Author Archives: marynees

bookkeeper

Another sketch from my Vox series, here illustrated is one verse from the very last book of the Hebrew collection. The prophet Malachi had some blistering words to say to his hearers, as well as a couple reassuring promises.

Any current assumption that spiritual giants “just need to be nice” are blinding themselves to alot of rich material. Moses, Joshua and Jeremiah were not known for being nice. John the Baptist was a firebrand; Jesus was a spiritual revolutionary and if either of them had just been “nice” we would never have heard of them again.

Piercing words function like an alarm clock to those who need to be jolted awake. Here’s just one example from Malachi’s short treatise: (the prophet speaking for God in chapter 1) “I am honored all over the world. And there are people who know how to worship me all over the world, who honor me by bringing their best to me. They’re saying it everywhere: ‘God is greater, this God-of-the-Angel-Armies.’ All except you. Instead of honoring me, you profane me. You profane me when you say, ‘Worship is not important, and what we bring to worship is of no account,’ and when you say, ‘I’m bored—this doesn’t do anything for me.’ You act so superior, sticking your noses in the air—act superior to me, God-of-the-Angel-Armies! And when you do offer something to me, it’s a hand-me-down, or broken, or useless. Do you think I’m going to accept it? This is God speaking to you!”

I would call that a verbal alarm clock. It sounds like the words of an angry parent. In the next chapter, vs.17 is this critique: “You make God tired with all your talk.”

But the verse in this small 3 chapter book that I selected to illustrate was one of promise toward the end of Malachi’s warnings. That promise melts my wavering heart. Chapter 2 actually sets the context by reminding the listeners (whoever is still listening) that God is a covenant keeper. And what God has promised will stand though others will not stand in the day of His sure appearing. After more warning words, God challenges “Test me… I will defend you.” vs.10-11.

And as if it is a follow through response from that call-out “Then those whose lives honored God got together and talked it over. God saw what they were doing and listened in. A book was opened in God’s presence and minutes were taken of the meeting, with the names of the God-fearers written down, all the names of those who honored God’s name.” (This is the same verse 3:16 that I illustrated in the image, set in a contemporary paraphrase called The Message.)

I’ve often thought of that promise when speaking quietly with others. I take His words literally just as I see He does ours. And when we gather and speak of Him, He lets us know that He’s a bookkeeper.

“Look for the Pass”

I am delighted to highlight a piece I made this winter which has been selected along with a small collection of other pieces by Dr. Noland, ETSU’s President, for brightening office spaces on campus.

This was made using a brayer for the initial mark making, then sandwiched through an etching press to facilitate the texture. After the inks dried I enhanced the foreground with pastel worked on top.

Narrow views, whether in vertical or horizontal formats, interest me as a way of beckoning the traveler. It’s as if we’re looking through a clarifying peephole, limiting the extraneous. The horizon is often the real point for me, even while the foreground is captivating. In this case, my idea is of lifting the eyes to where that pass-through lies. Then the steps through the tangly foreground know the way going forward.

images before words

The Hebrew prophets: might you be able to name just one? Starting with Moses, there were at least 17 who asserted warnings then assurances of hope before Jesus showed up. Their persistence, heartfelt passion and vivid imagery has long fascinated me. Their unified story is a gold mine. Yet we live in a time now where fewer and fewer people have even minimal awareness of the ancient messages.

There’s nothing new under the sun and such bible-word cluelessness is not unlike the times when some of the characters like Jeremiah and Micah, Hosea and Isaiah spoke out-loud (each tying back uniquely to what had been written down already). But the listeners were not having it. So, Jeremiah was told to make his own body a visual in some stark ways. Jonah became a walking billboard, and Amos recorded vivid pictures prompted by God: “What do you see, Amos?” He was then to visualize it for others.

One of my first jobs out of college was to design visuals, charts and graphics for historical spiritual ideas. I didn’t know I was good at it, just enjoyed it. I also didn’t know that while there came a long hiatus for me from that kind of work (once babies arrived) that the whole culture was moving away from words and needing images. I just kept reading. And like a soup simmering on my stove, images would waft up like the scent of seasons.

So, fast forward several decades to where people get their news in sound bites promoted by image and grabbed by icons. And Bibles are sold with coloring pages. It is what it is. Visuals have the potential to beckon toward understanding (see last post), but many just stop at the signs, blinking blindly.

Several years ago I did a series of small sketches after reading through every page of my Bible. I picked one verse that jumped out to me from each in the collection of 39 Old Testament and 27 New Testament books. Then I worked quickly at recording a summary image for each of those 66. They were displayed for a month at my church. The series was called “Vox”.

I am highlighting these again now, the more vivid ones at least, on instagram and twitter, paying particular attention to the prophets. For their words still speak and are better than the evening news.

Here’s just one from the tiny book of Haggai, 2nd chapter, verse 5:

visual learning

“First I have the picture” Einstein reportedly said, “then I come up with the math”. Before any of us knew how to decode language, our little eyes trained on images. Even the cones on our retinae respond to color before form is understood. We begin from image impression, but then sometimes the more we “know” what’s in front of us, the less we can wholly grasp.

Educational theory has typed learners into all kinds of styles. Yet painter David Dunlop insists “We’re all visual learners”. He’s done a lot of reading on cognitive studies, some pattern theory, interest in pictographs, and he knows his art history. So, I was entirely engaged in a workshop he led this month. He mentioned that many painters (like Turner, Whistler, Manet, Monet) became more abstract, with distilled and simplified imagery as they grew older (and that later work was more universally evocative). Dunlop’s own work is quite literal and beautifully detailed, but I wasn’t there to copy him.

“We always ‘push off’ from an image in the head, a simple schema that gets us started”, then the magic happens after that as we work out from that impression.

What you see above is a thumbnail sketch out of my notebook. I quickly mapped the shapes, darks and lights from a photo of a magnolia blossom. What was important in translating this into paint was not “this is a magnolia’ but rather more than that, and I needed to take time to consider how. My oil color is carefully selected. But what excites me is the emergent shine, and the impasto lending toward a sense of exuberance. The cropping too was a choice, as if I am just teasing the viewer into only a glimpse. Glimpses for me are key, for if I try to tell the whole story, we’ll all get lost in words. There’s an energy in this translation into color that springs off the canvas. Usually I dive into work from an idea in my head, but to take the time to map it first, if even so simply, is important, and more than I knew. I’ve heard about the necessity of sketchbook planning, but since I’m not much of a draftsman and am also impatient, I’ve often skipped that part. “I see said the blind man”. So this mapping process was a win for me, and it’s informing further practice.

Look Out

The fields are white, the horizon beckons and we’re keeping our trekking boots on. Some 48 years ago, I heard theologian Dr. Joseph Dillow explain the patterns in the ridges and the valleys of Isaiah’s prophetic masterpiece. It was like being in a biblical glider over peaks and valleys in the histories of nations. The prophet, viewing from hundreds of years before Jesus, saw with distinct clarity what was coming. To a young design student, this uber-view was mind-altering stuff. And we are standing in the midst of what Isaiah further predicted. To quote a secular seer “so let us not speak falsely now, the hour is getting late”*. We know the King is coming — we’ll not lag here in retreat.

The view is grand from the vantage pictured here. I painted this for the lobby of a mission (located in CO) full of other trekkers. Knowing from experience that sometimes in the valleys it’s really hard to see; we need this reminder from the heights. For we have marching orders from the God over history, and we hold dear every one of His promises. Come, Lord Jesus! But not before each one has heard the very good news and is gathered in.

*excerpted from Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower”

eager longing

The little ones around us this week are learning to wait. “Can we have Daddy’s cake now that you have come in the door?” “Nini, can I play (bang) on the piano now?!’ “Are you done resting?” “Are you awake?” “Can you tell that story again Pop? Let’s go back in my room and pretend you’re putting me to bed! Tell it to me again, Pop!”

Observing these two teaches my heart much about love and longing and strangely how much time it takes for those things (that I think I know) to sink in. For, I am waiting too. The Bridegroom has made a promise that He is coming back– and soon. He’s given hints about this, some specifically clear, from Genesis through to Revelation. And He put a 3-act in the middle of the book that dramatizes the love story, the longing and the consummation. He’s coming! And as soon as He comes in the door, let’s have the cake!

blood on the door

We’re preparing. And since visuals speak so powerfully to me, I painted a symbol on our front door. Similar to any other sign, one has to stop here and think. Strange things require some investigation to understand what’s really going on. People who know me already are primed for surprises. My engineer looked tentatively, bemused at the gleam in my eyes as to what I’d done now. One of my daughters just smiled at her weird mom. I got out some red paint, and researched which branches in my backyard would more closely resemble the hyssop used in Exodus. When the Israelites were told to paint blood on the lintel and posts of their doors right before their great rescue it must have been a truly weird act of faith. But the instructions came from the Lord, thru Moses. And the events that quickly followed proved their worth.

This was an unprecedented rescue, the effect of which was known in every home in Egypt after that night.

Blood spent for the forgiveness of sin was not a new concept. It was initiated in the garden, then explained more after the flood, but painting it on the doors? This was an entirely new expression. It was fresh, and it was startling.

You might be aware of the red banners on the tops and sides of doorways that the Chinese put up during the first of their lunar year’s celebration. I’ve taught in China many times and often asked friends about this custom and it’s history. There’s surely something of visual importance going on with these banners. “Why is this here?” Nobody knows except that it’s ancient and it means blessing on that house, and “everybody does it who wants to be blessed”. I don’t think that’s a cultural coincidence, nor originally a random act.

So at my house, we’re covered. Not because there’s any magic in the sign or in my red paint, but because this represents an unseen covering, from the blood of an unblemished lamb, long ago instituted by the One who rescues out of death.

“real artists ship”

On a recent road trip, we listened to a biography of a well known creative. “Becoming Steve Jobs” is a compassionate telling of the complex, mightily irascible trajectory of one man. Smirking adjectives about Jobs are commonly known. He was to many even a real “jerk”. But what makes Schlender and Tetzeli’s account different is the insider tales of how Jobs learned, how he adjusted sometimes with uncharacteristic humility. And it’s this behind the scenes stuff that gave the Tech industry giant some longevity.

At one point in the fast moving audio I heard Jobs’ glib projection. “Real Artists______”. They do what!? We played it back: they “Ship”. Ok. What does that mean? Contextually Jobs was promoting his envisioned product. But I started thinking about whether this was a true statement.

I once heard a sermon from a brilliant South African. He was talking about snowflakes; and how the majority are never ever seen. They are just broadcast for a few moments into the light, then laid down to rest in snowmelt. But with incredible fractal patterns, each is distinctly unique. Each cries “glory!” metaphorically to a Crafter with sublime vision. Does God ship?

And if the broadcasting in the skies is a form of shipping, what is God getting for it? Who is commending His longevity?

Back to earth, there is something in Job’s proclamation that does ring true for me. I have ideas and ambition, but unless my hands get busy, unless I have the courage to learn from the messes, and unless I manifest it somewhere. I have nothin’. Yesterday I picked up from the post office a piece which has been all over the country in a 3 year traveling show: Scribes of Hope, II. Now that show is retired and my piece back home to mama. This month I shipped an oil piece on paper to a designer in Texas for a company’s lobby. I don’t ship often, but when I do I guess I can say, according to Jobs’ definition, that I’m a real artist. At least this is true: I’m becoming who I am.

standing O

I got a standing ovation this week. First ever. I forgot to say thank-you. I just watched, stunned: in relief that the talk was over. The whole room of some 50 people stood up in spontaneous applause. This was a group of courageous folks involved in recovery from addictions and I was asked to speak to them about the meaning in my work and how I came to it. It was clear to me that their thanks was for the One who was really shining through, and that was my prayer. It was so sweet! And, I sold every one of my books that I brought along that night.

The emphasis I’d planned was how my own life was changed by the same God who can change them. I am used to more hardened audiences. I prepare for skeptics and others who “have to be there” like the kid in a University class last month who asked in the Q&A “how old ARE you?”

But this group of hurting folks was the most loving and alert large group I’ve ever encountered. I heard a verse from a song by Chris Rice this morning that summarized the experience “Raise your head for love is passing by”. That’s the way I felt when with these earnest recover-ers. They are raising their heads, and with them we all got to see Love in the room.

I showed them some pieces like this one, “Time and Mercy” where the chaos is falling down all around the inner life. But there on the inside is the mark of a heartbeat, and the recording of time. There’s a history that is undeniable, part of the fabric that cannot be changed. There’s a span ahead yet unknown. But in this present moment I can breathe and pause. This is the potential moment where beauty is born. For right now I can lift my head because the evidence of love is still shining through for those who are eager for it.

journey; beginning to end

The theme keeps repeating and it’s a universal one. From mythology to classic literature this idea of trekking toward some kind of attainment is in our DNA. Moses, Odysseus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Dante — the list is long of courageous ones who were answering the ancient quest “where have you come from, and where are you going?”* Something keeps us moving, sometimes for what we’re not even sure; and if our bodies get tired, our spirits keep longing.

There is a section of Psalms called the Psalms of Ascent which were sung by Hebrew pilgrims on their way up to Jerusalem for feasts. There’s a cadence to these, like the way marines sing out calls when they are marching, like the way slaves on the underground railroad sang low about “following the drinking gourd”. The rhythm reminds and keeps the trekkers heartened. For the journey is often long and certainly filled with treachery. These Psalms show that too.

I’ve dissected these songs, tried to simplify and sketch them out. They are amazing. And I think they tell the whole important story in an abstract and concise way. It’s long been my aim to paint the series (such a dreamer). What keeps me going is the wonder in the pattern of this set of 15. They can be grouped into 5 sets of three; and like a growing Nautilus shell, they repeat the basic triplet pattern even as the whole enlarges.

Oh to have the ability to show this better! I have some oil sketches, and some larger built panels. I have tons of notes and the recordings of others. I have desire, some skill and a goal for the year to finish all 15. I had two done before 2018 started, and one hanging pitifully unfinished. I think this week I finished that one, Psalm 122 pictured here. It is the third in the first set of the whole. There’s a lot more yet to say (and a trap where I overthink it too). But I’ll just suggest this which I’ve learned in studying these ancient songs: the beginning is always tough, the middle is always a place of trust, and the final resolve is an unbelievable glory that encapsulates the whole. What can even begin to capture such simple encouragement!

I found just this morning a wonderful word from the poet T.S. Elliot that touches on some of what I sense: “What we call the beginning is often the end and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.” I can see the end, feel I am glimpsing it. My task is to articulate the building cadence in paint.

this question was first asked of a woman heading in one direction, returning in another, see the account here.

simple but not easy

A seasoned pro said this last fall in my hearing and it struck me: SO TRUE: “it’s simple, but it’s not easy”! This could be a mantra for continued practice in any discipline worth pursuing. The key things to know are basic, evident, clear from the ground up. They are simple. Jesus boiled all the law and the prophets down to just two ideas. Nodding our heads, we’re all pleased with ourselves until we actually try to do those two things.

Artists, who usually don’t care much about rules, still know that to work well, one still has to respect a couple fences, like the basics of line and value. Stick with the simple things and then start moving out creatively! Easy Peasy. It’s getting to the finish that’s the tough part. We know what to do, we imagine so easily! But the sublime result takes a whole lot more effort than we romantics ever imagined!

Yesterday I worked for hours with an idea, trying to transfer it onto paper with my inks. I came home from the studio defeated. I may have not only wasted the paper, the inks and my energy, but then I was fighting the beast who tries to whisper to me that even my “foolish” ambition is a waste. It’s not easy going upstream. And so, I consider the basics again, chalk it up to “at least I tried” and “I learned something today that will feed the next one”… So, there’s nothing to show here today but some starts, and some working resolve.

How about for you? In whatever you do, does this ring true “simple but not easy”? And do you have some thoughts as to why?

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape