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Small scenes for the long season
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Rel Garibaldi Has Been Stamping Nativity Tins Since His Grandfather Taught Him. His Eyes Are Finally Saying Stop.
Rel Garibaldi is sixty-eight years old, retired from thirty-one years of teaching art at St. Anthony’s Catholic School in Pittsburgh, and going blind in his right eye. The doctor calls it diabetic retinopathy. Rel calls it “the thing that means I have to finish what I started.” The nativity scene tins sitting in his garage this November are the last ones he’ll be able to stamp by hand.
His grandfather, a tinsmith from Palermo, came to Pittsburgh in 1951 with a set of punching stamps and the memory of how a nativity should look: small, exact, the whole story in a space a child can hold in both hands. He taught Rel’s father. Rel’s father taught Rel. Every December since Rel was twelve years old, someone in that family has been in a garage in Pittsburgh, bending tin.
“My grandfather used to say the scene isn’t about the size of the stable,” Rel says, holding a finished tin up to his workbench light. “It’s about whether you can see every person clearly. That’s the whole argument.”
He can still see the figures inside the tin. But the detail work at the stamping stage—the small repeated punches that make the starry night lid—takes a steadiness his right eye can no longer give him. This is the batch he finishes. After this, the stamps go to his nephew in Philadelphia, who wants to learn.
Thirty Years of Tins in a Pittsburgh Garage
Rel spent his teaching career trying to get students to look at small things carefully. A still life assignment wasn’t about painting fruit—it was about noticing that the apple and the bowl were having a conversation about weight and light. “Most kids want to get to the big effect,” he says. “The whole point is to not get there until you’ve done the small part right.”
He applied the same logic to the tins. The scene inside the lid is not rushed. The figures are distinct. The stable has depth. The star is punched in the lid in a pattern his grandfather drew on a piece of paper that Rel still has, folded in his toolbox. He’s used that same pattern every year since 1994.
For most of those years he gave the tins away—to colleagues, to parents of students, to the parish. Five years ago he started selling a small batch online when his niece told him “these are actually really good, Uncle Rel.” He laughed at that for a week. Then he listed them.
“The whole scene fits in a tin that closes in your palm. That’s the idea. Christmas that you can put away in one piece and find again next year, exactly as you left it.”
The Tin That Closes and Opens Every Year
There is a specific pleasure in a nativity scene that stores completely inside itself. No loose pieces to separate. No tissue paper. No searching for the shepherd’s crook in December when you need to find it. The tin closes over the scene and that’s the whole object—compact, complete, lid punched with the starry night pattern that Rel’s grandfather drew on a folded piece of paper in 1951.
It works on a narrow bookshelf. It works on a mantle. It works on a side table in a small apartment where a full nativity set would tip over the scale of the room. “People tell me they put it on the table where their keys go,” Rel says. “Every day in December they walk past it and they stop for a second. That’s all I want from it.”
The tin is not vintage. Rel is not trying to fake age. The metal is clean, the stamp lines are sharp, and the scene inside is painted with attention. What makes it feel old is the patience in the making—the same patience his grandfather brought from Sicily, the same patience he tried to teach thirty-one years of students.
What the Tin Actually Is
The nativity—stable, figures, starlight—is contained inside the tin itself. Close it and it’s a box with a beautiful lid. Open it and the whole scene is already arranged. Nothing to set up. Nothing to lose.
The lid pattern comes from a paper his grandfather drew in 1951. Every hole is punched by hand, in the same sequence, with the same stamps Rel’s father passed down. The result is a lid that throws a little scattered light when a candle is nearby—not engineered, just the natural outcome of metal and light.
Apartments, studio shelves, side tables, the narrow windowsill above a kitchen sink. The tin holds the whole nativity and takes up less space than a paperback. That’s the point of the format—presence without footprint.
Close the lid and the scene is protected. No tissue paper. No separate box. No pieces rolling around a drawer. Open it next December and the figures are exactly where you left them. That’s a practical thing and it matters over time.
Diabetic retinopathy has taken Rel’s ability to do precision detail work with his right eye. This November batch is the last he can produce. When they’re gone, the stamps go to his nephew. This family’s Pittsburgh chapter of the tin closes with this batch.
The Folded Paper in the Toolbox
Rel keeps his grandfather’s pattern folded in the bottom of his toolbox, underneath the stamps. It’s soft at the folds now, the pencil lines still legible if you know what you’re looking at. He’s never had it framed. “It’s a working drawing,” he says. “It’s supposed to be with the tools.”
His nephew in Philadelphia has a photo of it on his phone. When Rel ships the stamps after this batch is gone, he’ll ship the original paper too. “He should have the real thing,” Rel says. “Not a picture.”
What Rel made with that pattern for thirty years is sitting in a garage in Pittsburgh right now. A tin nativity scene. A starry lid. A whole Christmas in a box that closes in one hand. Find it a shelf somewhere. Put it out every December. Open it and leave it out until January. Close it and put it away. That’s the whole instruction.
Rel’s last batch — stamped before his sight gave out — no restock
The tin comes with the scene already arranged inside. Ships ready to place. One pack, two, three, or four—different shelves, different rooms, different people who need this.
See Availability & Packs1 tin · 2 for 5% off · 3 for 10% off · 4 for 15% off
What People Are Saying
★★★★★
“I have a full nativity set my grandmother gave me that takes thirty minutes to set up and I’m always missing a shepherd by January. This tin has been on my kitchen shelf for three years now and I’ve never lost a single piece because there are no separate pieces. You open it and everything is already there. That’s such a simple idea and I’m amazed no one gave it to me years ago.”
★★★★★
“My wife grew up in a Catholic family and every Christmas is about putting out the nativity from her childhood. This year I gave her Rel’s tin as an addition, something for her desk at work. She cried a little. Not sad crying. She said it looked exactly like something her grandmother would have kept on a shelf. That’s the highest compliment in our house.”
★★★★★
“Ordered three of these to give as gifts. When I opened the first one to check it before wrapping, I ended up keeping it. The lid really does throw light when you set a candle near it—just the tiniest little scattered points across the ceiling. My husband noticed it before I said anything. That’s how you know something is doing something.”
Three Questions Before You Order
How big is the tin, and does it fit on a narrow shelf?
It’s compact—designed to fit in places a full nativity set can’t. A bookshelf, a windowsill, a side table, a kitchen counter. The scene is complete inside without requiring space to arrange individual figures. If you have a surface that could hold a small book, it can hold this tin.
Can I give these as gifts?
Yes—and the tin is already the gift packaging. You don’t need a box. You don’t need wrapping paper. The tin closes cleanly and ships ready. If you’re ordering multiple tins as gifts, the pack discount applies: 2 for 5% off, 3 for 10%, 4 for 15%. Order the higher pack and give what you don’t keep.
Is this really the last batch Rel makes?
Yes. Diabetic retinopathy has taken the precision vision in his right eye that the stamping work requires. He finished this November batch. When it sells out, the stamps move to his nephew in Philadelphia. Rel won’t be making more. If you want one with his grandfather’s pattern, this is the batch.
Stamped by hand · thirty-year family tradition · this is the last run
See what’s still in stock from Rel’s final Pittsburgh batch.
See Availability & PacksShips ready to place · no assembly required.