Category Archives: life

Time and Treasure

Some things come home in your soul. Some things stick, like a stake in the ground that determines a trajectory towards the ultimate. Some of these things are surprising, difficult, even unasked for and therefore all the truer. How does any one of us even know what is really true? What will last that is significant? I have some musings today, which support why I made this piece some years ago on old brown paper using gesso, graphite and pastel. The making of this didn’t take me long, you can see the fast fat brush stroking. But the thinking that prompted this image has been lifelong.

There are universals we all wrestle with: like suffering, choices, the struggle in relationships, the reality of how things fall apart, and the passage of time. When I was young, I used to wonder why things fell apart so easily, it really bothered me. Then in a High School physics class I learned there was actually a thermodynamic law over natural things: the organic systems in our lives: micro and macro are all winding down to randomness. Strangely this gave some comfort knowing this was admitted in science. The thermodynamic law didn’t offer any solution — at that point maybe I didn’t even expect solution — I was just glad there was some reason for what I was observing.

Now I am decades older. I have come to value time for what it offers any one of us while we still have it. Like gravity, time holds us here and allows the opportunity to reflect on things that are bigger than our words or our boundaries. And there are many musers through time who have also recorded their ideas on what is lastingly true. What is over the hill from randomness? And how we can approach that with some integrity?

A 2nd century theologian named Irenaeus posited that objective truth could be known through the attestation or the witness of several distinguishers:

Real things, on the ground that we can see and test and touch (not just imagined nor manipulated) are markers. Real things are the basis for reasoning and how we can make decisions, rationally grounded.
Then there are things we cannot touch, shared transcendent concerns which are universal, beyond culture and subjectivities. All humans, no matter where living or when living feel fears and longings. These make our hearts beat faster and they can direct decisions too. But unseen things need careful evaluation. ‘What’s the cause, where is this going, what is sure, what can I do now…?’ If we’re alert, we know there’s more than just what is materiel and touchable, we just know little about how to resolve these bigger unseen concerns well.
And then there’s things that line up in time. Evidences that direct solidly from the seen to the unseen. One needs the courage or the urgent curiosity to follow the leads. This involves direct engagement with the world but also with the bigger questions that the world can evidence.

Irenaeus said that objective truth enfolds individual subjectivites through the witness of love in time and through time. He began where it all begins in John’s gospel chapter one.

Basically the Creator who made all matter’s systems entered within it all! He came into a certain period of time and pierced it. He took on flesh and in dying He died for all of us. For those who listened to the Hebrew prophets earlier, not all was clear, much was surprising, but then specifics precisely lined up. For those who look back in time to that event, and are alert, can see evidence which is historically incontrovertible in time, on the ground, though still so surprising. He pierced time and lived in time.

He was as fragile as a bird’s nest on purpose, so that He could offer with His own sacrifice of blood what we could never do. We know about flesh and blood and time and cruelty. We don’t know how to break out of it. He did. This was the ultimate intervention into and out of randomness. And what He did in abject love is everlastingly sufficient. This was the stake in our ground. It can be ours simply for the apprehending of it. This is where courage comes in and turns the tables. This is where the unseen things get answered.

This large gesture drawing hangs currently in the lobby at Medical Care in Elizabethton, TN.

escalations

Recently I emailed a friend about something on which I needed a follow up. We’d both gotten kind of rusty on the task at hand and she said in reply “it’s been a minute”. I laughed understanding her for it had been several months — not minutes. But we use this phrase and everybody gets it, for it feels like time is speeding up. Months are minutes, and minutes sometimes are packed with consequence. The word “moment” is another current word used. I see it in artist’s statements sometimes, it sounds trendy and alert to say “in this moment” as if what we’re sensing will soon rev right on by. Eras and epochs are out, they are no longer spoken of. Moments and minutes are in. Is your head spinning?

The piece I’m showing therefore is one which speaks to this idea of time’s slow-to-fast accelerations. Holding layers and a quick emergence of moment, there’s a lot hidden in the symbolism. This is a very small oil impression from a trip I took to Israel. In Caesarea by the sea we walked thru the impressive physical remains of a large Roman port. After the Romans disappeared, the Crusaders built their own stone structures. Their era is long gone as well. Alongside one of the paths under that Mediterranean sun was a small fig tree. It had fruit on it soon to emerge for the picking. It was alive. One part of a leaf caught the light and enchanted me midst the bramble of greens and browns. The stone path is suggested just slightly on the left. The energy of the moment was felt in the chaos of all that has been laid down and fought over on that very ground, including the choice of red behind the blooming bits. But my focus was on what is emerging. That’s what captivated me and still does. There is history here but there is also so much significant promise yet to be seen. It’s coming. It’s weighty. And it feels to me that we are in an escalating moment toward what the Hebrew prophets spoke so repeatedly of.

The fig tree was important in ancient Israel, not only for sweet sustenance, but also as a sign for when the nation itself would flourish or instead be in regression. There are two yearly harvests of figs with the later harvest being much richer. There is promise even in that reality. But in times of terror, the fruit withers and dies in the trauma. That has happened repeatedly in the past and it will happen again more consequentially in the future. But that future is not the promised end.

I had a rich conversation with one of my grandsons this past week. He’s on a campus where there is all the same clamor you’re hearing about. He was thoughtful about it, so I spoke of what the building take-overs were like when I was a student. How I was involved and what emerged as a result. There were boisterous chants then too, same rhythm different words. How robotic? Are we just in some kind of cyclical reiteration or are we heading somewhere? A French Philosopher observing human cycles said “the more things change the more they stay the same”. That’s similar to what Solomon said 3000 epoch’s earlier: ‘there’s nothing new under the sun’ it’s all been seen before. There is some comfort in the wisdom there. But after my conversation with my grand I thought about the revving speed of the cycles. In 1969 no one was shouting death to the nation they were standing in from our campus; and no one was taking down the national flag and replacing it with something else. We’re witnessing immolation, litterally and figuratively. We are in a different moment now. In our time the protests were about ending a war or adding a certain studies programs to the curriculum. In this present iteration there is a more consequential binary being shouted: choosing life or choosing death.

What makes the news headlines however, is missing the real story (and that was true then too). For many are quietly observing, grappling with the import, and thinking for themselves. Others will just follow the crowd, for wide is that way and easier for them (in the moment).

But where I return my heart (often) is that the Grand Maker of light and figs and tastebuds supervises times and histories. He still allows the glimpse of sunlight on a leaf and the emergence of life for the hungry. He comforted the weary, saying with otherworldly authority “blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.” And when a soul can grasp the depth of that: His promise — it only takes a nanosecond.

Bread and Salt

It’s been years, decades, since I first heard an old Russian proverb. It latched into my head in some primal way, and I’ve never forgotten it: “eat bread and salt and speak the truth.” What could be more simple? What could be more valuable in any earthly life? Bread and salt are basic. Even the poorest in the tundra have bread of some kind to share. And truth? What could be more necessary, what could be more desired in a meeting of people at any table — especially in our times of fake this and that. I am so weary of all the fakeness and all the outright lies!

And so, when I was invited to submit to a local show called “The Magic of Ordinary Things” I knew what I wanted to do right away. I saw a saltshaker at a restaurant and decided it would be perfect for my still life set up. Truthfully, I asked my companion, since it was such a plain and ordinary specimen “do you think the restaurant would let me take this home?” He said he would be embarrassed if I asked them. So, I demurred under his truthfulness and started my quest unperturbed: how to find a simple multi-sided saltshaker which could highlight the proverb?

Sure enough a local restaurant supply place had just the specimen for less than five dollars. I bought some crusty bread, gathered some cloth and a candle, and began to sketch an arrangement. Then I mixed my oil colors, looking for contrast and a certain mood.

