| Sunday, March 26, 1989 The Times Picayune [New Orleans] |  | | The decorator of these ornate Easter eggs was artist Doris Kerbel; The creators were rheas, geese, turkeys and guinea hens. |  epresenting the regenerative forces of nature, eggs were dyed and eaten at springtime festivals in ancient Egypt, Persia, Greece and Rome. Then the egg became an enduring symbol of Easter; in medieval times, families sent eggs to the pope to be blessed. They were always dyed in bright colors, with red in preponderance to signify the blood of Christ.
But the Teutonic Easter rabbit (actually a hare), who brought dyed eggs to children who had been good, proved to be the most lasting and popular Easter tradition. And when German families emigrated to America, they brought the custom with them.
This, in an eggshell, is the origin of the Easter egg. And because a good idea is generally embellished, artists and craftsmen have brought Easter eggs to finer glory as art objects and collectibles.
When Doris Kerbel orders a dozen eggs, they don't look like the ones from the supermarket. Individually wrapped, they come in odd sizes. Each has a small hole at top and bottom and each has absolutely nothing inside.
But Kerbel, a former commercial artist and fashion illustrator, will make good use of these eggs, which were hatched by such creatures as rheas, geese, turkeys and guinea hens. (Chicken eggs, she says, are too fragile.)
The rhea probably would not recognize her egg now that it has been smoothed (still in its natural gray-green color) and embossed with gold threading. Tiny latches are attached so it can be opened to expose a soft cushion of pale velvet to hold jewelry. It sits splendidly on its own gold stand.
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 | |  | | Kerbel's eggs often contain small animal figures; above, she puts the finishing touches on one with an Easter bunny inside it. |
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Mother goose and Kerbel created an object d'art with a beautiful Oriental scene handpainted onto cut-out panels that enclose delicate porcelain Chinese figures. Kerbel says she was inspired to egg creation by the famed Faberge eggs. But she does it her way.
At a desk cluttered with the trappings of the art -- trays of colored stones and beads, reams of gold and pearl threading, glue, tweezers -- Kerbel does her work in the shadow of a wall of shadow boxes.
In the individual squares are figures that will figure in the egg tableaux she creates. There is everything from Mickey Mouse to Buddha; every animal known to man and then some.
She is particularly fond of ivory figures that dwell well in Oriental scenes. There are teeny Raggedy Anns and Andys that Kerbel makes from bread dough.
But how to transform a drab and drained goose egg into a work of art?
It isn't easy, she says, but it is challenging.
Once she gets the idea, "then I have to decide how I want to present it," says Kerbel. "Cutting is the hardest thing to do," she says, | but with experence, "you learn not to ruin too many of them." One of her most difficult cutting feats was a butterfly-shaped design that swings whimsically outward and then folds back into the egg.
The detailing is intricate, with an entire scene worked on just one interior panel of the egg. "You do have to be very careful here as you are working in such a small space." says Kerbel, who finds herself so attached to her eggs that she rarely parts with them. | Some are sold for $135 to $175, but for the most part, she has become creator/collector of her own work.
Kerbel paints the interiors and exteriors of her eggs, although many are decoupaged, which takes less time.
Covering it with mother of pearl, "which makes a most popular attractive exterior," is also one of the most tedious of processes in making an egg, Kerbel says.
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