Category Archives: beauty

hours and hours

In early morning dark, I was driving my friend to a hospital in another city. We’d been given some pretty clear directions and told it was simple, so off we went. Toward the end of our journey, our eyes focused for the landmarks (in the disruption, neither of us had our “devices”). Ok, we passed the Walgreens where we turn. Ok, we’re supposed to go over this bridge. Ok. . . so where is the next turn, did we miss it? We both leaned forward in our seats, the car ambling forward into the dim. Another couple blocks and we saw a blue hospital sign, then down a hill, around a corner and it felt like maybe we were approaching the right vicinity. Soon: lights, cameras, action.

On the way out, hours later, we retraced our route to get back to the interstate. This part is why I am telling the story: the time to travel out was eons shorter than that long and ponderous earlier drive! How could this be? It was the same exact path of streets we took coming in. But our experience of time was completely different in the reverse direction. We both were startled by this and it got me thinking.

Time seems to be an elastic thing, even as it ticks with a measurable rhythm. Sometimes as I lie in bed at night, I can feel and hear in my ears the beat of my own heart in a predictable rhythm that is beyond my control: pump. pump. pump. I can manipulate some variance in the count of those beats: get excited and they move faster, focus on relaxing and they settle down, but I cannot stop the beats, nor do I want to. Time moves like this in a set program; I cannot ultimately change it’s progress or it’s pace. As I move through time however some things feel quick and some things feel terribly, terribly slow. Certainly the moments looking for the hospital as we examined every sign and longed for every turn were experienced by us as LONG. But on the way out, hearts lifted, day shining and mission accomplished—the entrance to the interstate was so quick it was entirely startling.

Here’s why this informs me: I am awaiting the arrival of Jesus, as He promised. I am moving along looking for His signs. He said the way was simple and just ahead. But it is dim out there where I am traveling now. I will keep going forward. His way is sure. It’s the time thing that has me at the edge of my seat.

So, is it my experience in time, awaiting His arrival that makes it seem LONG? Is it the heartstopping events that make the pace seem to stagger, and the exciting parts make it seem to speed up? This much is clear: time may be subjectively experienced, yet it remains a measured finite resource that moves in one direction only. This video I shot was on a blustery afternoon, also just recently. The movement here reminds me of a phrase in a poem by Susan Morrison, (age 11) “Hours are leaves of life, and I am their gardener, each hour falls down slow.”

encounter at the gym

Amid the noisy machines, flashing tv screens and the running track, there is a window at my fitness center. It is a glass block section that scatters light into the space where we work. Everyone inside has an individual training plan going on. There’s sweat, determined looks, clocks, and all around the sounds of metal clanking. I was tromping along with my earbuds locked into a current-events podcast when I got stopped by this view. This was greater news.

In the Genesis account of how the world came to be, the calling forth of light was the very first creative act. Everything else followed this. As artists, (creators who move at the initiation of Creator) we know the value of light in any composition. We manage light, move it, mix it, manipulate it, arrange it, mimic it. But we cannot create it out of nothing.
The reflected light dancing on the sill here is so lyrical, cast forward by the waves in the glass, received on another plane and resting there all day for anyone to notice. But the source of this light is what captured me and still continues to quietly move me. The light is not a blinding flood, or an enchanting deception but rather a beckoning presence. And it is highlighted all the more because of the shadows mingling near it. This was a singular moment.

I spent a little time here, turning my phone from talking machine to image recorder. After a bit of sheer enjoyment, I went back to the busy track. The news on the podcast I could not repeat to you now, though it was important. The calories lost and the cardio exercised was necessary. But the experience with this light is sustaining for me, even today. For this was not just about the passing of something pretty. It was an engagement with the maker of pretty.

Imagine if you were walking through a space and came across the illumination in a painting by Carravagio. This might stop you too. But what if Carravagio himself was standing right there, hoping you might notice. What if the artist himself was somehow translated to your time and place so that you could actually talk with him a bit if you wanted to. What would you say to him? “How did you do that?” “Why did you arrange it this way?” or maybe just “. . .thank-you”. I am thinking that Someone greater than Caravaggio is here.

Character of Good vs. Evil

To have a sense of character, one has to spend some time observing and experiencing. We make decisions on character based on what we see, sometimes quickly, sometimes considerably. When someone then does something “out of character,” we state our surprise according to a prior set of expectations, coming out of some kind of history. Shift to the realm of ideas. When it comes to knowing or recognizing what is good and what is truly evil, it seems to me that we have lost our way. We have given up caring to know. Discernment is hard to find in a culture which denigrates any reflective judgement.

I decided to name these two pieces (last post and this image). “The Nature of Evil” and “The Nature of Good” because of their complete contrast in visual character. These two serve as a primer, using symbolic imagery to introduce the notion that there are two material poles: one is good, the other is fearfully evil. And if this reality is even remotely true, being alert to the character of these poles would be a significant pursuit.

The first image, that of evil, called Abaddon, is dominant and encroaching, seemingly boundless and fearful. The second image is much quieter, gentle but life-giving, boundaried but free. It penetrates the ground rather than taking it over. And it is rimmed by this mysteriously fragile red enclosure. When I made this second image it was after studying some illuminated manuscripts from a book a friend had given me. The first image, as I wrote earlier, took over when I made it, surprised me, troubled me. But it seemed necessary to consider. This second image was planned more carefully, but its making also involved some serendipity. I used a brayer to lay down the veils of blue watercolor, loving the delicate surprise in the markings that resulted, and that were still “in character” with the quiet beauty of good.

This from Art & Fear, p.103 “What Science bears witness to experimentally, art has always known intuitively–that there is an innate rightness to the recurring forms of nature.” If you are able, please come see these pieces along with work from several other fine artisans at the Reece Museum on campus of East TN State, until September 12th, 2014.

vista land

This is where I get to live! My husband and I still revel in such a place to be. He loves the quiet the most. I love the long views. I grew up in flat lands. I was always looking out the windows though, searching, even as a child for something (I knew not what to even call it). I just remember the ache and the longing. And I especially was enchanted by the lines that seemed to point to horizons. Now my horizons are much more enchanting, irregular, changing, suggesting deeper promise.

This small representation is called “Beauty’s Kiss.” It is an attempt to show the incredible response on the land when light enters and embraces the contours. There truly is a very tangible ache in such beauty. The land responds to its maker. We can/I can so easily miss this in our own preoccupations. Isaiah says that one day these trees will clap their hands for what they are waiting for. Paul in Romans says that there is a groaning going on in all this waiting. But meanwhile we get treated to glimpses like this!

it’s not about the hay

With a group of middle-schoolers, I am doing a big overview art history module. These kids are so eager and ready. We are exploring themes and examples as to WHY art has been done through time. We talked about beauty last time and I asked them to tell me what that was. Quick answers came until they had to think more. It was so interesting to watch them struggle and then engage with this important question. We looked quickly at the Greeks, and then the early 19thc. American Hudson River School, an abstract piece and then focused on what Monet did with stacks of hay. We then tried to practice with random color in four set values. In one half hour they knocked out some pretty exciting stuff! I told them about the time, when not much older than they are now, I saw so many of these haystack studies, done at various lightings in Monet’s days, all displayed together on a wall in Chicago’s Art Institute. How could such beauty be rendered from piles of wasted grass? The vision of that day in Chicago was transforming for me. It wasn’t about the hay!

I recently came across this quote from Peter Kreeft who describes this wonder well: “Glory is greater than we can contain, comprehend or control. It ravishes us right out of our skins, out of ourselves, into an ek-stasy, a standing-outside-the-self, an out-of-body experience; and we tremble in fear and delight. It is not in us, we are in it, like being ‘in love’: ‘it’s bigger than both of us’. “ (I would add: it’s bigger than all of us) Kreeft continues, “Thus it does not enter into us, we enter into it. “ For Monet, the hay was a prop, a device he used for what he really was studying to say.

overlook

Philosophically, and very personally this is an important word for me, more than I even understood. OVERLOOK. You will sometimes see signs that beckon you to pull over, for there is an incredible view coming up behind the trees blocking your vision. Overlooks give us that opportunity, but you must stop to see them. I have been enchanted by the big overlook for a long, long time; am coming to see reasons why in ways that are deeply satisfying and spiritually stretching. I remember a lecture I heard over 40 years ago about the Hebrew prophet Isaiah. He was a visionary who was given vistas to verbalize that were greater than he felt he could capture. He was a big picture guy. His words skip over the peaks of time, they run ahead, then linger back with comfort, and other times with terrible disruption. Time conflates in Isaiah’s visions. Assurances are way, way beyond him but he sees it! He scribes what he is given with his own unique voice.

I read just this morning this wonderful bit from chapter 26: “Lord, Thou wilt establish peace for us, since Thou hast also preformed for us all our works.” It is already done, according to Isaiah, even as it is yet to be done.

Also I saw this morning this wonderful statement from the wise thinker, Ravi Zacharias: “Enchantment needs a mind, and the emotions are given as a wellspring” he said this as he too was contemplating beauty and wonder. To be enchanted, especially in the times we’re living in, one must exercise the mind with true vision. Unlike my spider (last post) I have some equipment (a mind, emotions and a will) that give me the possibility of seeing and sharing wonder! We have to stand back from the messy things (some really awful things) however, and take the longer view in. I recommend Isaiah (but he is not for the feint of heart!). Or just open your own eyes with some humility. There is reason for expectation for there really is a daily vista right in front of every one of us. Oh, for eyes to see! And for skill to get it down.

the question of beauty

When I was in high school, I had a remarkable teacher in a world history class. I remember his name (and wonder if he is still alive). I cannot remember any of the exact words or streams of thought in his lectures, but I remember how his ideas ignited things inside me. He spoke about the question of beauty, this in the context of worldwide movements of upheaval (!) and without dropping packaged answers into the hearts of skeptics, he left at least me wondering. . . what exactly is beauty? Why do I respond to certain things and not others? Could there be a code of meaning here that speaks beyond language and culture and time? This further fueled a life long interest in art, and in the meaning behind things.

This morning I watched as a spider finished her web. She had several strands tied way beyond her tiny body up to the gutters of the house. Then she had one tied to the Laurel bush, and another anchored on the Japanese Maple. She swayed in the beautiful center of her fragile trap. Her brain, or instinctive operating center, or whatever she has that makes her move with such deliberation, has to be no bigger than a pinhead! How does she do this, and can she possibly know the beauty here? She certainly cannot see the bigger picture of what she has constructed. And it’s a trap of death for goodness sake! There is something bigger that has set things in play that she has no ability even to imagine.

And so I continue, my pencils making webs, my brushes searching with color, my tiny awareness of the things brewing worldwide at great disadvantage. This same morning I saw this in Psalm 2: “Why are the nations in an uproar, and the peoples devising a vain thing?” And I realize that before we can really handle answers, we have to be somehow startled to grapple with the big questions. And beauty, it seems to me, is one gentle way of walking us there.

Around the room

There is a small chapel in a cemetery in Minneapolis that is truly remarkable. Styled after the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, a very early Christian structure, this referencing chapel in Minneapolis is a jewel box.

The interior mosaics are stunning, crafted by Italian artisans, who pieced over 10 million tiles into visuals! It is said that this interior is the most perfect replication of Byzantine mosaic art in our country (that’s not saying much! But this work easily rivals the mosaics in Ravenna and Venice). The focus of all the decorative work is the placement of four large personifications, four graces as it were. These represent MEMORY, FAITH, HOPE and LOVE. Each personification is labeled so the symbolism is not missed, and each figure is over 7 feet tall. Clearly the personifications are placed in a definite and progressive order from the front left of the chapel around clockwise to the back. We remembered my Dad before his burial from this chapel and now my Mom.

The beauty of this entire space is incredible and of course therefore a tonic in grief for so many who pass through. I am struck by how these four personifications summarize the process of valuing a life, no matter whose life. These were placed to be a visual tableau. One could miss their instructive value even while noting their incredible visual power. When my Dad died in 1985, the events somewhat blinded me from pondering these. But I remember the beauty and I kept the brochure. Preparing for my Mom’s funeral, I spent time considering the import of these four personified ideas: Memory, Faith, Hope and Love. These words and images corresponded with, and reinforced some important reading I have been doing. Mom would have loved the discussion in her more vital years.

MEMORY: I miss those years with Mom and have so many good memories of her significant mark on my life.

FAITH: Mom became a woman of faith in her mid-fifties as a result of great trauma with one of my siblings. It was the significance in the suffering that Jesus accomplished that got Mom’s attention, and her allegiance. She went from being a casual churchgoer to a hungry believer. These two ideals, Memory and Faith, my Mother accomplished so well.

HOPE: The back of the room reveals the potential of life’s journey after faith has been grasped. Hope springs from faith; it is a sure confidence (the word is a compound that means literally “with faith”). True Biblical hope is grounded in what has been accomplished to buy our rescue. Jesus now promises to bind up the believer’s wounds, to make final sense of every sorrow, to deal justly with every evil, and to lift us out of our own death in time. This is not empty wishing; it is solid unseen trust.

LOVE: This last idea, pictured here, is the greatest. Yet it is not prominent; it almost sits shyly in the back until noticed, until mourners are walking out. Love is realized after lived-out hope. The gaze of each of the personifications in the room is noteworthy: Memory ponders, looking downward. Faith looks intently away. Hope looks upward. Love alone looks directly forward. I am most moved by this. She looks right into you and keeps on looking. She is straightforward, while gentle. She is at ease but also very courageous. Her gaze penetrates time: past, present and future. I know few who practice love like this. I know only One who lived like this.

fragile return

A friend gave me this lovely plant as I have been grieving the loss of my Mother. Yellow was my Mom’s favorite color. Mom would have enjoyed seeing how lovely this is, such a tender reminder. I am not a great plant person, so I hope I can keep this alive to bloom again. It is so interesting to me. These tender orchid blooms emerge out of long tendrils, pencil-like stalks. And the long blooming stalks (which look like nothing when they appear out of the base of the much showier leaves) need to be supported as they lengthen. For it is out of these emerging outgrowths, that the beautiful blooms finally appear. Someone else set up the support on my bloomed stalk. I am told that without that support the bloom simply would not have happened.

Friday, I received back a huge box from the Monotype show in Massachusetts. I have been traveling, so I forgot about this simultaneously traveling piece of artwork. It was neat to have my piece “Selah” come back to my door. I had set up return shipping, and without any more effort, my piece came back.

This whole paradox between effort and supplied reward in time has me musing. And the reality of fragility…That anything so beautiful exists for any length of time is quite extraordinary here, it seems to me. My heart feels as fragile as these blooms. But I can feel the support right inside my heart.

Emerging color and the puzzlement of physical beauty

Driving through rural VA this past weekend, I punched open my iPhone camera to try to catch some amazing color notations. The snow was laying lightly atop an awakening earth. Before my eyes, was a transition going on from winter palette in the very dust of the earth. There were peeks of verdancy under the cold cover, and it was so beautiful! Clumps of slight but sure winsomeness was hinted also in the thin groupings of branches set against darker woods. I was stunned. I hoped the many shots I took might catch even a little glimpse of what was whizzing past my retina, what was affecting my heart!

I am reminded of what the scientist Edwin Land used to say about the retina as an incredible receptor. What the human eye could perceive in 1/3 of a second, he said, would take a super computer 100 years to do! Doubtless technology has improved that comparison, but the human eye’s incredible ability remains unmatched. Alas, the translation of color to pixels in my iPhone could not replicate the wonder I had seen. Later that day, I sat with my near 8 year old grandson, re-telling the experience while showing him several of my photos. He politely tolerated my enthusiasm and looked but could not see what I was exclaiming about. How can I somehow replicate what I experienced there in a way that can be seen? This is maybe the task of my years now, and I ache for the skill to do it.
Francis of Assisi spoke of nature being a conduit of much greater reality; that nature bespoke the glory of its Creator; that such beatific embodiment in very physical things was indicator of sure things beyond.
Albrecht Durer, the German engraver of the 14th century spent time, thought, and practice trying to understand and to communicate a theory for what makes beauty. He called it a search for the wondrous, “for it is great art that in crude, rustic things can show real power…and this gift is wondrous” (Panofsky p. 122).
Jonathan Edwards, the early American theologian, “was obsessed” with the beauty of God. Edwards said that beauty was an analog, or a sign post of God’s primary essence; “the most accessible manifestation of goodness” (writes Gerald McDermott in a new Theology of Jonathan Edwards).

All I know is that I saw some incredible flashes of beauty in the Virginia hills. Like apparitions, they do not show up on my camera screen. I hunger to translate them so others can taste and see it too.

Selah

A good portion of my work is an intuitive response, rapidly laid down. This does not mean that the result seen on paper was altogether quick, though if you had watched this piece and others being birthed out of the press you might think so. What is visible is an end product of a long term simmering from my mind and spirit and body. The thoughts that collide toward and then into a particular working day, the prayers that have been raised and linger as I work, and the arms and legs that labor this forward are mine. But I live influenced and challenged in time by much around me; and that can be seen here too. Of particular note is an apprehension regarding the mystery of beauty. Add to this: mourning over so much that is broken. And finally, every piece I craft comes out from a long term feeding in the words of Scripture that continually ground and then lift me.

The word “Selah” for example is used often in the emotive expressions found in the book of the Hebrew Psalms. The word seems by its usage to be a deliberate pause for pondering. “Pause and think of that!” is how the Amplified version translates “Selah.” It is a call therefore from the penitent to other listeners. We stand together on ground that is broken, but some of us are looking up and leaning forward, yearning for His appearing.

This piece is presently hanging at the Barrington Center for the Arts at Gordon College in Wenham, MA. “Selah” was juried into a show for the monotype guild of New England’s 3rd National Exhibition. It will be up from February 23rd to April 6th.

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape