Have you seen it for yourself? Have your eyes seen at least the clips of those claiming utopian dreams — yet themselves dazed, stoned, and de-constructing? The darkness is being revealed, and it will soon have its fullest hour.
Righteousness came and was rejected long ago. He was hung up, and they thought they’d extinguished Him. This is the most important thing to know: there is no other trustworthy name by which any soul can be secured out of this present and growing delusion.
The prophets all spoke of what is coming, very specific words. But Jesus added two watchwords for the years, the months, and the days before it all comes down: “Don’t be deceived”, and “don’t be afraid”.
How is that possible, especially as things get freaky? There is only one Way. He is that Way and He voiced it clearly, urgently, graciously Himself. This is your only reliable lifeline. He is the only door into real utopia.
But to get there, you must die. Die to your own ways, your own strategies, your own long-term assumptions. Go down with Him, and He will bring you up.
This beautiful photo came to our door in a magazine. This is an individual counterpoint, to what your eyes are seeing from all other media. This is more real, unfiltered though shrouded. And it’s happening all over the planet, but under the radar of the power-players. Baptism is a sign of relinquishment, however it is symbolized, wherever done, whenever a person realizes his true need — and gives in to the One who said He can provide that need. Trust His words, backed up by His perfect life. Re-vision means setting your sights (again and again) to what is real.
image used with requested permission: Voice of the Martyrs
It was not the first promise, but it was another significant one from the mouth of Creator, which orients my heart regularly. Early on in the Hebrew text, and in another time of (much worse) global trauma there was this assurance given that never again would the ground be cursed for the escalated evils of men. Seedtime and harvest would continue as a sign of this hope, and attenders can have it on God’s good guarantee that this blooming will not cease as long as the planet exists.
In the meantime, we’re all waiting, watching. It’s a time of sure dismemberment, held away from those we love except by zoom or text. Yesterday, looking for the link in a pile of emails for an upcoming digital meeting I thought to myself “is this death by zoom?”…”ok, here it is, found it.” It turned out to be a helpful meeting, was glad for it, learned something; but truth be told, it was as unsatisfying as something boxed in my pantry compares to one of my daughter’s lovingly prepared meals.
I prefer the real meal. Here is a sign of such yearning just finished inside my studio. There’s fog here over hints of color peeking. And there is hard ground, which seems unforgiving. But there are things popping out all around me too, out my windows, on my walks, in my seedbeds. I’m on the lookout and sometimes things show up.
The promise was put forth in poetic form in the original transcribing:
In a New York magazine I recently read this statement: “We remain human beings… and we orient ourselves in time, looking forward to the future. When that future has been suspended, humans come undone.”
I will say here what the writer of the first article said, and what the Doctor in the 2nd article surely felt: “I began to loose it this week”. I echo his words; my heart grieves. The time is getting long and longer. You know it also; it weighs on all our hearts.
Several years ago, August 2011 to be exact, I was sitting in this very same house when a rolling quake went up the entire Appalachian chain. And, with incredibly no loss of life, it yet put a visible crack into the pinnacle of the Washington monument, 400 miles away. A few weeks later after that quake, in a remarkable set of unplanned circumstances, I was to stand in front of that monument, observing with my own two eyes the crack on its top. For me: the quake experience and that subsequent sight was a serious sign. When my house jolted, when my ceiling fan started to wildly wobble, these words of Jesus came fast into my head: “But all these things are merely the beginning of birth pangs”
Birth pangs. I remember when I was in my own first labor, when a nurse on the next shift came in and pronounced something about her expectation as to the length of my transition. My body hadn’t done this before; we did not know. But this nurse’s glib assumption, turned out to be incorrect. The signs were obvious, but the timing was not. And here’s the substance: the birth did happen; and in the end, that was what mattered. A couple years later, when labor commenced with our second child, the early signs were now familiar. Previous experience had prepared me, but it was no less ominous — for once that progression started, I knew I would not be able to stop it, no matter how long it took. That recognition was the worst part of the entire birthing — more than the physical pain, was that sense of control loss. The process was hard; the result was sure. We’re in a time like that now and I recognize it.
Labor is a sign, and signs are only that: they point to something else, which is much more substantive. Signs signify, but they are not the true event: only the preparation for it. A red hexagonal metal stand with the letters STOP is not the intersection but rather the warning before that place. Small earthquakes are not “the big one” but rather an indicator of others coming. Labor pains are not the birth, but the necessary movement toward that event. Are my eyes on the prize or on the pain toward getting there?
We’re all in a certain labor, and many feel it worse than I do. But I had a sense of the weight of it this week; it put me under for some hours. It reminded me of the glib words of the nurse who did not know my time and made a false prediction. When it comes to whatever is ahead, best be sure, and that’s why Jesus’ words catch my attention. I feel we’re on a moving train, like a progressing labor, and we simply can’t get off. Something is coming ahead, and being prepared is only wise.
JRR Tolkein said “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near one.” But hold this in your heart: the dragon is not the Signifier. That Signifier we await has authority over the dragon, over any virus, over my sinking heart.
What is settling out as newly evident to you as you hold this tension, as lesser things hold less value? What is it you are trusting?
For me, it does not end here. My future may be somewhat certainly suspended, but temporal expectations are not my end; I am loathe to make something tangible here my end. I am going to hang on until the promised birth, if God gives me the grace to do so.
I image an older piece here entitled “The Valley of Achor” taken from Hosea’s words for holding on and for looking ahead. The prophets all spoke of the Signifier.
“May you live in interesting times” Are we there yet? What is ironic is that the assumed source of this quoted adage is said to be an ancient Chinese casting, clothed in kindness, while actually a curse. But checking it out, there’s less evidence about the true origin of this statement than there is about the origin of the coronavirus. Nonetheless, I’ll use it as a prompt. In fact, I’m changing that curse from living in to living through.
To start with, there is a huge difference between interesting and frightening. We’re each living on the edge of that difference; and sorting it out in the disruptions. Much more, living through interesting times is one thing, understanding them another and lies abound all around the globe. Check out your sources. Be sure of what it is you are trusting. Just two days ago I shared something I thought reliable on facebook only to have it exposed as an internet meme. I left it up as an object lesson for myself and for friends. For a better historical example I think of the sons of Issachar, and the Persian King in the time of Esther. We have some wiser ones around us now. Pay attention to those who demonstrate trustworthiness; the evidence of their track record is entirely informative. In Moses’ Israel, anyone who claimed to be a “prophet” needed to prove 100% accuracy. That would rule out a huge percentage of our talking heads. Not one of them knows the future. Not one who is mortal.
People who know me say I have a calm spirit! That’s been said several times and it always surprises me, for I know all the rumblings going on inside. Gratified by their perceptions, I say I have an informed spirit, layered by years of looking into things that are surer than fear. Do I fear? As sure as I’m born, and still breathing here; I do. But, I don’t like stuck-ness. I don’t like being paralyzed and that’s all that unhealthy fear does. So, understand that fear is necessary, but it can quickly become a paralyzer. Fear is simply an internal reaction to fear-full type things. It’s natural, and it needs respect and investigation. We stop and consider when alerted by fear, which is a great protection. But when we stay in any position of fear-full retreat we become dumb like turtles. And the internal rumblings multiply exponentially inside us more than the number of virus cases outside.
We’re in a season now, a revealing one for those paying attention, where people who are trustworthy have something that others see they want. The cream rises to the top. If you’re alert, you’re already seeing it where you live. For people like me have found an inexhaustible resource in the One who gives many reasons why “fear not” is even a possibility. There is someone better to fear and to respect. I direct my thoughts to Him in true gratitude. Curious? Do a google search for every time those words “fear not” are said in the Bible and observe, like your life depended on it, for the reasons given why. Or just read this Psalm portion with mindfulness.
So, I am working. And what is coming off my hands is informed by what I’m focusing on. Bayles and Orland, in their helpful handbook Art and Fear say “Basically those who continue to make art are those who have learned how to continue—or more precisely, have learned not to quit.” I have some good reasons to keep on alertly. And, some increasingly good results. This is titled “Laodicea and the Dragnet”.
The cries are reverberating out the windows of tall apartment buildings in Wuhan. And video is filtering out worldwide. Their pleadings are meant to be encouragement to fellow Chinese in this quarantined city of 11 million people. “Add more oil!” is a figure of speech, immediately understood in a culture that excels in creative stir-fry. One always adds oil to enhance the dish and to keep the vegetables from burning. “Add oil” is similar to what we would mean when saying in English “hang tough”, or “you can do it”. Can we? Can they? Is a shouted pep talk into the air enough?
What does one do when locked in at home, when supplies
including oil and everything else are dwindling, when the hospitals are filled
and dangerous? I am not frightened. I am rightly concerned. And I have been
thinking for a while now about how to help newbies learn how to pray. For we
need to know.
Here’s one true statement: Everyone prays. At least once in
each life there is a desperate instinctual cry that goes up into thin air.
Don’t tell me it’s not true. You already know it is. And if you don’t know
this, you will.
Here’s another true statement: Not every prayer is
effectively ‘talking to somebody’. Some cries are hopeless castings to the wind.
Would you know the difference?
Still reading? If prayer is what we do, even if last resort, would it not be important to take time now to learn to do it effectively? Are random shouts out a window accomplishing much besides some attempt to hearten other citizens? Is there such a thing as really talking into God’s ear? And if there is, how does one do that even with just a whisper?
There is warning that Jesus told about this very thing. It
has to do with adding oil.
After a concerned listing of signs, detailing what the end will be like before His return, Jesus eases the gravity of the situation by switching to a couple stories to emphasize their need to “be alert”. In one he paints with words a familiar Judean scene of maidens awaiting the bridegroom. The time gets long into the dark night of Jesus’ story, and when the groom finally arrives the maidens arise from sleep and trim their lamps. But the critical point of the story gets revealed at this point. Only some of the maidens were prepared with oil. In the immediacy of their need, certain ones cry out to others: “give us some of your oil!” But the prepared maidens give answer: they cannot share; they must not. Instead they instruct the unprepared maidens to go to the source for oil themselves.
In this is the first secret of prayer: Go to the Source for
the oil, and start out now.
In both the Hebrew and the Greek Scriptures, oil is a reference for the protecting, softening and sustaining spirit of the living God. He is the oil. He is the source.
The image in my post is of the Ophthalmologist who first warned of the virus which now ravages his city. He has already succumbed, but according to his own testimony, he had oil for his own lamp.
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.
This Fall I got to see Mercury transit across our sun. Through several chubby telescopes, positioned on tripods in a field on campus, a cluster of the curious took turns. The planet was like a speck of pepper on a large egg yoke. Various scopes were set to filter the sun’s light energy so that the color of the gasses around the spherical giant reflected to the eye a different view of it: orange, red, yellow. But the movement of the dark speck did not vary. It moved in one direction. This vacant planet has a set course, slow but sure, creeping silently across the brilliant light behind it.
Mercury is near impossible to see in our skies because of its size and orbit, so this was a rare opportunity, which a knowledgeable friend had alerted me to. And, it struck me as I tried to absorb the significance, that various orbs are moving above us all the time, we just go about our business on earth hardly aware. Like gears in a vast cosmos above us, there is predictable movement. It’s a picture of time. And once we’ve passed through, that time is past, not repeatable.
This comforts me strangely. For time is a slow move. Time is time. Think of that: time means I have time. Its sure ticking gives opportunity to reflect as I breathe here, to consider, as John says in the book of Revelation “the things which you have seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall take place.” We’re living in the already/not yet place of possibilities. But what is set is set. Can you hold that in?
I offer as illustration a small piece I did last year and gave as a Christmas gift. To me these big things are better caught than taught. I wish you relief from what is past and can now be put away. I wish you a growing confidence in what is set above you as we all move now into another decade of change. Happy New Year.
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 1st 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, 1st 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”.
Often, I am on some kind of necessary lookout, like being a watchman.
When entering any new space, the first thing I need to see is the view through the windows and beyond the confining walls. Since I was young, the wonders in landscape have drawn my eyes outward, peering horizons. In later years, the perplexities in living have moved me to abstracting what I’m seeing and thinking. An artist I’ve encountered named Ali says on his Instagram bio that “as the world becomes more scary, art becomes more abstract”. You can see the same in the trajectory of Art History. What interests me is better expressed in simplified gesture than any ‘perfected’ semblance can communicate. This is true in all my work, no matter the media. Poetry gets closer than prose.
Just yesterday I got notice that a monotype I made in 2006 got accepted into a national juried show in Cincinnati. This museum quality gallery, called Manifest, allows earlier work submissions, saying “we do not believe great art has an expiration date. Furthermore we believe that older work gains new meaning when contextualized in a new space alongside different works by different artists. Why should an exceptional work of art cease being experienced by the public once it is just a few years old? In fact, why should it ever stop being experienced? While most work submitted to our exhibits has been made within the past five years or so, sometimes works are submitted (and accepted) that are older.”
And Sore Must Be the Storm
Fortunately for me, this older piece fit their current theme
nicely and got selected into a small grouping of 24 pieces out of 421 entries.
My monotype, from 2006, was made with ink and solvent painted on a sheet of Plexiglas. Rice paper was then carefully placed on top of the inked Plexi, blanketed and cranked through the pressure of a flat bed etching press. The result once the paper was peeled off the plate was a reverse image from what I had laid down. It’s a landscape, obviously, but it is also abstracted and constructed with mood even in a single color. The added element of surprise as to what the press would do to the ink, and how the composition would read in reverse was part of the risk. It was a look-out moment. The drama of the result reminded me of a favorite poem by Emily Dickinson:
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.
This beautiful photo came to our door in a magazine. This is an individual counterpoint, to what your eyes are seeing from all other media. This is more real, unfiltered though shrouded. And it’s happening all over the planet, but under the radar of the power-players. Baptism is a sign of relinquishment, however it is symbolized, wherever done, whenever a person realizes his true need — and gives in to the One who said He can provide that need. Trust His words, backed up by His perfect life. Re-vision means setting your sights (again and again) to what is real.
