Category Archives: language of imagery

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.

my non-best seller

This month I am going to do something different than highlighting my two-dimensional work and instead am celebrating the 5^th anniversary of my non-best seller book: “Markers”. Yes, I can say I am a legitimate author, but I sure hope this is the only book I will ever write! Book publishing is not a simple proposition. Book marketing is even more arduous. So, I will spare you the promotion and instead just insert the reviews of a couple commentators who turned up on my Amazon book page.

“Are you weary of watching the news and seeing one more devastating event that has occurred? Do you long for a different kind of world? I recommend MARKERS to the person who is dissatisfied with the notion that “this is just the way things are.” There is a reason that we are in this mess and the author helps us find a path to learning why and living differently. If you’re able to be honest about your doubts, then you are heading in the right direction. Honesty takes humility and that is the first marker.”

And from another…

“I have to admit that it is different from most books I read. I think like an engineer – to the point, concrete, linear. The artistic sense of the book was different for me. Yet, the careful use of words in a unique way was captivating. An “Eve pivot” or “We are finite, but the inventor of forever is not.” Words and phrases like this sent my mind into a wonderful journey that was refreshing. The presentation of strong Gospel themes in ways that were different and fresh felt creative yet warm. The stories of Julie and Anne were powerful. I could go on and on but know that the labor poured into this work resulted in something both beautiful and powerful.”

I appreciate these words from people I don’t even know! And by the way, comments are worth their weight, even negative ones. If you find something in my book that you want to take issue with, have at it. I’ll see it and so will others. I’m prepared. My book may not be a best seller according to some hot list, but it is changing some perspectives. Happy non-best seller anniversary to us!

“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.

among the lampstands

Today I am highlighting this ink monotype, which I pulled onto homemade paper several years ago. I have it in my “icons” collection on this website because the image, and the idea behind it, serve as a simple reminder into a most auspicious visitation: Jesus. He spoke urgently and at length about things to come in the book of Revelation, the very last book in the Bible. The Greek word in the first sentence is apokalupsis, which means “the disclosure” or literally “to take off the cover” “the appearing of Jesus Christ” as the sentence and then entire book continues.

Most people I know are afraid of this book. It is daunting, no question. But there is much that is beautiful in how Jesus prepares any willing reader to understand, to even be blessed and to be prepared. It is clear in the 1^st chapter that Jesus, “the alpha and the omega” “the living One” “who holds the keys” is the giver of the words that his last remaining disciple scribes. John sees and details Jesus as He now is, with the cover off.

Jesus walks among the churches, in the beginning chapters with knowledge, with “eyes of fire” and gives them words: some of comfort, much of challenge with very specified warnings.

The 7 lampstands, as depicted in my image, were historical churches, each different, some are soon to loose their standing (and did). Jesus knew and He gives direction before all hell breaks loose, for any who would simply take heed. In aiming to understand better these churches and the particular warnings given them, I recently did a series of 7 paintings that correspond, attempting to simplify and to symbolize what I read in chapters 2 and 3. My collection of paintings will be opened tonight at a local arts center. You can see a preview here. My hope is that any viewer of the work will find themselves curious enough to look into the words that have moved me for themselves. Jesus spoke, John wrote and I painted so that some would have the willingness to pay attention.

Listen to how the old man John was moved. Here is his dedication in the 1^st chapter: “to Him who loves us and released us from our sins by His blood.” John died holding onto this dedication.

Even if you consider this just ancient literature, can you give me one good reason why you would hide in ignorance from such a diligent last accounting?

when the glass was shattered

This icon hangs prominently in my studio space. It’s an important personal memory, but also a much broader symbol for any other pilgrim. It’s like a “memento mori” which was a visual signal in medieval art, often a skull placed in the picture as a reminder of the reality of everyone’s end. My subject here is more than that certainty, but rather a still shot reminder of the lingering time I have until I also drop. I titled this “Lingering Moments”. This is a monotype, a one-off impression made on paper with an etching press. I printed this in 2006.

The impetus for my imagery here was the sight/memory from my television screen, five years earlier, of papers flying out of many broken windows in the twin towers in New York on 9/11. The horror on the ground, and behind those windows could not be seen nor heard on the tv. That was a mercy, a veil at least for us glued to our screens trying to grasp what was really happening there. But I was fixated on these floating bits, as if they were what the Japanese call ukiyo-e = “pictures from a floating world”. That day, what was actually floating were fragments from meeting agendas, spreadsheets, architect elevations, love notes, hand scrawled grocery lists…whatever had been in minds just earlier for thousands of people…and now an ephemeral randomized conglomeration cast into the air.

