting it all out has become an esoteric science unto itself. One must ascertain whose Carpathian Forest shirt is whose, allot 23 pairs of black socks and determine the ownership issues of about 40 black hoodies, 15 or so being COMPLETELY IDENTICAL to the untrained eye. All we can hope for at the end of the day is that order has been re-established and that the neighbor lady hasn’t started stealing our underpants again (true story…)

Now nothing fades our dark mood quite as quickly as people who DO NOT for whatever reason follow the simple principal of a dark and dreary wardrobe. This time of year seems to bring out the worst of vivid summer dresses, pastel plaid shorts and pink halter tops. The worst offenders seem to be people who play group sports (WHY???), where colors go from cringe inducing to downright migraine causing.

French couturier Michel Klein’s fabulous farmhouse…

There is a Boys & Girls Club here in our neighborhood that seems to always contain A GROUP OF FULL GROWN ADULTS (!?!) playing of all things the evil and morally questionable game of kick ball. Now these freaks dress up in their garish, brightly colored sports costumes, er, uniforms and run around the field like complete idiots. We swear to darkness that the other day one of these weirdoes had a pink plush teddy bear strapped to the side of his head with a fuzzy white sweatband. Our recollection of the rules of kick ball that were beaten into us as children by our sadistic PE teachers are sketchy at best (probably due to the blood loss and head injuries…) but we DO NOT recall a outfield position that requires you lash a stuffed animal to your (obviously empty) cranium… Sometimes we scream “get the %&$# off of the playfield dumbasses, you are frightening the children, assorted small animals and THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE ITSELF” , other times we just evoke the name of the Dark Lord himself and hope matters take care of themselves…



Now all kidding aside (hmmm…kidding were we?) there is a time and a place for colors other than black. Here is a selection of burnt oranges, dingy gingers and murky melons that we find quite appealing. By the way, the lead picture in this post is Seraph + Splendor's "Harem Corner" in the master bedroom here at Chintz of Darkness...

Enjoy…

I know the way you feel I know it ain't too good
I know it feels like there's detergent in your blood

(“I’m the Doctor” by Motorhead)

Street of Crocodiles

Now here at Chintz of Darkness we have been demented (and fermented as well at times…) for as long as anyone can remember. We both decided at an early age to follow “the path less taken”. A path overhanging with gossamer cobwebs and shrouds of mystery. A moonlit trail strewn with a mosaic of perils and enchantment that one must carefully navigate. Existing at the fringes of society as we have, one learns to be surefooted and subversive, nimbly avoiding the pitfalls that would change the essence of ourselves and the work that we create.

( A wicked and sublime inkwell by Tiffany & Company)

(The breathtaking furniture designed by Michel Haillard)

Recently we spent our afternoon walk gathering twigs and branches (as well as an exquisite selection of crow feathers) for our new series of sculptures. As we neared our home, arms full of our gnarled harvest, it became necessary to cross the intersection of YUPPIE & SCUM (otherwise known as 15th & Market). As we waited for the traffic light to change we began noticing strange looks from passersby’s. Their expressions seemed to ask “who are these freakish druids and why are they performing a pagan ritual in front of our blessed 7-11?” (The answer to THAT would be, dear friends, trying to rid the world of the Big Bite Hot Dog, Cheesy Jalapeño Nachos and the National Inquirer all in one swoop of the wand…)

(Alec Cobbe Residence)

(...more of Michel Haillard's work.)

Now if someone were to tell you that later that same afternoon that the same freaks were spotted harvesting lethally sharp (yet lovely) thistles from the middle of a traffic circle with a ceremonial knife and an altar cloth, we certainly do not know what to tell you… the world is full of unexplained strangeness.

