Category Archives: life

Incarnation

In Philadelphia’s Museum of Art there hangs one of my favorites. Henry Osawa Tanner painted this image of the surprising encounter Mary had with the angel Gabriel. This visitor to her chamber, rendered as ineffable light, is speaking. He is announcing the Messiah’s entrance into matter. Of all the attempts to visualize this wonder, this to me is the best. Mary looks as she certainly was: frightened, young, simple and Semitic. She was no blond Italian (in Renaissance finery) blandly receiving such news. Such news. People still think it impossible. Tanner did not.

My Incarnation is the third in a present series (shown until September ’14 at the Reece Museum, ETSU). My rendering is meant to look as moonlight over part of the circumference. The hues are not dramatic, and not surreal. Light is reflecting quietly over matter, like a very purposed hovering over chaos.

But look more closely. A detail of the moon face shows the entrance of life in seed form. Soon a crowd of angels would break their silence when this baby would arrive full term. But even that arrival was surprising, only a few even “got it.” His own Mother, who witnessed it all would treasure up all these things, pondering them in her heart.

It all began here, tangibly speaking that is. In time, in a certain fragile space, the One who “is before all things, and in whom all things hold together” reduced Himself to the same dust we are made of so that He could justly win for us the only way out of this ground of dust. He came “all in” to both life and death as we experience it. And He purchased the way into the Life our hearts somehow know to yearn for. We are more than dust, because He became dust for us.

Character of Good vs. Evil

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

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

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

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

what makes good?

This is a thing I am wondering about. How does good happen? What prompted my musing about this was a surprising good which came my way.

I was pulling out of Lowes recently and noticed a torn paper placed under my wiper blade. Irritated, I pulled over hoping whoever placed that there was not leaving me insurance info. due to some mishap. . . yes, assuming the worst was my first response. The handwritten note said “We found an iPhone by your van. Lowes will have it!”
I immediately reached in the pouch where I keep my phone: no phone.

Woah.
I had used my phone on my way to the store, I must’ve forgotten it was on my lap then when I got out of the car. Oblivious. Not the first time. I went into the store’s customer service desk and they had no iPhone, but as I stood there wondering what to do next, a guy I had seen in the garden section walked up and handed another employee the iPhone he had just been given by some shopper. Of course I was grateful, there it was: surely lost and now so quickly found. I asked the guy: what makes someone do this? This was his response.

All the way home I thought on this, for making good is of interest to me, and it is a challenge for me. It seems that good is getting rarer (either that or I am getting more cynical, but I do think it is the former more than the later). Maybe 30 years ago I would not have marveled at someone returning a valuable thing. These days we are all more vulnerable. And vulnerability is why I ponder more, and why I am surprised more when good shows up.

What is this thing we call good?
The other thing I recognized is that for good to happen, there has to be some kind of effort made. Good does not get actualized by just looking, thinking nice thoughts and then moving on. The finder of my iPhone had to notice, then they had to bend over, then they had to decide what to do, then they had to get out notepaper, then. . . Good takes effort and tangible action, it is in fact a creative act.
This is my takeaway so far: vulnerability is the ground for more good coming. Vulnerable reality is the very setting by which good is even apprehended. We’re just going to miss it otherwise.

And, for good to come out it is going to take work. Good has to be made. Maybe this is obvious to you, but it is rather instructive for me. I am working as I wonder about this. Good is an abstract concept. But then it surprises us and shows up! I may not see the result (the finder of my iPhone did not see the result of her work) but because there is such a thing as good, I can expect results too.

grass rising

. . . if light can cause old grass to rise–
remade from last year’s loam,
then I’m fool to not regard such as sign toward the way home.

There’s terror in the news abroad-
and foreboding can’t be shaken.
But I take courage from upright stalks so fragile, not forsaken.

I read in a book that our lives are grass: the Maker’s view on how we last, but He says there is more, through winds that blow, are things that last forever ago.

good egg (or after Emily: “awed by my errand”)

I’m aching to get back to work…but there’s other work to do-
This morning when I timed his eggs I found a little clue.
There in my trusty cookbook, from many years gone by,
The yellowed pages, torn, so dated, startled me “Oh My!”

I do not feel like an antique, though things around me show
That time has passed, so much time has passed!
Yet in my insides “No!”
What is this mystery of deep down soul that feels forever young?
That holds some torch through every storm, and still is want to run?

My mind’s distracted by “many things” that I need to do.
But here’s a clue that touches close to such a different view–
That what’s inside me does not age.
Creator’s gift is true!
So I can rest, we’ll get it done, what He has planned to do.

(and Happy Birthday to our first born–forever young)

between Heaven and Earth

I shot an image yesterday as I was hurrying to pack up and deliver some work to a gallery. I did not want to bother un-framing it, so I just snapped a quick pixelated record through the glass. What is cool though, is that you could see me shooting in the reflection; it’s as if I live in this piece and indeed I do. This is a simple sumi ink drawing, entitled “Between Heaven and Earth.” It shows the far horizon, it shows the expanse of air and ground, compressed symbolically on a 2D surface. it shows the tangled vista that must be got through before the horizon. It’s all there; it seems always to be there.

2013 was a very strange year for me emotionally, there are reasons for that, but to me the more important thing to talk about (and to do in my art) is my response with what is all broken on the ground. How do I see clear? A couple times this year, I heard myself slowly saying out loud “I do not know how to think about that…” Indeed. I can think a lot of stuff through but some deep things are beyond thinking and full understanding. Maybe this is where art becomes such important language for me, even as I grab and go with it sometimes (like in this quick shot).

If my little drawing sells, I am in trouble for I do not have a good enough image of it. But I do have this image and for me, this is pretty poignant.

plotting next steps

Unusually tired today, but thinking ahead. I was exhorted this summer about the need to draw every day and I am aiming to. I have minimized drawing as facile, but am reconsidering that dismissive attitude. Drawing is an easy entry, but important exploring that sets the stage for way more considered painting. I whipped out several large monotypes earlier this month and I think the drawing may have set the better stage for that. More to come.

given glimpses

I offer two images today that I did not make happen. We were on a hike after two solid work weeks. We were aiming to take a rest, some re-creation, to gather some beauty. I could show the images from the waterfalls, or the lovely plants along the path, of my grandson’s smile, of the big Lake Superior’s sunset. . . a feast of beauty; but it is these shots that really deeply spoke to me. They are not even pointing to anything concrete. They came unsolicited into my iPhone. The device must have remained on, while inside my pocket in between my grabbing it for a shot. Somehow the little wonder of my phone kept clicking away and there were maybe 20 of these frames that day, some intensely beautiful. I am removed therefore from the selecting of these. I just get to enjoy them. The shimmer and the glimpsing of light through the fabric of my nylon pants, is like a gift I did not expect, as I walked the path.

Around the same time I was reading Frederick Buechner’s “Magnificent Defeat,” and also pondering the words of Peter’s first letter to struggling Christians. Rich words those, from two mentors. Peter encourages hard choices in hard places, but does not assume this can ever be done alone. He shows the enabling example we have, he tells of the rewards coming and he reminds that it is possible “if you have tasted the kindness of the Lord.” I have been holding onto the sweetness of that phrase and what it points to, then seeing the evidence right inside my pocket.

gathering

I have been doing an inventory of certain supplies and gathering several new hues and panels toward a workshop I will be taking next month; investing toward meaningful production. Just spending the money is hard. It must be a work of faith and hope too. I want to be stingy, and make do; but I also know that unless I am ready to give it up again, there will be no worthy result out of this studio. The whole process is another reminder that this slog is hard work emotionally, physically, every which way. Sometimes I think being an artist is like being a glutton for punishment. (I used to think that same thing about raising teenagers, another rare art form of faith and hope). Now that the teenagers are grown and I get to do concentrated work in my studio, I guess I need to remember that it is just another form of the same battle. It is battle. So strange, that something so fun could also be so perplexingly hard! Willa Cather said “Artistic growth is a defining of the sense of truthfulness. Only the great artist knows how difficult it is.” I am so encouraged by that statement. For it was in the raising of young people and in the working of art that truthfulness is one of my highest motivations. One of my kids just said to me last month “…that’s because for you Mom, truth is such a core value.” Hearing her say that over a difficult thing we were processing, was very satisfying to me.

So I am pondering a lot of things today: the hard battle, the investment of hope needed in that battle, and the spine of truth that enables any real progress. We’ll see what comes of this next month. Meanwhile, I can highlight here a small cold wax panel that got selected into a good local show. This is called “Unseen Working; Gathering Undercurrent.”

Around the room

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mercy’s purpose

It came off the page this morning: “I have kept silent for a long time, I have kept still and restrained Myself, (this is God speaking, timeless in time) Now like a woman in labor I will groan, I will both gasp and pant. . .” (Isaiah 42:14).
Long have I been fascinated with this prophet Isaiah who allowed himself to be an authentic mouthpiece for God’s intentions. I first heard of Isaiah from a lecture in college. This ancient Jew was unique in his multifaceted and very far-reaching vision through time. Isaiah was like an artist, one who saw the peaked mountaintops in a landscape, squished from God-dimensionality into a 2D representation. One can’t make this stuff up, it is too big, too beyond human ability. I tried to study Isaiah when a new Christian, but he was too dense. . . I keep going back to him for more understanding. Christ quoted from Isaiah more than from any of the other prophets, and He knew them all well. The words of the prophets are like echoes that keep resounding in the caves we are living in here. We do well to pay attention.

Yesterday, I worked on a piece, trying to finish it (and be done with it, frankly). It was unresolved, hanging there troubling me for its ugliness. I think I am done with it now; at least it is resolved compositionally. I still pretty much hate it for it is so dark, but I felt I had to complete it somehow. Then my husband came home and told me the news he had heard on his truck radio. My hand went to my mouth, as he choked back emotion and we both staggered to take it in. I cannot take this in: another slaughter of innocents. Child bodies, and blood, and horror. There are people now grasping for political solutions. Isaiah did not begin to see well until political solutions were exposed as dead, and then he finally would see God. You can read about that in his 6th chapter.

This piece is called “Mercy’s Purpose.” I feel I am to put it out there. This is not a display of ability as much as it is the cry from my own heart. I am as much a mess as the jerk in the mid-ground who is railing at/reaching toward God. But God is merciful. (A lot of religious people mouth that God is merciful, hoping that if they say it enough times, maybe it will be true.) You only know that God is truly merciful when you will risk getting to know Him. I do not know how much more time we will have to dally around in our caves. Open the Book and read. Jesus repeated Isaiah’s warnings, saying that labor pains would come. He also said He (Jesus and no other) would be coming back. The key is not the mess we are, or the mess we are in; the key is that He is the key. Ask Him to help you. Isaiah too cried out and learned: He is Merciful, but He is getting ready to move out.

Mary Barton Nees

Conceptual Landscape