ORNATE VALENTINE CARDS

When I buy valentines I usually go for the funny, well-drawn ones, and if they disappoint then I change course and choose the most elaborate, sentimental, over-the-top card that I can find. That's because Valentines Day is devoted to love which, let's face it, is an extreme emotion. If it were Friendship Day I'd skip the card and buy my friend a beer, but it's not...it's freaking drastic Valentines Day.

The problem with elaborate cards is that they're pricey. Up til recently the Germans made the best ones. They were die-cut and embossed, and must have been a pain in the neck to make.

Some of them (above) were even hand-painted.

Valentine cards got ridiculously ornate. A lot of them looked like lace. They were die-cut on a type of high-quality cardboard that only greeting card people know about. I can only imagine what the factory that made them looked like. They must have had a huge reject pile of cards that got torn in the machine, and a workforce with many fingers missing.

For buyers who couldn't afford the lacey die cuts, there were nice, straight forward cards like the one above.

Those are fine, but I prefer...what should I call them... fantasy cards. Those are cards that attempt to abstract the notion of love, and portray it with symbols. Like the card on the left, above. A cupid stands on a balcony made of astroturf wedged into circular vines of pure love energy. Under the cupid a turkey-sized dove lands on a home-made twig fence nested in clover and grass and a peasant girl holds up a potted plant, which I'm guessing is a fertility symbol.     

The more fanciful, the better, I reason. Here's (above) a big fold-out card showing a little boy cavorting around what appears to be a temple or a gazebo containing a giant heart. The flowers around him are immense and he requires an umbrella because...because what? Maybe to fend off giant bees or raindrops, it's hard to tell. A big, blood red rock blocks his way, but why put a rock there? Is he crossing a stream?

If a little girl were chasing the boy, maybe to kiss him, then the picture would tell a story and make more sense, but I think I like the card better the way it is. It's a dream-like impression of love. It shouldn't have to make sense.

Here (above) a little boy pulls up to his girlfriend's house in a flower filled wagon pulled by giant doves. She's invited to join him on a trip that would lose its appeal if it were spelled out. The best romantic artwork and poetry is always a bit vague.

Here (above) a cupid pulls up in a 1920s motor car filled with flowers. The house he stops at is also packed with flowers and garlands and the inhabitants run out to see the beautiful car.  

This carriage (above) doesn't carry you to a gazebo, it contains a gazebo of its own.

Maybe these (above) are unrelated valentines that were brought together for the sake of the photograph, but I like to think they were all meant to be part of the same diorama. Another guy has given your girl a valentine showing a nice car festooned with flowers and cupids. How do you beat that? Why, with a locomotive of course! In fact, how about two locomotives?  The cupid chauffeur drives the dual Super Chiefs up to her door to pick her up. If that doesn't impress her, nothing will!

Here (above), I believe, the car and the house are part of the same card. It doesn't have the impact of dual locomotives, but the house makes up for it. This is a fitting destination for a lovemobile ride: a mansion full of servants and friends who are delighted to see you, and  who will whisk you and your lover away to flower-filled rooms. 

Ornate mass-market valentines effectively came to an end in the 1960s. I guess they just weren't perceived as cool. Too bad, because a new and interesting style of card was just beginning to surface: the architectural card where each card is a separate love building in a whole love town.