Upon returning home after our successful hunting and gathering foray we dutifully added our bounty to our growing collection of objects and ephemera that will be incorporated into our work. There are silver trays filled with antlers and bones upon sinisterly cloaked cabinets. A trio of stag skulls has taken over our parlor table, while a colony of costume jewelry has overrun the sofa. It now seems necessary to maneuver around bags of pheasant wings, nefariously purchased crucifixes and ceramic angels (just you wait, cherub, you won’t be smirking for long) simply to turn on the lights and one must climb through a maze of oversized gilded frames to retrieve a timid teacup… but do not get us wrong, we thoroughly enjoy living amid such an array of oddities and look forward to revealing our new conjuring you, dear readers…

(Frank Flemming's inspiring studio...)

(Seraph + Splendor's own Frog Orchestra...they play every night in the Haunted Dollhouse)

Until then a visual collection of some of our favorite inspirations…of special note is the exquisitely phenomenal furniture of Michel Haillard. (This is how we furnish our dreams…how about you?)

I am a Long Lived Snake, I Pass the Night and Am Reborn Every Day
I am the Snake which is in the Limits of the Earth
I Pass the Night and am Reborn, Renewed and Rejuvenated Every Day
I am a Crocodile immersed in Dread
I am the Crocodile who Takes by Robbery
I am the Great and Mighty Loathsome Reptile
Who is in the Bitter Waters
I am the Lord of those who Bow Down in Sekhem

(“Chapter For Transforming Into A Snake” by Nile)

Les Fleur du Mal

Charles Baudelaire was NOT one of those people who overlooked the wicked and sinister nature of flowers. Now if we were to write a book of poetry (HA!) we would definitely desire it to be titled THE FLOWERS OF EVIL, and since that is already taken you can just forget about the whole thing. The only true poet is Fenriz anyways…might we suggest “A Blaze in the Northern Sky” or perhaps “Under a Funeral Moon”? You do not earn the title of being Satan’s Poet for nothing, dear ones…

Now we will be the first to admit to being somewhat cynical but the other day we stumbled (literally) across a copy of Caroline Roehm’s “A Passion for Flowers”. (Ms. Roehm is a perfect example of someone who: 1) will NEVER be named Satan’s Poet, Handmaiden or helper of any kind and 2) considers flowers to be completely innocent of any crimes or misdemeanors.) We are not sure how we actually acquired this book (!) for it surely DOES NOT belong here. The only passion it induced was to throw the smarmy, goody two shoes (loafers, perhaps?) book across the room. Nothing gets on our nerves quicker than someone blathering on and on about happiness and light, not to mention filling white vases full of white flowers and placing them on a white tablecloth against a white wall…(oh, the horror…the horror…)

Now in all seriousness (because first and foremost this blog is about seriousness) we enjoy a lovely floral arrangement as much as the next person, although ours are a touch more sinister. We tend to like spooky bunches of dead twigs and twisted branches so that we can feel the dreary chill of fall in the air all year round. Over time these evil bouquets morph into a deranged botanist’s dream. Moons and stars stud the higher blanches, illuminating an entanglement of tendrils while gilded leaves glimmer amid blackened berries. One must keep a keen eye on these haunted bundles of decay for they tend to become overgrown, blocking doorways and sneaking up upon the unsuspecting with malicious intent.

A proper vessel for your decrepit arrangements is essential. Porcelain vases in joyful, sunny colors must be avoided at all costs. (Now if you insist on using a container because it was your Aunt so and so’s favorite, it must be paired with a human skull or an obscene statue of Pan.) Dreary glazes in shades of mud, coal and dried blood are just such more appealing. Brass is especially lovely as long as it is tarnished, corroded and pitted beyond recognition. (Note: any and all polishing of brass, copper and most silver will is a severely punishable offence here at Chintz of Darkness…) Wooden casks and crude baskets workable as well as long as they look as if they have been buried underground or spent several months lost at sea…

Now we hope we have inspired you, dear readers, to create some floral mischief of your own…

This night of late October
The darkside open its gate
Morbid souls wait for me
For satanic conspiracy

Flowers of doom
Rising in bloom
You will see
Our immortality!

(“Under A Funeral Moon” by Darkthrone)

The Games People Play...

Here at Chintz of Darkness we do not understand the new fangled pastimes and gadgets that people are currently so obsessed with. We are at an age when growing up there was more to play with than mud and sticks but hideous and mind numbing video games were not yet fine tuned enough for mass consumption. During the course of writing this post it has been agreed that playing with mud and sticks SHOULD be a required childhood activity, along with climbing trees, reading books (hey, kids remember those?) and tormenting your neighborhood until a petition is drafted to have you committed to the local zoo.

Growing up Splendor was not allowed to have Barbie dolls. It seems as though there were strict orders not to expose her tender mind to the oppressive feminine ideals that the evil doll represented. This was perfectly fine, because everyone knows DOLLS COMPLETELY SUCK! Much fun was had with the politically proper chubby baby dolls received as gifts. Charming and innocent acts such as scalping, decapitating and water boarding (Splendor was ahead of her time…) and then throwing the remaining body parts in the yard. After disposing of the offensive dolls, quality time was spent with a large collection of sentient and sublime stuffed animals…

As a child Seraph was quite gifted at creating panoramic battle scenes and architectural wonderments both indoors and out. Rumblings of a distant war turned the family’s backyard into a reenactment in miniature. Elaborate battles ensued complete with bloody wounds, flame throwers (dad kept turpentine in the garage…) and general destruction. Next time you see Seraph, ask him about the time when one of his sister’s dolls stopped by for a visit (again, proving that Barbie is a FILTHY SLUT.) Meanwhile, great indoor cities and spires sprung to life from the living room floor. This mystical assortment of oddly mismatch toys (hand me downs from both a brother and sister) creating vistas worthy of ‘The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari”. Seraph is still a gifted architect of many devious and wonderful things…

Now all of this reminiscing about our rather demented childhood amusements got us thinking of devising some adult diversions. Firstly, one would need a human chess set of scantily clad courtiers. Who among us really needs a reason for body paint and costumes, much less an excuse to dress up as a knight? We would have to do something about the bishops though, because we really do not want those freaks running around the yard. The next game would be life sized Chinese checker board. The game pieces would all be tambourine pillows or elegant ottomans in dramatic shades of shimmering jewels. Players could lounge around between moves and smoke “cigarettes” or meet in the middle of the board for cocktails. We began developing a designer version of Twister involving Persian carpets and lily pads, but the adequate number of contortionists and trapezes artists could not be located this time of year…Did we mention the masked attendants with whips…oh, wait that was a different game board entirely…

Gathered here are some of our favorite playing card pictorials… Most of the playing cards used in this post are from a fabulous deck called “The Keys to the Kingdom” by Tony Meeuwissen. (The “dirty” cards are of course by Paul Emile Becat…) Tell us, dear readers, what games do you like play?

Death can on both black and white horses ride

across the threshold of infinity he you guide

Death can step along smiling within the dance

and as a pawn in a game of chess you stand no chance

(La Grande Danse Macabre by Marduk)

Seeing Red

One might ask whatever has become of Seraph + Splendor over the last several weeks…have they finally dropped off of the face of the earth or perhaps have become ensnared in the usual summer activities ever so popular this time of year. While summer vacations are a luxury we cannot spare the time for, weddings and graduations are just not our style…

The one UNAVOIDABLE event on the horizon this summer is an upcoming family reunion. We will no doubt be poked and prodded like a disheveled yet strangely elegant pair of unicorns or scrutinized like ambassadors of an alien race. Our only hope is to “accidently” exposed Seraph’s full back tattoo in the buffet line or bring along a “guest” wearing nothing but a leash and a pair of bat wings. (Did we mention that our families think us to be a bit strange?)

As to our whereabouts recently, let us just say that it became abundantly necessary that we prepare a guest room (and no it has NOTHING to do with the fore mentioned reunion and please, dears ones, do not go spreading it around that such a room even exists…) Now there are many and varying opinions regarding guest rooms. Splendor’s father for instance is steadfast against such things as well as sofas, chairs and coat racks or anything else that might make a visitor too comfortable and over stay their welcome. On the other hand some of our friends think nothing of entire tribes of people staying with them at one time. Guests become all stacked up like bales of hay in various states of undress mingling like a pagan orgy or interpretive dance troupe…When the cornflakes and vodka finally run out it is only a matter of time before they starting cannibalizing each other (and not in the GOOD way...)

Now the guest room that we managed to hobble on rather short notice is a good starting point for more elaborate things to come. It now contains a velvet swathed bed in shades of lapis, plum and black and a collection of vampy leather pillows encrusted with cryptic symbols. A shimming drapery studded with bits of mirror dangles from an antique carved cornice depicting a scene whose meaning has been long lost to antiquity. In the corner stands a Fortuny inspired floor lamp keeping company with a rather naughty parlor chair. Naughty, you ask? It must be seen to be believed…

While this is a good start our DREAM guest room would be drenched in sanguineous, bloody red and would rather resemble a Victorian Dungeon in a very bad part of town…Gathered here for your enjoyment are a few of our favorite inspirations…whether you dream of crimson, burgundy or vermillion these visions should certainly get the blood flowing…

Wretched! Loved by our hate!

Weeping to a light finally failed

Fall upon our spearsAnd give praise

We reward faith with Sanguine blessings

Consent to kneel

And find a winged king!

(“Condemned To Glory” by Averse Sefira)

Birds of a Feather

Recently we took part in a conversation regarding a powder room dedicated to the Dark Lord himself (no, not Seraph, although that would make an interesting design scheme complete with tattoo inspired wallpaper and spiked towels. The corpse paint dispenser would of course be Splendor’s…summer is hell on the complexion. No, we are speaking of a room dedicated to Satan himself. Now this sounds well and good on paper but in practicality it is impossible to find good quality Luciferian themed decorative accessories, not to mention mundane objects such as toilet paper holders (you try to get a demon slave to stand still for hours on end…)

This inevitably led to an analyzation of our own powder room here at Chintz of Darkness. The first thing we discovered is that 1) it contains no actual powder and 2) it has morphed into a strange yet oddly lovely Peacock Shrine without our complete knowledge or consent. In fact we are not sure exactly where and when our collection of peacock related ephemera began, because SERIOUSLY peacocks are NOT top on our list of design themes. It seems on reflection that we have amassed a small army of cloisonné vases which for the most part are peacock shades of blue and green, as well as a gilded Italian tray in a wickedly iridescent emerald green. There is also an antique curtain panel / shower curtain that has contributed to the problem by being a dreamy shade of faded cornflower blue with a baroque brocade motif vaguely reminiscent of peacock feathers.

Other favorite pieces from our Peacock Shrine include a distressed mirror that we pretend is from a Cocteau set and a collection of vintage cosmetic tins with intriguing names such as “Encharma” and “Talco Apolo”. We have tried opening a few of these but instead of the rapturous scent of feminine loveliness it caused a cloying hazy stench of funeral flowers and baby powder. Needless to say we replaced the stoppers before we released the genies…damn, it is treacherous around here sometimes and yes, the carpets are still after us for what we said about them…

Perhaps our most beloved object is a large champlevé vase filling the corner of the room. This heavy encrusted vessel is crowned with an arrangement (disarrangement?) of witchy silver birch branches hung with antique chandelier crystals. We will NOT mention the miniature cloisonné peacock that resides there, because we are fairly sure that peacocks do not roost in trees or lay faceted crystal eggs in bronze filigree bird’s nests…surrounded by blue prisms evoking images of astrological orbs illuminating a pale yet glittering sky…OK, OK we will stop, we know we take our vignettes WAY TO SERIOUSLY for our own good. Does it surprise you that we have about a half a square foot of counter space left? We thought not…Tell us, dear readers, have your design projects ever gone in any unexpected way?

A peacock rests alone in the vitreous valley
With an innocent pose like it does not know
On its feathers ventaglia thousands of eyes
Empty since the end of oracles

("Heaven Below" by Septic Flesh)

Inside Out

As previously discussed we have had our fair share of difficulties in the gardening department here at Chintz of Darkness. While we are fond of all things dark, a BLACK THUMB is not so enviable and in no way chic…Things have only gone from bad to worse due to a particularly gloomy winter (and now spring) full of angst ridden storms, apocalyptic blizzards and demon frost worthy of an Immortal song…

Now some of our problems can be attributed to the apartment patio that serves as our “garden”. The lovely patio in question is situated at an odd sun angle, much like the shadow world between the mortal realms and the fey kingdom. This seems to greatly confuse our plants. Are they to grow like “normal” Creeping Charlie or Charles the Elf Warrior astride a warhorse made of petunias and snapdragons??? This confusion seems to lead to fungus, root rot and an inevitable yet untimely death. Even our stoic ivy has become despondent and no longer enjoys the resident squirrels sticking peanuts into every nook and cranny of its being…Ouch…And while a contributing factor in our ongoing gardening mishaps it has been agreed that there is no reason to include the words “rats” or “crazy upstairs neighbor” in this post…

Our current deathly shadow garden is actually an improvement over the street garden in front of our previous studio. Now street gardening might sound all hip and urbane, but that is far from the case. The highlight of our experiences include our daisies being trampled to death by herds of drunk girls giving each other piggyback rides, unsuccessful bicycle riding lessons carving pathways of destruction though our planters and a particularly malicious pair of tall and slender greyhounds. As we remember the wicked dogs were only 2 inches wide but 14 feet tall, and had the aim and intensity of a set of duel fire hoses…we kid you not, dear ones.

This has brought us to the conclusion that a new approach is needed to alleviate our flora and foliage woes. We have become much inspired by our childhood memories of our family’s sunrooms. Seraph recalls his Grandparent’s sunroom as a mystical place seeped in rustic Victorian grandeur. Tales are told of moldering yet exquisite wicker tables and sofas draped in down filled coverlets festooned with baroque bouquets of roses… Splendor’s head fills with visions of her Grandmother’s home. Grandma’s sunroom was packed with vases, pots and figurines in every imaginable size, shape and color. All of these assorted vessels became a refuge for every odd and stray plant clipping in the neighborhood, all growing until there was but a narrow and perilous path leading to the dining room…

Perhaps we shall create our own baroque garden salon complete with crumbling furnishing and feral and self sustaining devil vines (NOTE: you cannot buy those at most nurseries, they must instead be conjured or captured by other nefarious means.)

Gathered for your enjoyment are a series of greenhouses, sunrooms and secret gardenscapes that capture the fanciful essence of a garden path less taken…

A spectral spirit kingdom rise
In storm screens
Covered by eyes
Night emits its shadow
There is no difference
Between the ravens
They have come for me
They will come to me
To the cursed realm
Of the winterdemons

("Cursed Realms of The Winterdemons" by Immortal)

Purple Haze

As mentioned previously, Splendor must periodically get her head scalded…er, “foiled” to maintain a proper (or rather improper appearance.) Passing the time while the NOXIOUS CHEMICALS do their thing usually involves reading some creepy magazine that would otherwise be avoided like the plague. Damn, bad choice of words…perhaps avoided like (fill in the blank, dear ones).

There are the token hipster magazines filled with people we have never heard of, doing things that we would never do. And of course the predictably disturbing Cosmo - “How to Improve Your Bikini Line with a Blow Torch and A Can of Oven Cleaner” (we swear that was the title of the article…or at least it should have been.) And last but not least an assortment of “Style” magazines (we use the word style loosely – didn’t Sunset magazine cease publication around 1943?)

Now while reading one of these lovely publications we ran across an article about a web based design service that will remain nameless (maybe it rhymes with roost, maybe it doesn’t.) The site is apparently the devil spawn of team of evil computer geniuses and an interior designer / accomplice. It promises to help you define your personal style and then suggest items for you to purchase. This is all achieved by a simple pictorial quiz…sounds fun? We thought not…

Well the quiz turns out to be onslaught of dreadful rooms that one must rate love it, hate it or somewhere in between. Now the opinion of a leather sofa in the color of mildewing grout is NOT a multiple choice question. And rooms featuring fuzzy white areas rugs with upholstery reminiscent of natty bath robes can bring to mind only one answer. Suppose it goes without saying, “HATE IT!!!” was marked on every image except a somewhat benign chest and a room featuring some wicked pitchfork wall art.

When it was time for the survey results, we rather expected our personal style to be coined as “URBAN BOHEMIAN BLACK METAL”, but surprise, surprise! It seems we are 50% Traditional Asian and 50% Hollywood Glamour and were then prompted to buy a crappy 40’s inspired lamp and a tansu. Now this whole experience got us thinking 1) that it is time for a cocktail and 2) that luscious shades of purple, violet and mulberry look lovely when placed throughout an interior. Whether used as a dramatic wall color (think gorgeous auborgine) or as unusual upholstery (amethyst, perhaps?) this color will not only command attention, but will scare away your timid neighbors. Here are some of our favorite rooms gathered for your enjoyment. ENEMIES OF BEIGE UNITE!

And as all lights turn'd on were
And the first act is begun...
...and the last my mouth I open'd
I, purple sage in the universal
And I speak in tongue unknown
And behold all stood in flames

(The Universe Illumination by Behemoth)

Glorious Results of a Misspent Youth…

It can be stated with full certainty that Seraph + Splendor have embarked (quite some time ago) on a path less chosen. When we were mere cherubs (dented halos and wings askew) our parents were fond of referring to “the phase” that we would inevitably “grow out of”. (HA!) In our humble opinion things have turned out well indeed for a pair of miscreants such as us. We are (somewhat) well adjusted, law abiding (really, don’t laugh) members of society. Pillars of the community, in fact. (If you consider the community the large flock of crows that live in our neighborhood, as well as the army of spiders that reside under our bed. And of course the ghosts…)

The Light Bearer (Infernal Stag)
24” h x 16” w x 12” d
© Seraph + Splendor 2009

Like any other fine community leaders we spend our afternoons collecting body parts (hearts and hands are our favorites) and keep a jar of human skulls in several sizes and colors. Now before you, dear readers, get overexcited, we are of course speaking of our materials for our current series of sculptures and needless to say (…?...) the hearts, hands and skulls are miniature in scale and made entirely of metal, wood or ceramic composite. There is at this point no need to mention the several boxes of bones we have recently received in the mail … or the fact that we are in the process of making a helm inspired by a certain nefarious winged deity.

Recently we have completed the first of a series of pieces that will be incorporated into Seraph’s Blood Etching project. The Light Bearer is a ritual sculpture and performance object in the semblance of an infernal stag. Reborn into a skin of death and armored in shrouds of blasphemy. Shards of firmament shattered and impaled upon hoof and bone. Adorned with a crown of living fire, the guardian of the Altar of Sound awakens…

This image (above) was taken by Seraph the night before we began creating this sculpture. The stag is pictured in an unadorned state and wears only a small brass crown at the base of his horns. The image has not been retouched or enhanced and the energy captured should speak for itself…

One of the final elements to be placed was a bronze candelabra entwined among the stag’s horns. The candelabra is fully functional and when lit forms a trident of illumination. The radiance of infernal grandeur will light the path which lies ahead…

Beloved Prince (The Charge)
In progress
© Seraph + Splendor 2009

The next object currently being conjured is a helm representing the Fallen. A rising to arms, full charge. Beloved Prince. The Morningstar rendered in a jagged ray of light, seeped in gems and jewels of kings. Chains unbound, victorious again…

The enigmatic Seraph himself holding a Crown of Bone and Wing…and Splendor among the horns. To the Death and Far Beyond!

I am Black Blood
I am the veins of your Earth
Black Bones rise
The Star’s in my eye

(“Lucifer Victorious” by Blood Etching)