Category: photography and imagery

From “The Letters” in Silly Rhymes for Christmas Times: A Collection of Festive Poems by Nigel Smith:

10th December 1880:

Dear Santa, my name’s Vicky, and I’m only eight years old,
I’m sending you this note, because I’ve been as good as gold,
I’d really love a doll’s house, in my stocking Christmas day,
I hope your gnomes will make one, and you’ll bring it on your sleigh.

9th December 1881:

Dear Santa, this is Vicky, I’m the one who wrote last year,
I asked you for a doll’s house, which alas, did not appear,
I guess my note got lost, or failed to reach the gnomes on time,
I still would love a doll’s house, by the way, my age is nine.

14th December 1882:

Dear Santa Claus, it’s Vicky, it’s the third time that I’ve wrote,
I really can’t imagine why you didn’t get my note,
I’m ten, and getting anxious, for a doll’s house of my own,
please pass this letter quickly, to the doll’s house-making gnome….

From “The New Nutcracker Suite” by Ogden Nash in Poems of Christmas, edited by Myra Cohn Livingston:

A little girl marched around her Christmas tree,
And many a marvelous toy had she.
There were cornucopias of sugarplums,
And a mouse with a crown, that sucked its thumbs,
And a fascinating Russian folderol,
Which was a doll inside a doll inside a doll inside a doll,
And a posy as gay as the Christmas lights
And a picture book of the Arabian nights,
And a painted, silken Chinese fan —

But the one she loved was the nutcracker man.
She thought about him when she went to bed.
With his great long legs and his funny little head.
So she crept downstairs for a last good night,
And arrived in the middle of a furious fight.
The royal mouse that sucked its thumbs
Led an army of mice with swords and drums.
They were battling to seize the toys as slaves
To wait upon them in their secret caves.
The nutcracker man cracked many a crown,
But they overwhelmed him, they whelmed him down,
They were cramming him into a hole in the floor
When the little girl tiptoed to the door.
She had one talent which made her proud,
She could miaow like a cat, and now she miaowed.
A miaow so fierce, a miaow so feline,
That the mice fled home in squealing beeline.

The nutcracker man cracked a hickory nut
To see if his jaws would open and shut,
Then he cracked another and he didn’t wince,
And he turned like that! into a handsome prince,
And the toys came dancing from the Christmas tree
To celebrate the famous victory.

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From “Holly Fairies” by Aileen Fisher in Christmas Bells are Ringing: A Treasury of Christmas Poetry, by Sara and John E. Brewton:

Oh, fairies love a holly tree
The foliage makes a roof
of sturdy shingles,
always green
and new and weatherproof.
And even under winter skies
the berries burn so bright
they look like
little fairy lamps,
with bulbs of crimson light.

Oh, fairies love a holly spray
too much by far to leave,
and so they up and follow it
indoors, on Christmas Eve.

And that is why each house
is blessed
where holly sprigs are seen,
because the fairies
still are there
beneath the red and green.

From “Hallelujah of Whales” in Following Their Star: Poems of Christmas and Nature by Maxwell Cordon Wheat, Jr.:

Christmas Eve aboard the vessel
rolling in troughs
over the ocean canyon
scientists and crew wait in the radio room
the little tree flashing
red and green bulbs….

The sound engineer
is turning dials, flicking switches
They have seen the Humpbacks that day
spy-hopping, breaching
curving under with flourishes of huge flukes
There must have been a hundred

These whales sing mostly in the dark
The ship’s people have come in from the deck
where they have been watching
the bright planet in the East
They hear a bellowing solo
an answer from miles away
duets, trios
Humpbacks compose their songs
sounds that swell and boom
reverberating from canyon walls

Listen!
The rejoicing of whales

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From “Come Christmas” by David McCord in Christmas Poems, selected by Myra Cohn Livingston:

You see this Christmas tree all silver gold?
It stood out many winters in the cold,

with tinsel sometimes made of crystal ice,
say once a winter morning-maybe twice.

More often it was trimmed by fallen snow
so heavy that the branches bent, with no

one anywhere to see how wondrous is
the hand of God in that white world of his.

And if you think it lonely through the night
when Christmas trees in houses take the light,

remember how his hand put up one star in
this same sky so long ago afar.

All stars are hung so every Christmas tree
has one above it. Let’s go out and see.

From “Two Trees” by Constance Levy in Christmas Magic: Poems and Carols, selected by Diane Goode:

They are dressing the tallest tree
in the city square
to light tonight.
A silver star shines
on its tip.
Now they are draping
strings of rainbow drops
from bough to bough.
Tonight
it will dazzle us with lights
and everyone will sing.

Over there
on the edge of the square
rather small, very young
is another tree
snow sprinkled,
twinkling silver
in the sun.
A sparrow sits
on top of it
so proud, so still…

Who will sing to THIS tree?
ME — I WILL!

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From “First Snow in the Street” by Brian Patten in Christmas Poems, selected by Gaby Morgan:

I did not sleep last night.
The falling snow was beautiful and white.
I dressed, sneaked down the stairs
And opened wide the door.
I had not seen such snow before.

Our grubby little street had gone.
The world was brand-new, and everywhere
There was pureness in the air.
I felt such peace. Watching every flake
My heart felt more and more awake.

I thought I’d learned all there was to know
About the trillion million different kinds
Of swirling frosty falling flakes of snow.
But that was not so.
I did not know how vividly it lit
The world with such a peaceful glow….

From “Household Angels” by Louisa May Alcott in The Christmas Book: A Treasury of Stories and Poems, compiled by Eileen Mulkerin D’Andrea:

In the rush of early morning,
When the red burns through the gray,
And the wintry world lies waiting
For the glory of the day.
Then we hear a fitful rustling
Just without upon the stair,
See two small white phantoms coming,
Catch the gleam of sunny hair.

Are they Christmas fairies stealing
Rows of little socks to fill?
Are they angels floating hither
With their message of good-will?
What sweet spell are these elves weaving,
As like larks they chirp and sing?
Are these palms of peace from heaven
That these lovely spirits bring?

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From “The Magic Show” by Vernon Scannell in The Puffin Book of Christmas Poems, compiled by Wes Magee:

After a feast of sausage-rolls,
Sandwiches of various meats,
Jewelled jellies, brimming bowls
Of chocolate ice and other treats,
We children played at Blind Man’s Buff,
Hide and Seek, Pin-the-tail-on-Ned,
And then — when we’d had just enough
Of party-games — we all were led
Into another room to see
The Magic Show. The wizard held
A wand of polished ebony.
His white-gloved, flickering hands compelled
The rapt attention of us all.
He conjured from astonished air
A living pigeon and a fall
Of paper snowflakes; made us stare
Bewildered as a playing card —
Unlike a leopard — changed its spots
And disappeared. He placed some starred
And satin scarves in silver pots,
Withdrew them as plain bits of rag.
Then swallowed them before our eyes.
But soon we felt attention flag
And found delighted, first surprise
Had withered like a wintry leaf;
And, when the tricks were over, we
Applauded, yet felt some relief,
And left the party willingly.
‘Goodnight,’ we said, ‘and thank you for
The lovely time we’ve had.’ Outside,
The freezing night was still. We saw
Above our heads the slow clouds stride
Across the vast unswallowable skies;
White, graceful gestures of the moon,
The stars’ intent and glittering eyes.
And, gleaming like a silver spoon,
The frosty path to lead us home.
Our breath hung blossoms on unseen
Boughs of air as we paused there,
And we forgot that we had been
Pleased briefly by that conjuror,
Could not recall his tricks, or face,
Bewitched and awed, as now we were,
By magic of the common place.

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Here we go again!

Once upon a time, in the winter of 2019, I started a “Days to Christmas” project to experiment with photography, camera settings, and lighting techniques using various holiday figurines, baubles, and trinquettes as my photo subjects. It somehow (?!?) became a tradition, so once again, for 2025, here we have the first post in this year’s series.

Working indoors with interior and artificial lighting is a lot different than most of my photography, which is of course outdoors in natural light. While this whole project can seem a bit effortful at times, every year it teaches me something new, especially about how to manage light when — unlike outdoor natural light — you can manipulate its characteristics yourself. When photographing Christmas subjects, we tend to emulate how we visualize the season: contrasts between colors like red and green, bright lights against dark backgrounds, or explosions of colors and textures like those of a Christmas tree. During the first couple of years of this project, I typically took photos as night fell to capture those effects; with practice I’ve learned to manage lighting so that I can take photos during the day and simulate what we might see when the sun goes down. The photos in this post, for example, were all taken around mid-day yesterday, yet I (hope) I’ve managed to evoke the Christmas metaphor of warm lights opposing the darkness of winter — one of this season’s intuitively understood visual themes.

The poem I selected for this year’s first post reflects similar visual scenes, as its characters move from the frenetic opening lines to end up in the quieter “magic of the common place” — something that echoes the seasonal transition from chaotic first days to Christmas Day itself. Finding poems that resonate with the work I do for this series is as much fun as the photography itself, and there will be at least one such poem (and some prose) for all of the posts.

If you’d like to see any of the projects from previous years, here they are:

Days to Christmas 2024
Days to Christmas 2023
Days to Christmas 2022
Days to Christmas 2021
Days to Christmas 2020
Days to Christmas 2019

Ho! Ho! Ho!

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