Kreiss “Psycho Ceramics” were first sprung on an unsuspecting public in the late 1950s. They’re the three-dimensional equivalent of the era’s popular (and usually snarky) “studio cards.” Kreiss specialized in jokey themes, offered up by what one reviewer called “deformed blobs, eccentric hillbillies, and fat, drunken Santas.”

Although the jokes were barbed, Psychos were successfully marketed as novelty gifts. Hopefully, the recipients had thick skins. One tubby Kreiss gremlin, perched on a bathroom scale, came with the hang tag, “Want to lose 10 ugly pounds? Cut off your head!” On the tag reverse, the gift-giver had added this message: “Eloise—have a good time on your birthday—Earl.” It’s safe to assume Earl was dropped from Eloise’s party list.

Ceramics importer Murray Kreiss founded his California company in 1939, in association with sons Howard and Norman. World War II stalled the company’s progress, but things picked up postwar, with Kreiss focusing solely on Japanese imports. Early products followed familiar themes, such as cuddly animals, pretty girls, and romanticized ethnic interpretations. The objects themselves were also familiar: figurals, salt-and-peppers, ashtrays, and holiday knickknacks.

Many of these initial offerings were at the low end of the quality scale. Often indifferently designed, with slapdash detailing and gaudy paint jobs, they were no match for ceramics being turned out domestically, primarily on the West Coast. Then again, Kreiss ceramics were a lot cheaper, benefiting both the customer and the company.

And suddenly, everything changed. Following the passing of Murray and Howard, Norman Kreiss came up with the idea for a never-before-seen line, best described as “quirky.” In 1958, the first Psycho Ceramics waddled their way into stores. Different than absolutely anything else on the giftware market, these. . .ah. . . “unusual” figurals won over buyers in search of something off the beaten path.

Unlike earlier Kreiss imports, the Psycho line paid close attention to quality and detail. Here, garish colors were a plus, and exaggerated, zany features (bulging eyes, toothy smiles), were right at home. Many of the figures, averaging 5” h., were hand-embellished with rhinestones and cold-painted accents. Sometimes adding to the goofy aspect: stringy plastic or rabbit fur hair. Even when cast from the same mold, no two Psychos were exactly the same, since the artists doing the by-hand applications after glazing were given significant leeway.

Donald-Brian Johnson is the co-author of numerous Schiffer books on design and collectibles, including “Postwar Pop,” a collection of his columns. Please address inquiries to: donaldbrian@msn.com