Pumpkins, Memory, and Making: From Cinderella to Sugar Skulls
- anartistslament
- Sep 22, 2025
- 5 min read
I never set out to become a “pumpkin decorator.” Like many unexpected turns in my creative life, it began with my daughter and a drill team tradition.
The First Pumpkin (2015)
It was my youngest daughter’s senior year, and her high school drill team was honoring their graduating class with a Disney princess–themed dance. As part of the decorations, each senior was asked to decorate her own pumpkin — a nod to Cinderella’s coach, transformed from the ordinary into something magical. The team captain’s pumpkin gleamed gold, the officers shimmered silver, and the remaining seniors were given white pumpkins to embellish with silver accents.
I had never painted or decorated a pumpkin like this before, but I set to work. I made my daughter’s pumpkin (pictured above) shimmer with silver scrolls and glittering flourishes, topped with white leaves and glittery silver ribbon, sitting on pearl-like beads. It wasn’t just decoration — it was a little love letter in glitter, a keepsake marking her step out of high school and into what came next. At the time, I thought it was a one-off project. I wouldn’t touch another pumpkin like that for years.
Grief, Hands, and a Sugar Skull (2019)
Fast forward to 2019. My parents had just celebrated sixty years of marriage when my father passed away. That fall was heavy with grief, and I found myself restless, needing something to do with my hands.
A friend’s birthday was approaching, and she loved sugar skulls. I decided to surprise her with a pumpkin unlike any I had ever made: painted in bold black-and-white patterns, glittering gold flowers in the eyes, and crowned with a riot of silk flowers and feathers. I handed it to her during a Día de los Muertos parade — a moment that mingled celebration, memory, and mourning.
With leftover materials, I created a “Boo” pumpkin for my front porch. White, glittered in gold, ringed with bright autumn sunflowers and leaves, it brought a small spark of cheer to my quiet house. My hands were occupied, my spirit was soothed. And something inside me knew: this wasn’t the last pumpkin.
Pumpkins Become a Practice
The next three years, I didn’t wait. As soon as pumpkins hit the shelves at Michael’s, I filled my basket with different shapes, sizes, and colors. Faux pumpkins had the advantage of longevity — and unlike real pumpkins, they didn’t make my hands itch and burn.
That fall, I made seven more. Some were sugar skulls, detailed in glitter and ink, their crowns of silk flowers blazing in autumn colors. Others carried words in swirling script like "Welcome Autumn" or "Happy Harvest." A few were black and dramatic, adorned with icy branches, snowflakes, or jeweled accents — pumpkins for every season, not just October.
I gave some away, sold others, and kept none for myself. Each one felt like a meditation: layering leaves, arranging flowers, carving/engraving glittery letters. They were small acts of transformation, turning something ordinary into a piece of joy.
A Pause in the Pumpkin Patch
I haven’t made any new pumpkins since 2022. In 2023, my husband and I were preparing for a big move overseas, and much of my creative energy went into sorting, packing, and letting go of things — including many of my craft supplies. I didn’t want to add more to my studio shelves when so much was about to be pared down.
In 2024, we began our new life in Spain. It was my first autumn here, and I quickly realized how different seasonal celebrations are. They do have their own beautiful traditions, but when they celebrate something similar to Halloween or autumn festivals, it looks and feels very different than what I grew up with. I haven’t yet seen a single faux pumpkin waiting to be transformed.
And now, in 2025, I’m still learning where to find art and craft supplies in my new home. Perhaps one day I’ll stumble across a Spanish equivalent of the Michael’s (arts and crafts store) pumpkin aisle, and I’ll feel that familiar spark. Until then, the pumpkins I’ve made — from the first Cinderella-inspired one in 2015 to the bold sugar skulls of 2019 and beyond — remain as a chapter in my creative story, one that reminds me how art finds us in unexpected ways.
More Than Decoration
Looking back, I see now that pumpkins became part of my artistic journey not by design but by accident — by memory, by grief, by need, and by play.
The first pumpkin was for my daughter, a Cinderella moment. Years later, pumpkins became a way to move through loss, to keep my hands busy when my heart was heavy. And eventually, they grew into a practice of seasonal creativity, a way to share beauty and humor with others.
To me, these pumpkins aren’t just decorations. They’re memory-keepers. They remind me that art doesn’t have to be large-scale or permanent to matter. Sometimes it’s seasonal, playful, fleeting — yet still deeply meaningful.
And so, every fall, when I see the first pumpkins in the craft store aisles, I feel that familiar tug. I know I’ll be taking a few home, ready to see what they want to become this time.
✨ Do you have a tradition or object that unexpectedly became part of your creative journey? Something ordinary that transformed into something meaningful? I’d love to hear your story.
Creative Companion
Creative Prompt: Try decorating a seasonal object — not just a pumpkin. A pinecone, a seashell, even a simple stone can be transformed with a little paint, glitter, or ribbon.
Reflection Question: What everyday object has become part of your creative journey?
Resources & Inspiration
Faux pumpkins, paint pens, and silk flowers are great starting points for seasonal décor.
Explore more of my art in other forms:
Stay Connected: If you enjoyed this reflection, you might also like my post “Which Color Wheel Are You On?” — another meditation on how art, tradition, and meaning intersect.
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