Out popped this painting. It’s not a perfect rendition of the set up in my studio; actually, I love the photo I took better. But the painting has a merit of its own as the paint is so sculptural, especially the wax on the extinguished candle. The candle’s light has gone out, but there is ambient light yet, which allows for the seeing of anything. The contrast between the light in the room and the darks clinging in shadow is highly symbolic to me of the time we live in here.

The show opening for Ordinary Things was this past Friday. Two of my pieces were juried in and hanging. But this one sold right away. Thanks to the Griffin Gallery in Jonesborough, TN.

I make work not for the sales (thanking God I can say that). What validates me is any expression which can be read, even subliminally, as truth. This is the bread I hunger for, and I don’t believe I am alone.

In a search to make sure I had the proverb correctly in my memory, I found interestingly this quote from a current art critic: “I would say we are now in a position, with these decks cleared, to demand more from our art, our culture. I would never try to define art and enjoy the reality of its non-definition, but that is to say it is time to shape up. Artists and critics need to wrest our art away from those who settle for mental dust. Our life depends on it and the time is nigh. So start. And stop breathing that mental dust. You know what it is.”

Here-Here and Where-Where is what I say!

palliative

The word came to me when I was working this week on some small pieces in my studio. I am familiar with the term “palliative” since conversing with a friend who is a hospice nurse. But I had not considered this term for me… until now.

Palliative: n. an action that is intended to alleviate a problem without addressing the underlying cause.

Is it for me alone that this kind of action is needed to be considered? I’m not a nurse nor good at it. Does the work with my hands and my heart using color and line offer something or anything which helps others who are mourning? Maybe that is true. I know these things help me:

Potent words of quiet comfort: from the Psalms, the Prophets or poetry.
The company of wise people I’ve learned I can trust
Meditative music
Glimmers of fleeting beauty
And lastly, sorrow and joy which can be held and considered at the same time (this for me is new)

These are things that effectively quiet my soul.

This is why I work. And then…here’s the wonder of it. Surprises come. The maker of beauty shows up.

This piece above was a quick little alcohol ink, 11×9. It took me maybe 15 minutes in the first pass. After it dried I knew it needed some adjusting so I added some color to strengthen the mid ground, and a quick steak of color into the bottom ground of the earth. The reticulation of the inks and then the drying revealed some of the working of roots under these trees, like a scope into the hidden places that support the whole. I didn’t plan this but it was a thrilling reality. I’m not taking it for granted. I’m receiving it with thanks. And I’m reminded how Habakkuk heard his own rejoinder from God: “Look among the nations! Observe! Be astonished! Wonder! Because I am doing something in your days — You would not believe if you were told.” (Habakkuk 1:6) But then the God of Israel does tell him; they have a dialogue, and 2 chapters later the prophet quiets in a trembling rest. The workings that matter are His, all the rest just leads there.

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.

Taking Root

Last week I poured out onto my palm some lettuce seeds from a little packet, then after that arugula seed, kale, then radish and spinach seeds. I marveled at how unique these tiny kernels were. Each kind so different from the next package I opened.

The kale seeds were dark pinpoints, the radish little weightless white balls, and the spinach had an irregular oddness which looked nothing like what it will become according to the package picture. I carefully planned where each should root. I had prepared the soil; but I was sort of dreaming as I am not much of a gardener. This is an act of faith really for anyone — you sprinkle them in the dirt and then you wait. How do such tiny things hold so much promise, it’s almost like magic! Now, only a week later I am seeing a couple of these varieties coming up! This is a top view of the Kale I started. (woops correction this is the arugula)

The monotype which I highlight here and above relates; it is more a side view, a top to bottom slice of this same encouraging wonder: this miracle that tiny seedlings represent as they take root in mud. Pictured here is a core sample of growing things layered in the earth. Small, barely seen bits hold little weight in the world’s economy of measure, are easily dismissed, yet can have a direct relationship to big results. Full plants have not yet become visible above these fragile roots in my section depiction. But there’s a lot of atmospheric movement happening here. There’s a dynamic reality between fragility and surety, between heaven and earth, between night and day, between earth wind water and seedling, between start and fullness, between prayer and answer. Guaranteed and all of it is witness to promise.

Not only because it is Spring now, but because real hope is always possible with the Creator of the sun, the cosmos and the earth that I post this. Even and maybe especially as there is so much turmoil on the earth: wars and lies, boastings, bombings and intrigue abound, making urgent headlines. However also every day there is growth happening, and I am seeing evidence of it. There are surprising awakenings happening, healings, repentances and gatherings of goods going to those suffering, courage standing against the lies, rescues and comfort. I celebrate these things, am giving these things my attention. And I invite you to look around. The Maker of every soul and every seed is good, and He is uniquely at work.

One of the very last Hebrew prophets, Zechariah (paralleling many signs which culminate in Revelation) assured the same, saying “Who has despised the day of small things?” for “the eyes of the Lord range to and fro throughout the earth” over all that He has made. Join Him in the planting and the waiting.

“Veil” and looking through

Some things are too hard to see face to face.

This past week I’ve viewed numerous video clips trying to grasp the damage from the earthquakes in the Northeastern corner of the Mediterranean.

One clip haunts me still. With loud noises in the sudden collapse of a huge city structure, crowds start running and shouting, while one man just walks normally away, his back to the chaos as if a stoic. The man barely turns around to see. I’ve watched this several times. He does not visibly flinch. He is impassive, determinedly so, as if the reality across the street from him should not affect him. Surely he heard, smelled and felt the same thing upsetting those all around him?

What goes on in the mind and in the heart when hard things come down?

How would I respond? How would you? Is this why some people pay to go to horror movies so they can peer into the frightfully inexplicable? Is this one way to vicariously prepare from a safe seat? But that man in the middle of horror walked away as if nothing would deter his intention for the day… I don’t know anything about him truly from the seconds I viewed, but to me his manner was disturbing. His determination seemed a façade against reality.

We are peculiar creatures in trauma. And part of this I think is because we simply are not equipped to handle things which are way too big for mortals. We block or we freak. We all have self-protective tendencies, and we are living in increasing trauma. Some try to prepare, some dig in madly and some just try to walk away. Ok, people are different. But what if the issue at stake is a matter of critical importance? Would you know it? Would you want to know when what is happening around you is revealing matters of life or death? Do you have the courage now to investigate how in the world you might be able to face God safely, His face-to-your-face, no matter what?

This monotype is about that, about peering determinedly through the frightening chaos. It is simple but sure. This piece was done some years before the current global disruptions, but nevertheless anticipating them from my own already hard-won experience with personal trauma. This is a monotype (a painting on plexi which was then pulled through a press for a reverse transfer onto paper). It turned out! (You never know until you do it) and so I included this image in my Master of Fine Arts show. The disintegration in the foreground is what sets that back plane up. That’s important. In other words, the ripping apart in the front plane is why the back plane even becomes visible. The texture of the foreground was planned to look fragile, ethereal and even torn. I used inks which reticulated once I applied solvent on the plexi.

The background by contrast is a solid mass, stable, and to me a symbol of weighty timelessness. In a simple graphic I was aiming to suggest big things: about all that is temporally falling apart (the veil) and what is solidly available behind the immediate despair.

This all was hinted in my title. Veils cover things. Veils also protect things. They are put up in rooms or over faces to conceal for a time. They can be beautiful in an anticipatory sort of way, even alluring, for they suggest that something valuable is behind what cannot yet be seen. With a veil one has a sense that the wait might reveal something good, for what’s visible in front of any veil is only partial, preparatory. When the veil is finally removed, we get to see the substance which had been shielded. There is hope potentially here, but one must want to keep looking.

This is a biblical idea. For example, after his encounters with God, Moses hid his face in front of the people with a veil. His veil provoked them. But when Moses spoke directly again to God, it was face to face, the veil was no longer needed as a barrier between God and His friend. A veil had been prescribed by God as a protective cover between the Holy of Holies and the priests of both the exodus tabernacle and then later the temple in Jerusalem. Veils were necessary to shield what was temporal from what was Holy.

But here’s the kicker (if you stayed with the struggle and did not walk away) when Jesus died having taken into His heart the sins of the world, the veil in the temple was ripped open. The substance of His torn body became eternally significant. He always called Himself the door, the only door through. Now we understand what He meant. To look at Him is to look eye to eye into the very face of a willing, forgiving, available God who is far better than any cover which obscured Him.

In trauma, the ripping away of what we relied on or called “normal” is terrifying. But when that disintegration exposes something far greater to consider, would you really want to walk away? Any determined seeker is promised that he will find.

the rock and the horizon

Geologists have a name for the earliest epoch in earth’s history: the Pre-Cambrian era. This is when the continents took shape and life forms began to emerge. At least from the evidence left to investigate, the Pre-Cambrian is ground zero, or the canvas upon which fossils and sediments later laid down on top of this early bedrock between the waters.

Earth scientists also say that in Northern Minnesota we can see and walk on some of the oldest Pre-Cambrian bedrock which is exposed to us on earth. These are ancient rocks. The evidence to support this is in the surrounding geology, the dating of this basal igneous material, and subsequent metamorphic compositions in these intriguing forms.

Add to this that some geo-scientists who have done extensive core sample research around the globe see patterns in the lay-down which indicate how and where uplift, rifting and plate subduction cycles occurred above the earth’s mantle. From the evidence seen in the rocks and in computer modeling, it is postulated that in earliest earth time these rock outcrops along the deep trench of Lake Superior may have been some of the highest mountains in the original continental Pangea. I only learned this recently, having read a geology text during Covid. But I have been scampering along this settled volcanic material since I was young. This ledge rock has long fascinated me for its firmness, color and especially the fracturing of its angles. It is just wonderfully magical stuff!

So this summer I got to be up there again. On a rainy day, I captured a section of this rock with my phone, did some quick sketches and then finished a painting inside in a couple hours. I am proud to highlight this 8×10 oil for several reasons. First, I set up and framed a visual composition which still appeals to me every time I look at it. I am critical of my work, so that is saying something. The color is true, and the semblance of the wetness on the top planes of rock reminds me of that interesting moment in time when I was looking at this ancient stuff.

This painting is more than visual though, for conceptually it is a statement about past/present/and future, and so it holds weight symbolically as well.

The rock is ancient, and to me more valuable than diamonds for its enduring hardness, while also being entirely accessible to anyone! Those two aspects: ancient and available are so rare. What could be better on earth than something so old and so commonly present for anyone to stomp around on? But it has a mysterious beauty too. It is no wonder they call this area “artist’s point”; it attracts people even before they have any clue as to ‘the why’. Here’s why for me: Rock is often used as a metaphor of eternal things, referenced by Job, Moses, David, Isaiah and Jesus (who Himself was called “the Rock”). This metaphorical yet available rock named Jesus, sits now in His high place, having settled things in time, our time, every time., and time to come.

The horizon is a symbol or a sign to me also, and I reference that often in my work. My horizon on this particular day was cloudy, almost mirage-like and I loved that. Like a wrapped present, or a pretty lady with a veil is the mystery of this glimpse. More is coming, more is behind my view of things. It’s an anticipation which is sure though shrouded. Paul the brilliant 1^st century Christ-follower said, “we see in part but not the whole”. Our sight is limited, our understanding of all that is yet to come is dim. But we do know the important things, the vital things and we know all we need to know. The rock is solid, a basis for sure confidence and solid footing. And that far line out ahead of me is just a teaser.

So time right now is my present reality, looking back and looking forward today, and right then when I captured this view. I’m on a continuum therefore and this is comforting. No other life forms can enjoy an awareness and a thoughtful contemplation of history: what happened before, what happens to me now and what will happen in the future. Time is a continuum, a linear travel forward. And the future can be glimpsed here symbolically at least. Seen things are only shadows of more important things, says the writer to the Hebrews..

I remember my Dad explaining that the furthest edge we see is only a few miles away because of the curvature of the globe. The huge lake surface then is like a clinging bulge we can only catch a scant glimpse of. But the maker of this lake, this rock and the maker of me sees it in wholeness and as He’s promised, will be bringing it to completion.

whoops!

If you are one of the small number who came onto my blog yesterday afternoon, and if you listened to the video posted there, then you got a sneak preview! It probably hit you as weird.

I have un-published that video clip of me describing a 3D piece I made, paralleling it to an expectation I have. My reason? That clip is scheduled to post automatically once I am lifted out of here. I had the clip recorded as a testimony of my confident hope. But it is not for now since I am still here, and still working and still making plenty of mistakes.

Oh the quiet joy in time, and the slow opportunity to start in again!

I just got home from an 8-day Plein Air fest and counting travel to get up to Northern MN and back with my supportive husband (who just got back himself teaching on another continent) it was a haul. Needless to say, we’re a bit disoriented. Normally, I post on the 15^th of every month in which I am present, pushing the publication date of my video to a later time. I missed the timing this month, hence that may have been for you readers a bit of disorientation as well. As Mark Twain put it ”the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”

But I will die. And so will you.

The real question is what will you find on the other side? I entreat you, with all I have in me now: don’t let that reality be a whoops. Jesus, the only one who anticipated well, who made not one whoops, who defeated death’s sting and prepared his followers as to how to be ready had much to say about the end and of His coming back. And for those who “love His appearing” there is great reason for joy. Even as our world is self-destructing, even more so as it is. “No one knows the day or the hour”, Jesus said. No one needs to get all wadded up in fear or blinded by all the lies which are multiplying (He said that too, same chapter). Your way out, the only safe way out is both simple and sure: Jesus. Learn Him.

Meanwhile, in this present mean while, my studio is crammed with projects and half starts, big ideas and small beginnings into them. This piece is a “whoops” right now. I started it on an October visit up at that lake, and tried to bring some resolution this trip, only making it worse with September color. I may trash this, you can see if you look closely how I’ve already tried to scrape into some of the garish green, or I may try to improve it if I effectively can within its context. I have time!

the pit and the way out

It’s a black and white thing. It’s either an individual reckoning or a deadly default. I made this monotype after reflecting on the thick heaviness over an excavation site we had toured many years earlier. This still haunts as a symbol of destination. The ancient city of Pergamum (and its repeated iterations throughout history) is where cultic practice left an entire proud city ruined. It is a warning for now; for I fear much of the world is heading in the same wrong direction.

Listen instead to the clear solitary cry of the Psalmist.

So, it’s about a choice of focus then, with an upward cry. We still have choice in time: the dark hole looming, or the only way out. It’s a black and white thing.

I will simply offer how a poet I recently heard took that same 5^th Psalm and put it into a personal sonnet:

Safe in the love of one who’ll never part,

Of one whose kindness is itself a shield,

Who understands the deep things of my heart

Better than I can ever do, I yield

Myself and my perplexities to him,

And in his house of mercy I am healed;

Healed of this world’s bloodthirstiness, its grim

Deceptions, all its weary wickedness,

The death-speak of its tyrants, as they hymn

The idols of excess, the emptiness

Of endless purchases, all washed away

Until my sight is cleansed. His righteousness

Makes my way plain, and leads me through the play

Of early morning light, to worship him

Whose mercy wakes me at the break of day.

(Malcolm Guite, “Psalm 5: V Verba Mea Auribus”)

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?

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape