Category Archives: joy

Timeless not pointless

I painted this large canvas over 25 years ago. It was an experiment in abstraction when I was still learning to work with paint. It was a wild ride, this piece, and so I kept it as a marker, for I remember well my intention. During that time, I was exploring the nature and the purpose of creative expression: both for me personally, and also theologically. Questions about how or if gestural expression, or marks without words, could communicate had me questing, note taking, studying, observing and practicing. I have stacks of things now which someone someday will have to trash. But since this painting was so big, 40″x30”, I couldn’t stack it away. I liked it for the memory of my questions, and the explosion of these marks and hues around a theme. I was studying Genesis 1 at the time, pondering the advancing movements documented there of the Creator. I wanted to see if I could catch a glimpse.

Almost 2 years ago, I had a show with a lot of small landscapes I had accomplished in Italy. The 30-some works on paper were hung up by clothes pins in a small local gallery. That gallery owner needed a focal point for this show, so I brought over this abstract from my studio. The show was so well attended it was rather surprising, and several smalls sold that very night. I referred to this painting only in passing as I spoke for about 10 minutes about the nature of expression and my aims in doing visual work. A quiet man made a decision that evening and spoke with the Gallery about buying this larger work on canvas. I hadn’t intended on selling it, but acquiesced due to his thoughtful interest. That would have been enough satisfaction.

And then this past week, I was invited to a talk this same man, now my friend, gave. I had no idea that he planned to display my painting as a visual backdrop to some very meaningful words he delivered about his own contemplative journey into how the Creator is holding his heart. My friend walked the audience through the phrases in Psalm 23 and pointed to how those comforting words are suggested all through this/my own wild exploration of Genesis 1. I was rather stunned. My friend saw things, and accurately, which I never intended, but very likely the Originator (who envelops all) did.

I often query myself, especially when I’m feeling restless or tired: “why am I doing this?” “what is the aim?” “what will last which is eternally useful here?” “could I do it better?”

This piece you see is maybe not a great painting. I actually don’t know what makes something great. But what happened with this is great to me. The effect of the work is indeed timeless and not pointless. I got to be involved partnering in something big. I don’t make work for it to be a pretty copy, or a current fad. I don’t make work to further glut my studio. I don’t make work to gain a name for myself. I don’t make work to sell it (though it’s nice when it does). Sometimes I struggle to make work at all. But to make something which becomes a catalyst into someone else’s life in a meaningful way is of utmost value to me. Stunned by this realization, I’m happy to report that this is more than satisfaction; it is a humble fulfillment.

Reflection on a Muddy Road

Well, I just counted, and I have 555 photos I took in one short week, early March, during a teaching stint in Kenya. I have a visual collection of everything from students’ gorgeous smiles to interesting meals and village life, from handmade teaching visuals to the amazing fabrics the women wore. We saw Lake Victoria, the beautiful verdant tea highlands, the precarious motorcycle loads, the children walking to school in their differently colored uniforms in every town, the famous Tenwek hospital grounds, the Zebra patterns, and the contours in the vast Rift valley. But one photo of one moment is my very favorite. I attempted to replicate it here just last week; and let me explain why this moved me to get the paints and brushes out.

This is a simple reflection on a muddy road, late afternoon, close to Maasai land. We were in a big jeep which could handle the terrain. Exotic animals could turn up anywhere and it was an adventure at this point which is part of the feel, and then the contrast with this sudden, common, quiet beauty laid out before us on the road. Often, I can’t get my iPhone out fast enough when I see the moment, and yes there were better glimpses than what I finally could catch. Maybe that is why I wanted to try to memorialize the vision in paint.

Poet and Anglican priest Malcolm Guite asked in a lecture “what is the relationship between the knowable and the known?” I think he was musing on those things which are simple in front of us, made of matter which easily we understand — and also what these things can point to?

Maybe my own moment represented something known which I tried to semblance in paint. On a 10×8 paper panel, this is a reminder of a deeper thrust into my heart; possibly close to what Moses saw: an ordinary bush, burning in a known desert, yet the “bush was not consumed”.

Philosopher Owen Barfield asked about these things we tag, (and maybe too easily dismiss) by calling them metaphors. He said metaphors may well be more than just stand-ins for a presumptive idea. He asked, (considering bigger and more real things) “Is it really there?”. He said this was the first question and called these things we see “figurations”. He posited that poignant figurations were important. He also called them “forgetives” which was an old Shakespearian word, derived from the word “forge” describing something which has quick, forged and imaginative power. These forged impressions he said can be “the material manifestation of an immaterial unity”.

I am quite confident that immaterial reality shows up in unique moments because Solomon spoke of this which is knit deep in every human heart. We just need to be on the lookout. And so for me, on a muddy road with some wet ditches there was a bringing down of the sky’s brilliance. Vastness came to visit and laid down right before us into the dirt. It was beautifully striking, and for me a vivid picture of how God comes into our commonality. He is Light after all. But the Messiah who entered in, didn’t stay here on the ground. After doing His glorious visitation, and He left me a sign as an open door for response.

In the 19th c. Emily Dickinson selected words, in three separate fragments which catches this for me. I think she too was onto something.

“If I’m lost – now
That I was found –
Shall still my transport be –
That once – on me –those Jasper Gates
Blazed open –suddenly — (#256a)

“A transport one cannot contain
May yet a transport be –
Though God forbid it lift the lid –
Unto its Ecstasy! (#184a)

Oh Sumptuous moment
Slower go
That I may gloat on thee –
T’will never be the same to starve
Now I abundance see – (#1125a*)

*Dickinson’s excerpts are from Johnson’s Chronolgy

‘next level’

There is a phrase that I’ve heard bandied about so much that it has made me cringe, like nails on chalkboard. You’ve heard it often also “let’s bring this up to the next level” as if everything that went before was value-less. As if we must drag ourselves up to a new version before we can be effective. Especially irritating has this verbiage been for me when I’ve heard a Pastor say this, using the parlance of modern promotion to sell an idea. It’s an inside joke in our house now. ‘Next level’ stuff feels like sleight of hand.

Why? because all that went before has intrinsic value. And it not only remains but is the source for what follows. Authentic growth comes from somewhere real and is not dragged or pushed but rather emerges with the remnants of history incorporated into it.

It was interesting therefore for me to hear a British artist I follow on Instagram say something similar this week. I guess in Britain the catch phrase for jump starting improvement is “leveling up”. It’s the same promotional idea. Cringeworthy. And this artist counters that instead of this expectation that we all must be lurching forward with giant steps, rather she allows a gentler recognition of stages and growth in our work.

I therefore am happy to post this painting, accomplished this week in a matter of hours. It surprised me. It is not “next level” but rather evidence in paint of where I’ve been practicing and hoping to go. The lights and darks stand out and relate in interesting ways. I was able to keep to a simplicity of composition without messing it with fussiness. That and gestural suggestion are what I’ve long hoped to achieve. I used enough paint. I took my time mixing up the values I selected to form the space. And the color holds interest. It expresses the warms and the cools which were so beautiful on a Fall hike recently. I caught something here in the rendering of a remembered day that makes me smile with hope. It’s like I could die tomorrow and be satisfied. No levels needed.

It’s the season of Christmas and Mary’s humble song has been rolling through my mind too. She identifies her lowly position while her relationship with the Most High is what gives her reason to exult. She references all that has been laid down before, she incorporates past words and present pressures into an exclamation of future surety. This was not promotion, this was praise. This was confident expectation spoken from the young private voice of a peasant woman. Cosmic consequence would emerge gently, slowly, and then the whole world would be adjusting to the import. First a seed, then a bud, then full bloom, then a multiplied harvest. This is the way the Creator works. He takes time. He uses all that has already been laid down. Then He surprises. It’s all a piece. How fortunate that through her words , recorded so carefully, we get a glimpse of how glory comes.

face to Face, or shadow for Substance

Wrestling with God — whether with words, with images, even physically is not a new thing. Jacob could be the archetype for this struggle on the ground. And though that man in the biblical account was scrappy, even brash, in the end he was commended! God, who knows the heart and the end game, sure sees things differently than we do. And He says so in many ways.

So, I could stop right here, humbled by this all.

But I can’t stop here; for I am compelled to keep-on in this greatest of quests: how to tangibly represent with physical materials the wonder of God Himself? On the ground, with what I am and have: my skills are simple, but my aim is not.

I recently came off an amazing opportunity to consider and to process in my own work what the most lasting thinkers, artisans and theologians (through the last 2500 years) have had to say about the efficacy of making images which might communicate that which is ultimately ineffable. There is rich history in this vein, littered with hard fought integrity, with evident brilliance along with tragedies and personal failings all along the way.

The early church, adorning their house-church walls and burial places, began with symbols to signify their convictions. Clement of Alexandria (just one generation later than the image packed book of Revelation) cautioned that makers of images would only provoke false worship. Tertullian countered “We know that truth is apprehended by means of visible images, that is, the invisible through the visible. For, St. Paul tells us: ‘The invisible attributes of God from the Creation of the world are understood from the things that are made.’”

The centuries that followed continued this debate about how or whether to represent God through materials that others could view.

Clement’s concern about the dangers inherent in image making was not new either. Plato (six centuries earlier) said similar. And often for religious folk, whether Hebrew, Muslim or Christian the 2^nd commandment’s statement against images, signaled that any physical representation, at any time must be a non-starter. But a careful look at Scripture recognizes that it is full of imagery from the poets to the prophets. And God Himself directed specific imagery with the fiery serpent set on a standard and the fibers and ornaments in the tabernacle. A thoughtful look at God’s 1^st commandment lays forward God’s primal concern as delivered to Moses in physical stone: “You shall have no other gods before me”. In other words, it is not the thing, or any other thing that should be placed in front of, or in place of direct interaction with this personal God who speaks.

He wants our attention: our mind and soul, not our made stuff. Made stuff can function as decoys from really facing Him alone in the heart. How can I say this with such assurance? Here’s how: it was centrally Moses and God’s interaction, not the inscribed stone that ignited the relationship. “Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, just as a man speaks to his friend.” Think about this remarkable description. This is what the heart of God is after: yours.

For Jacob too, he was given a dream vision as a much younger man, before his wrestling match with the One who eventually blessed him. In his dream, Jacob saw an image of an active and mysterious ladder. If images were hazardous, then a good God would not have used one to prompt this troubled man. Yet the God behind that dream sustained Jacob’s courage through this encounter.

Fast forward 3200 years from Jacob, when another troubled young man faced a simple wooden Byzantine cross. With his heart and soul ignited, Francis of Assisi heard the voice of God right there (though others did not) and he thus moved forward into the task God gave him. Francis’ life, Moses’ life, Jacob’s life all evidenced a significant interaction with their Creator that can’t be explained apart from a face-to-face encounter. Physical things were involved in all these interactions, but it was the direct initiative from a communicating God that changed their lives from the physical to the eternal.

The New Testament writer to the Hebrews spoke about physical things on earth being only prompts or “shadows” “of the good things to come, and not the very form of things”. We know about shadows. They signify that a substance is near or behind in ways we can grasp. Shadows help frame and then point to the Light.

Gregory of Nyssa (4^th century) said “each individual needs his own eyes to see the beauty of the true and the intelligible light. The one who does see it through some divine gift and unexplainable inspiration is astonished in the depths of his consciousness; the one who cannot see will not realize what he has missed. For how can anyone confront him with the very good he has run away from?”

Oh my friend, This maker of light is still shining and communicating if you are hungry for a face to face.

I call this inked monotype, “Shadow for Substance”. I was in a dark wooded area near a low wall, with a vista beyond and delightful brights on certain planes and through the trees. The shadows were strong but the light dancing through was absolutely enchanting. In a few moments, I tried to capture the edges and shapes of this in sketch and then later with ink. I don’t know if this black and white translates to anyone else, but I know it does to me; for I sensed His presence in this physical place.

night soundings

This monotype started out with a bit of a plan but lots more panache. I mixed up a pile of dark blue-black ink. Then I took my largest plexi plate and rolled a solid sky over most of it with a large brayer. I was thinking night sky and of the phrase “night to night reveals knowledge” from Psalm 19. I next chose to set some context. So I mixed up some dark earthen brown and more thickly laid that down on the bottom fourth of the plate. Marking into that brown base with a scribe, I suggested some distance with hill lines.

Then I cut a paper stencil to cover that brown section and prepared a fine mist sprayer of mineral spirits. This is where you hold your breath, for I could have ruined the whole with too much spray. The experiment held promise as I removed the stencil, held the plate vertical for a few moments to let the mineral spirits break into the ink by gravity.

Lastly, I lifted the plate up to the light over my head, looking through it to see if the ink layers had balance and enough interesting mystery on the top part. The cool thing about monotypes is that you are working with less control than direct painting. What you’ve worked up on the plate gets pressed onto paper under a huge roller on an etching bed. Magic or mess is what you see once the cranking of the press is done squeezing the ink you laid down. The paper is then finally freed to release off that painted piece of plastic. The paper is the recipient of all this process. And you as the artist get to see what happened in the pressure which had been applied on top of your marks.

Voila or…hmmmm: try again. In this case I had a keeper, and this painting on paper hangs in my home, not for sale.

This scene references a vivid memory I had when I was about 18, sitting on a log in Canada and peering up into the deep night sky. No one sitting around the campfire was speaking. I had no prior information about God which was at all meaningful, so I was not prepared with any assumptions or pre-conditioning. I just looked up silently at the dark vastness sprinkled with an array of stars. Soon, unbidden, I was covered with awe. The depth of sparkling bodies suspended way above me in the heavens was beyond beautiful. It was calling me in some kind of gentle way to awaken to what seemed suddenly obvious (!) that there was a Creator who was way beyond what I knew sitting there on the earth. I said nothing to anybody, but my heart gained something important that night.

The Psalmist says that this is the way God speaks, through what He has made. And He does this without words. He does this mercifully, continually; and He does this all throughout the earth in every generation. The sound waves are ever present, just aiming for receptors. “He who has ears , let him hear” It’s an invitation. It is done for us.

As I surveyed my monotype creation, the day it came off the etching press some 40 years after my night sky epiphany, I remembered how that 18 year old vision had awakened me. But then with this new image on my paper, I also wondered if what showed up through the mineral spirited forms in front of me was also a closing!

It’s as if human bodies are being lifted up in my painted version; multitudes joining the resurrection. This is in fact a promise for awakened believers, that the graves will one day release them just like the paper I pulled off my plate. Jesus who was raised from death right after Passover became the first fruits of a greater gathering to come. Hallelujah! Something’s coming that is far far greater than I know here on earth, and I am longing for His sudden appearing.

a shifting

There’s a shift going on. I know it personally and in my own work. I sense it nationally and globally (you probably do too). But I’ll speak for myself alone here. I am not afraid. In my 7^th decade now, I am getting better, bolder and more anticipatory about what is ahead for me in every way. Here is just brief attempt to herald this with words and through my art.

This past month I was asked to show a collection of my Master’s thesis work (completed from 2004-2007), at a fabulous new gallery in our town. Time is such a teller! I can see it now better than I even could when making these pieces. The whole collection is somber, full of stark verticals and traveling horizontals. The hues were muted the textures broken. The ideas that spawned each piece were all rooted in gravity while I was pondering what holds us in place, what governs time and people which is above the material that we can see?

That last sentence still captivates me into my present work. And I use a landscape ground in everything I do, I just can’t get away from it, even in the more abstract pieces. The tagline I’ve given my work “Conceptual Landscape” remains importantly descriptive. Concepts drive my work, ideas drive my actions, but the seen aspect of this is from a certain place on the land right in front of me. To put it a different way: the land is the stage-set only, but the winsome script is what keeps me and others watching and listening. To represent this effectively, visually without saying it out loud takes a level of skill I am only beginning to touch. But I am on it, like never before. Here is just a sample page of my current sketchbook.

The stage-set is beautiful, and oh I have so many references all around me, at different times of day and lighting! My colors now are brighter. The light is more compelling even especially on darkening days. The textures lead, the lines are often diagonal now, rarely settled horizontals or intersecting verticals. And somehow, in the pieces which are ready to frame, there is a sense of potential, of excitement, even surprise in how the marks, my marks, are contributing to a quick conclusion.

“El Olam”

The title of this work is a little-known Hebrew name of God I discovered when reading through Abraham’s journey in the book of Genesis. In 50 years of my own journeying, I have never heard anyone talk on this, but it is rather simple, and it hit me between my eyes one day as I was (then and continue to be) impressed with how Abraham learned more and more about the character of this unseen God he aimed to follow — step after dusty step. It takes time to learn important things.

You can see for yourself how Abraham identifies this new description of God in Genesis chapter 21 right after he’s made an agreement with a man who could have been an enemy (the back story is recorded there, starting in ch. 20). Abraham messes up. God protects and leads, then God even blesses him (kind of a main theme in the Bible). And the philistine takes notice and comes forward. Both this foreign leader and Abraham have something they need to settle out. And so, they make a treaty, a solemn covenant. That’s the short of it.

But the long of it, is that Abraham already knew about the value of covenant by the time he gets to ch.21. And he already knows some things about the character of the God who’d solemnly promised (alone and uninitiated) by making a covenant with this father of the Jews. (see further back story in Genesis 15). So that once things settle out so wonderfully with Abraham’s on-the-ground issue, he is given to see so much more deeply how God has been everlastingly in charge of the entire journey. El Olam can be translated as “continually eternal” “without end” or even literally “the vanishing point”. Abraham voices this realization on his own, and in worship after the philistine has left the scene satisfied. Abraham sees where and how and with whom this is ALL going to settle out. Abraham’s El Olam can be trusted.

The idea of a vanishing point made me curious even as a young one looking at how the parallel corn rows seemed to squish together further out in the field. This was visually mysterious to me, for I knew that walking down any row would never lead me to that point. But then in college I gained some skill at understanding how to translate depth onto a 2 D surface in a perspective drawing class. This old sketch is from that class. There’s a hidden vanishing point in pencil on the back horizon which is the key to getting everything else correctly in place. If you look closely, you’ll see how I messed up too. But the joining point is there.

Later when I saw that this abstract idea was voiced by Abraham as another name for God I was ‘blown away’, or maybe blown further into the mystery: to the point of that recognition.

I made the complex landscape highlighted at the top of this post in 2006. It was inked up and pulled onto paper through an etching press, then I collaged graph paper onto the image and finally a layer of encaustic wax was floated over the center to give it some translucence. This result is one of my favorites for the conceptual reasons above. I have submitted it to a juried committee for a possible showing in Cincinnati in 2022. If it makes it in, I will note that on my news and reviews page. But for now, I am just content to rest this year, and to rest all of my years in the able hands of El Olam.

“Sitting with Pretty”, or seeking the WHY before the HOW

I remember the day I painted this, sitting on a high rock perch with my oldest daughter. She (always pretty) owns this painting now, and every time I visit her home, I am reminded of those quiet moments in that magic place with her. The natural pink palisade wall below us overlooks the great midwestern American lake we love. That day and some way over on the edge of the cliff, my son and husband were fixing rope to rappel this wall. Preferring not to watch that episode, I chose this view, and got transported instead into the beauty of the long and the far of it all. As C.S. Lewis puts it, we went “higher up and further in.”

This is an early work, one of a few I show on my reorganized image page. It’s important not only sentimentally, but also aesthetically because of the pull landscape has long held for me. Before I knew how to work painting tools, and even as I was fumbling around through the years with them, it was always the big views into far away vistas which moved me into any effort to capture something onto a 2D surface. The result has never been enough but rather a reminder of the “something more” out there that gets me pursuing. I can feel that inner draw even as I type these words.

There are poignant moments when one senses that kind of pull, even without knowing its source. It’s a faint whisper that there is something really important, really heavy, really good “out there for the asking”. How do we even know these things? I do wonder with a kind of humble awe. I somehow grasped a bit of this early on and wanted to understand more long before I became interested in biblical specifics. The WHY draws one first, it seems to me at least, before the HOW has any pertinence. What about for you?

Emily Dickinson, a recluse and a poetic mystic often would use dashes — as if extending thoughts into the air — as part of her vocabulary. I suspect this is so because words themselves (like painting tools) could hardly frame what she was after in any attempt to communicate for others what she could sense in her spirt. Here are just two samples:

In many and reportless places

We feel a Joy –-

Reportless also, but sincere as Nature

Or Deity –-

It comes without a consternation –-

Dissolves — the same –-

But leaves a sumptuous Destitution –-

Without a Name –-

Profane it by a search –- we cannot

It has no home –-

Nor we who having once inhaled it –-

Thereafter roam.

(c. 1876, #1382 in T. Johnson’s Chronology)

____________

I groped for him before I knew

With solemn nameless need

All other bounty sudden chaff

For this foreshadowed Food

Which others taste and spurn and sneer –-

Though I within suppose

That consecrated it could be

The only Food that grows.

(c.1882, #1555)

Jesus called this food “rivers of living water” and invited the hungry and thirsty to dine with Him. I’ve become convinced that every longing that we experience here, is only a merciful foretaste of the truly more that is available to any, and that, as He said — just for the asking.

reward realized

Patterns that come to our awareness reveal that something’s up. For example, leaves which have fallen to the ground are not surprising — there’s a randomness in the pile which I can easily ignore. But if on my sidewalk one Fall day, 15 colorful leaves are lined up pointing in the same direction, and every set of three repeats the same color progression: let’s say first a bright red; after that a solid yellow; thirdly a brilliantly splashed leaf of oranges over green (and then that pattern repeats 5x) probably anyone would puzzle instinctively that somebody set this up! We’d expect that there was some kind of intention, maybe lifting our eyes to look around for the instigator. Order is no accident; in fact, this is one of the foundational laws of thermodynamics: order is an intervention from typical randomness. And any pattern shows some causation which is bigger than the elements involved. Even newborns perk up at patterns with focused attention.

So it is with this collection of Psalms called “the Ascents” (120-134). There are five sets of triplets in this whole of 15 songs, all gathered to catch your interest. The entire collection is pointing the alert reader somewhere. These were often sung on an ascending journey. We’ve already mentioned in earlier posts the 1.2.3. cadence in this arrangement. The first Psalm in each triplet presented a problem, the second stated an act of reliance, and the third reported the resolution.

With Psalm 128 we’ve completed the third repeat of this triplet pattern. And I find it interesting (and compatible with life) that the problems of each subsequent triplet have magnified to more complex issues. The first set: 120-122 was about ENTRY, the second set: 123-125 about TEST, and the third we’re finishing now is about the reward in time of enjoying the FRUIT:

A song of ascents.

128 How blessed is every one of the Lord’s loyal followers,
each one who keeps his commands.
²You will eat what you worked so hard to grow.
You will be blessed and secure.
³Your wife will be like a fruitful vine
in the inner rooms of your house;
your children will be like olive branches,
as they sit all around your table.
⁴Yes indeed, the man who fears the Lord
will be blessed in this way.
⁵May the Lord bless you from Zion,
that you might see Jerusalem prosper
all the days of your life,
⁶and that you might see your grandchildren.
May Israel experience peace.

(New English Trans.)

If you’ve been tracking these songs, you already read the longing for such fruit in Ps.126, then the implicit promise of it in Ps.127 to any who trusted in his Originator, now we have real experience of result.

I selected bright field colors for this one, in fact this is one of the brightest of the whole series as I have rendered them. We’re catching a thanksgiving moment here with lots of anticipation of good things. The paint is laid down thickly. It took time to see this emerge for me in a way that was satisfying. But if the viewer or singer enters into this, we’re still also in a real moment, one we can sense right now. A light bright rain is falling, the ground is wet, and the fruit is ready to be enjoyed.

looking up

It’s a surprising turn around, and something you can do. Given the news on the ground, we need to keep lifting our eyes. Here’s one way I was reminded:

This past Friday, after an early morning meeting, I decided to hit the Kroger to get a jump-start on other things that needed doing. At 7am, the Kroger has decided to only rely on their self check-out kiosks, so I gamely ran my many items through the scanner, only to find it continually malfunctioning. Groan. The clerk who came to help was having trouble too, for the system kept shutting down. I hated it. (Note to self: don’t go to the Kroger again this early. Next note to self: don’t take your frustration out on this poor worker who didn’t cause this problem). 40 minutes later, groceries redeemed, I left the store with a frown.

But then, in the morning light, I looked up and saw this most fabulous sky. It was getting ready to storm. I stood there transfixed and fumbled for my phone to snap some shots right in the middle of the parking lot.

Seeing this changed my frown, and my entire mood. It was like a mini redemption after the struggle to bag some stuff. In the background of our days, the frantic 24 hour news cycle keeps us all on edge anyway. I’m resorting to music more and more. And I think often now of Jesus’ words “But when these things begin to take place, straighten up and lift up your heads…”

I have since last week made three small oils of that sky. Here is one of them. The imitation is only flattery. The pixels in my phone aren’t even adequate. You need to look up to find your own real thing.

gleaning and referencing

I complimented an artist I know for the excellent job she did designing a fresh logo. She said “well, actually, I borrowed from another logo I saw and…” as if that meant she could take no credit for the unique way she remade from another idea. Her apology made me sad; she didn’t realize what she’d done! There is a huge difference between copying and referencing. The former is plagiarism/thievery/boring — the later is crafting; it’s an entire reworking from ingredients already on the table.

All unique creativity springs from other starts. Nothing we do comes from nothing. In fact it is vain (and impossible) to assume we can do otherwise. Every great artist was influenced by what some others did. You can trace it. Only God needs no reference. Only God creates matter out of nothing before He shapes it. Only God is entirely original=out of origin. I find this simple contrast between His Creating and ours liberating, not demeaning.

We can be like the first humans in the garden, making new things. In fact, we’re commissioned to make new things, from the earth already made. We can be like Ruth, gleaning in the fields. We are all in disparate ways poor, and all in various ways hungry, as she was. The poverty and the hunger can be motivators. And it’s ones, like her, who go out and energetically glean from the leftover bits at the corners of existing fields who have something “new” to share with others. Here is an example from an articulate painter I know.

And here is one example of a reference for me. I found this tree in Mainz just recently. The context when this was captured, was loaded with wonderful conversation, sweet family and a slow walk though a charming town. This is just one of lots of references I recorded from that day. I thought the bark shapes were interesting, and maybe or maybe not will I use them as a start. The palette: this particular set of colors, is the better set of ingredients for me however. I might use them. Aren’t they beautiful! Thanks to the Creator for making such a lovely Sycamore tree, upon which I can possibly glean something new.

Mary Nees, artist and author of Markers; Key Themes for Soul Survival