There was a strange lightness that masked the horror. Five years after that my heart was still etched with the memory. When talking about this with a friend, how to adequately illustrate the import of that day, he said more time would be needed before any sensitively viable imagery could be accomplished… 20 years out my heart-etch remains, and so today, I make an attempt with words.

The flying papers were stand-ins for the gravity of it all. The papers represented particular individuals, doing common work, with unique histories now all jumbled into a common national tragedy. And there was time in the falling of these fragments. That was what struck me: the slow articulation full of weight, like last rites prayers, moments for reckonings on one September day no one ever anticipated.

The papers all fell and turned to dust, but while they wafted in the air there was some time, precious little, yes, but moments just the same between impact and finality.

Time, if even just the minutes it took for the papers to lay down on the dirty street, has long seemed to me a mysterious grace. Whether it is 70 plus years assumed from first breath to last, or just 39.37 hours, or 3 minutes and seven seconds — the time any of us have individually is as if a slow-motion camera has been turned on. The moments we have provide a serious possibility for when clarity can pierce through. Let…a sober…wisdom…pierce, my friend. Time is an ephemeral resource toward that end, it’s a declining dash, a whisper of terminus for each of us. Attend to that whisper — with all your beating heart.

“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.

then ‘give it a REST’

In the middle of this triplet, Psalms 126-128, in fact right in the exact center of the entire set of 15 Ascent Psalms we’ve been tracking through, is a very surprising removal of sorts. God prompts the Psalmist on this journey to ‘give it a rest’ !

A song of ascents; by Solomon.

127 If the Lord does not build a house,
then those who build it work in vain.
If the Lord does not guard a city,
then the watchman stands guard in vain.
²It is vain for you to rise early, come home late,
and work so hard for your food.
Yes, he provides for those whom he loves even when they sleep.
³Yes, sons are a gift from the Lord;
the fruit of the womb is a reward.
⁴Sons born during one’s youth
are like arrows in a warrior’s hand.
⁵How blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them.
They will not be put to shame when they confront enemies at the city gate.

Psalm 127 is the only contribution Solomon makes to this complied set of 15 Psalms. Why his voice inserted here, why these particular words, and why now?

The collections placed into this entire last set of Psalms were added into the Psalter some 500 years after Solomon’s time. A Psalm from Solomon’s voice is particularly really here, for God had long before said to Solomon’s father “a son shall be born to you, who shall be a man of rest…his name shall be Solomon, and I will give peace and quiet to Israel in his days.”(1 Chronicles 22:9) So, before this Psalm recorder was born, and long after he had written these words, he was known as a man of rest. His name means the very same.

Add to this, that in the broader picture of this set of 15 Psalms we’ve already seen a pattern in each triplet, a meter of sorts 1. Distress, 2. Reliance and 3. Resolve. The distress we saw in the previous Psalm: “the dream” for a restoration from captivity. Solomon’s words are selected here for the reliance statement.

So then, how is his removal (my term) or his rest accomplishing anything having to do with the problem just spoken in Ps.126?

The young King Solomon, in Israel’s earlier history had been tasked with an immense project to lead the grand construction for what would be called Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem. The history of his reign shows he was a very active leader. And so all the more poignant it is that this unique King, appointed to build, is the one who tells us that his work would be completely vain (a word he uses a lot in Ecclesiastes) apart from God being the builder, the watchman and the legacy giver. How does rest having anything to do with being a necessary builder?

And here is a broader highlight to his key idea that “He gives to His beloved even in his sleep” (vs.2b NASV). God does His very best work when we who’ve been diligently active are put to rest. And there’s a pattern here, for consider that when Eve was constructed, Adam was first put to sleep. Or when the grandest covenant was made with Abraham, that Abraham was put to sleep so that God alone would make and thereby fully guarantee the finish of everything He was promising there.

And so, when you put your head on your pillow, rest in real expectancy, for God gets His best work done when we are willing to give our dreams a trusting rest.

We’re on a journey in these 15 Psalms of Ascent, we’ve even seen a rest stop already. But here in the middle of the entire collection is a call, from the grandest builder to place our full reliance in the only One who builds the greatest things, even the children he gives to young parents. They will become rewards yet to see. And in the resolution of our grandest dreams, we will realize long beyond this trek is over, that He meant what he said “I will give you rest.” For active people on an active journey now, honoring His ability in our days is an act of faith.

When I display this collection of 15, they will be hung together like a table with each of three rows holding 5 Psalms. Here is a sketch of my plan and note that this Psalm 127 is exactly in the middle.

glad resolve

I am continuing here with some words about each of my new pieces which are part of a whole series of 15. The 15 “Psalms of Ascent” are positioned in the 5^th and last “book” or volume of the Hebrew Psalter. And this progression is fascinating in that the microcosm echoes the macrocosm! In other words, what is glimpsed in the gathered detail inside this collection and it’s individual parts also reveals an informed interweaving into the whole of Scripture! The entire, and all its parts are masterfully written.

With these 15 ancient Ascent Psalms, the triplets show the rhythm while the three sets of 5 reveal the stages in the long ascending journey. I’ll write more of those stages later.

Here’s how the repeating rhythm can be seen. Each triplet in this progression ends with the disruption, recently voiced, now resolved. It’s a simple pattern familiar in so many written dramas or musical movements. The first movement or dramatic scene begins with distress. The second develops to a climax. Then the third finally quiets in time to an experience of resolution.

As a whole, this very first triplet of the entire set of 15 shows us this archetype both in its first verse: 120:1, but then in the walking out of the three journey psalms here. That pattern is evident in the triplet (1.Distress 2.Reliance 3.Resolve). This particular set of three Ps. 120-122 takes us from troubled spirit in foreign soil (120) to a pivot of reliance on the God of Abraham (121) to finally a voiced experience of arriving “glad”! One can sense the relief of the original writer in Psalm 122. The longed-for destination has been reached.

Another fascinating feature in this particular triplet is how the action moves from people (liars, deceivers, “those who hate peace”) to a personal decision (the pivot explained in my last post) and then back to people. But this last group of people are at peace. They have welcomed the new arrival; they give thanks and gather together. “I was glad when they said to me…” The troubled individual traveler has become part of a new company. The traveler had to make his consequential pivot individually, but the context of others surrounds his story in really informative ways. Hence, I see this triplet in my notes as the ENTRY triplet in the developing larger story.

Not only is the first verse in the entire series an archetype of this in short form, but this first triplet (the first 3 whole Palms of the series) also secures the pattern –for it telescopes deep time from foreign despair to settled finality. Human history and individual histories can be encapsulated in this first progression of 3.

David is attributed as the writer of this resolve Psalm 122. He was the early King who captured Jerusalem, where his throne was then set up. However, his own and his nation’s history was troubled, and the Psalm ends here with admission of great need. Five hundred years after David’s reign, trouble had multiplied, and the nation was taken captive into Babylon for 70 years. Scholars say that the 5^th “book” in the Psalm collection was compiled after that exile as Jews made their historic walking return to Jerusalem: microcosm and macrocosm through time.

I’ve tried to visually suggest much of this glad entry in this work. There is a symbol of an individual, like a green reed, smallish and in the center. But “he” is surrounded by light, by a protective covering of sorts and the mark-making gives an impression of history with many others present alongside him.

If you were stuck on a deserted island and only had this triplet of three Psalms for your sustenance, you would have enough to know that trusting God is possible from anywhere and that if you do, He will secure you in the end. It’s the character of the God of Abraham to make good on every promise He has given.

direction

I’m noticing the direction and the repeated rhythms in line work. Because, where my arm wants to go with marking tools reveals where my heart has been simmering. Years back, when studying instinctive 1^st marks on a surface, I realized I was chopping with vertical slashes. I was angry then, and impatient. I’d had it with waiting. I was trying to bring the action down. (Woe to anyone who got in my way, aren’t you relieved I’m not God?). And interestingly, at the very same time I was finding how important, how necessary the horizontals were also: for rest, for balance, for compositional completion. You can see one example of a horizontal which remains in the background of my entire website.

The direction of line work is the skeleton of a piece; it informs. The line work tells something about the aim or the mood of the work. Lately, for me, 1^st marks are often diagonals. Now if I make this into a formula, or a pre-planned aspect the work will suffer but there is something really interesting in the tension that diagonals bring. In any work diagonals suggest potential or possible instability. Such marks seem fitting for the time we’re in. I insert here a segment of a recent work called “Boone Lake Down” so you can see one example.

Especially when considering non-objective, non-literal work, the direction of the lines give clues as to the artist’s intention. When literal words can’t express, the lines offer calligraphic hints. Someone named Ali I encountered on Instagram says on his bio clip that “As the world becomes more scary, art becomes more abstract.” Indeed. We reach for the mystical when what is around us cant be named. In fact, the birth of Abstraction in the Western art world came out of the publicly revealed horrors after World War 2. There is a direct tie. We could no longer remain naïve. Pretty pictures were now trite. Os Guinness says in his book Unspeakable, that Auschwitz put an end to enlightenment assumptions that the world on it’s own was becoming something better.

So, given that, how are we to live in any time that we have? How to yet make meaningful work that can still hold hope? How to rest and play with those we love? It is at least by not denying, or skipping past the hard and excruciating things. But, for me hope comes when getting in sync with the rhythms heard still in our darkness. If cicadas can sing in the dark, we should be listening to what it is they are responding to, for “night unto night reveals knowledge”.

program

When entering any performance, one is typically handed a program. The value of what is detailed on that page gives context to the progression about to be played out. Amongst myriads of possibilities, someone made selections for what you’re about to see. There’s notation about the beginning and how it will end, there are ascriptions and interludes. Your understanding is enhanced with guidance from any program.

In certain masterworks of art there is what is called a “program of images”. This is where an artist makes selections, presenting several images together to create a narrative whole. Viewing that collection takes time, for what the artist offers the viewer is a deliberate opportunity into his broad intention. Not many artists do this; those few who have (like Giotto’s fresco progression in the Scrovegni chapel, or Brunelleschi’s gates of Paradise in Florence) are offering the viewer a sublime visual performance. And examining those collections reveal the scope the artist had to have to make such deliberate choices.

Recently I was guided into the blue hued space in the eastern apse of St. Stephan’s Church in Mainz, Germany where a cycle of images is on display. Marc Chagall sketched out and directed the pattern of images for these huge stained glass verticals when he was 91 years old! He even hand painted a number of the glass pieces. I took in the expanse with wonder. I could pick out bits and clues, and finally I bought the program book written by the former Monsignor Klaus Mayer, who consulted with Chagall in his studio on this grand project.

Chagall grew up in Belorussia into a hardworking Orthodox Jewish home, where the Sabbath was a treasured joy. Treasure and Joy could be called distinctive signatures in this man’s entire oeuvre. The artist lived and managed to work through the Russian Revolution, the sorrow of exile, then the Nazi horrors, the emigration community in NYC, and finally the reconstruction of Europe. He remained true to his unique voice through all this upheaval. He studied in Israel and though he was no longer a practicing Jew, he was an earnest Bible student all his life. “Ever since early childhood, I have been captivated by the Bible. It has always seemed to me and still seems today the greatest source of poetry of all time.”

His words are made all the more real in the images he selected for the viewer in these windows. The overriding theme in his program is the covenants of God, or those binding agreements that God has given all mankind. The Sabbath is just one of them.

The depth of his understanding took my breath away in that space, then in further reading into his motivation. Consider just this: a Jew celebrating the universal rooted from the biblical text, directs a program of images for a Christian church which had been bombed by the war. This is the only example of Chagall’s work we have in any church in Germany. I felt like I was on Holy ground, consecrated by much, much suffering and highlighted with studied biblical light.

I am prompted to add this plug: the book I wrote, Markers, is also a program (though granted of a much minor sort). However, like Chagall’s images, my selected chapters, with images, are prompted by the text. I’ve simplified big ideas, not as a theologian, but as another Bible reader looking at the whole. The synthesis is mine, but the themes are big picture universal. I offer it as another guide into the same grand story that captivated Chagall and so many others.

words and specificity

We know of Van Gogh’s particularity, his struggles and his needs through the regular letters he sent to his sympathetic brother Theo. Without that written record from Vincent’s own hand, we might have guessed some by simply looking at his images. Like a blind man feeling the walls of a soul with fingers, we could have surmised from the artist’s visual leavings, but never would’ve been specifically sure of the man.

Vincent’s 2D exuberance is evident: his promiscuity with paint and brushwork, his exaggerated sometimes garish color, his bold and roiling sketches, his animated skies, his grasping cypress trees, his bandaged and somber self portrait all suggest much about this emotional man. He’s left an incredible legacy just from this record. But his letters tell more the whole of him, and our guessing gets grounded. I’ve read through the complete collection of his letters twice and referenced it often. My college copy is marked up with highlights, underlines, exclamation marks and turned down pages. I was stunned then and am still– getting close to his motivation through his own often tortured telling. His words anchor the story.

It’s the effort of articulation with words that anchors anyone’s ideas. This is where guessing has to give way. Poetry might give a fleeting suggestion. Painting or photography might allure with a silent witness. But prose leads with particularity. And it was for that reason that I thought it important to leave a record of words beyond the images I craft from my studio. My book Markers; Key Themes for Soul Survival has been out for two years now. The same motivation that moves me to paint is more specifically laid out with words. And like the paintings, my fingerprints are all over it– but it’s ultimately not about me, more about what it is that’s moving me.

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape