My Son, the Artist

The music plays, and Keegan dances. He dances to Tchaikovsky and Veggie Tales. He dances to jazz and to Kid’s Praise. He dances to his maracas. He dances to the jingles on his toys. He dances to the motor of the blender and to the click of the refridgerator.

To Keegan, everyday sounds aren’t random noises; they’re music. And music calls for dancing.

Perhaps influenced by John Cage (best known for his 4’33” piece) or the composers of musique concrete, Keegan rejoices in the sounds around him. Or perhaps he hears the praise of the trees clapping their hands, the mountains and hills bursting forth in song for their Creator.

And I learn from my son that being an artist isn’t just about the craft we practice. It isn’t just in words on page, paint on canvas, notes on staff. Being an artist is a way of life. It influences how we see the world around us and how we respond to it. It consumes our waking up and going to bed.

Being an artist means recognizing the music and story and beauty of everyday life, of seeing how God takes the ashes of our pain and uses them to sculpt new life. It means participating in God’s redemption of his people and his earth.

While words on page are fewer these days than in my past life, I am artist. I dance to the music around me. I tell stories to my son. I make beautiful the space in which my family walks.

I am artist.

The Master’s Artist: The Communication and Community of Art

Recently I’ve become fascinated with the etymological link between communication and community, specifically with how this plays out in the realm of art.

Why do I write? Why do I offer up my writings into the world-at-large?

I explore these questions in my latest Master’s Artist post:

Through art, I respond to God and his movement in his creation at large and in me specifically.

And then I set this response, this discovery, out into the world.

Isn’t this part of the human existence, too? This vulnerability, this desire to be known and to know others through my art. Tertullian said that the essence of personhood is the ability to communicate. The art we create is not a dead artifact upon its completion. It invites the response and engagement of others.

Read the rest of The Communication and Community of Art.

Defying Genres

I read this the other day on Pandora about Bobby Darin:

“There’s been considerable discussion about whether
Bobby Darin should be classified as a rock & roll singer, a Vegas
hipster cat, an interpreter of popular standards, or even a
folk-rocker. He was all of these and none of these. Throughout his
career he made a point of not becoming committed to any one style at
the exclusion of others; at the height of his nightclub fame he
incorporated a folk set into his act. When it appeared he could have
gone on indefinitely as a sort of junior version of Frank Sinatra, he would periodically record pop/rock and folk-rock singles whose principal appeal lay outside of the adult pop market . . .
It may be most accurate to say that Darin was, above all, a singer
who wanted to do a lot of things, rather than make his mark as a
particular stylist. That may have cost him some points as far as making
it to the very top of certain genres, but also makes his work more
versatile than almost any other vocalist of his era.”

Psst–If you find this post interesting and think others might as well, would you mind taking a minute to stumble it? It would mean a lot to me.

Book Thoughts: God in the Gallery by Daniel Seidell

God in the Gallery by Daniel Siedell is from the perspective of an art curator. It focuses on visual art, but its thesis works on all mediums.

Siedell examines art first for what it says about itself, then interacts with that as a Christian (rather than imposing our theologies and perspectives on the artwork). But he also allows that the meaning of a particular piece may transcend the intention of the artist. In fact, he derives his thesis from Paul’s Mars Hill speech. Some may see a contradiction in this (allowing the art to speak for itself v. seeing our meanings apart from the intention of the artist), but I believe both aspects work together.

Enrique Martinez Celaya

Image via Wikipedia

The book isn’t written about the practice of art but the evaluation of. Specifically, it argues that instead of broadscale rejection of modern and contemporary art (as many evangelicals tend to do or have done in the past several decades), we need to interact with it for this art has much to say that is spiritually and religiously affirming. Unfortunately, in this area, most of his audience probably wouldn’t pick up the book.

Regarding art criticism: Siedell says it is its own form of art as it interacts with the work. It is the art form of those who have been moved and shaped by art. Compare this with book criticism and the current debates on this of who should be writing book reviews: it may be good to get educated literary perspectives, but if books shape you, whether or not you have a degree and training, don’t you have the right to share your interaction on blogs, Amazon, etc? Most of the time, someone who is trained (whether formally or informally) will have more insights, a deeper perspective and appreciation as to the craft. Also, this person will (hopefully) be able take the discussion to a deeper level re: how the book views the world. And we should be striving for this. We shouldn’t allow ourselves simple amusement that doesn’t interact with the craft and themes and ideas of the book. But if you are interacting, though you may not have reached some official position, shouldn’t you be allowed to publish these thoughts? (See also article in Guardian: Is there room for digression in a book review?)

Regarding the term "Christian art": the term marinalizes art. It no longer interacts with the world because it has been created by and for Christians, or, at the least, is perceived so. I agree with this, but I also want to think about the implications: does this mean we shouldn’t have Christian publishers? Christian patrons? Does this mean that we shouldn’t create art for the church? 

Can there not be Christians who create art for the church but also to interact with the world? Can that be the same person or does "branding" not allow that? Further, can that be the same work of art?

Siedell speaks to that in part. He argues that there is art created for the church (namely icons that aid prayer) and a different sort of art created for the world (for museums, galleries, etc.): "The church, with its liturgical practice, is most definitely not the place to incorporate art that forces the worshiper to ‘ask tough questions,’ ‘challenge previously held beliefs,’ and so on. Those are absolutely important practices, but not in liturgy."

I don’t agree. To be fair, Siedell doesn’t believe that the church stymies imagination but can inspire the imagination, especially through engagement with Nicene theology. But I don’t like this separation of art for the church and art for the world. First, in our teaching (sermons, Bible studies, Sunday schools, small groups), we "ask tough questions" and "challenge previously held beliefs," so why not in our art in the church? Second, if drawing into the church encourages and prepares us to go out into the world, why should we compartmentalize aspects of our life? Shouldn’t it all flow together.

(I want to note that in addition to stimulating the imagination, Siedell also believes the church can patron the arts and should, not just through funding, but through training the artist spiritually. I wholeheartedly agree with this.)

I allow that there’s an expectation level. You don’t want to shock the worshiper so that they can’t worship. This requires discernment, gentleness, and education. I’ll also allow that not every bit of art is appropriate because it may not be an art that a particular culture engages in. Sometimes this should be challenged, but sometimes it is in line with contextualization. But art that a culture engages in as part of their everyday lives is fair game.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, especially as some of the artists of whom Siedell spoke I’d recently seen at an exhibit. I highly recommend this book for anyone interested in engaging in the arts and evaluating how the Christian Church and theology can contribute in healthy dialogue.

Psst–If you find this post interesting and think others might as well, would you mind taking a minute to stumble it? It would mean a lot to me.


Art and Christianity: Interview with Sandra Glahn, Part I

Sandra Glahn is the author of fiction (including a Christy-nominated
book), nonfiction, and Bible studies. She’s editor of the award-winning
magazine, Kindred Spirit, and adjunct professor at Dallas Theological Seminary.

In this podcast, we talk about how her writing affects her theology.

The podcast is approximately 4:45 minutes.

 



What Gardening Teaches Me about Writing

Some of you may know that a couple of years ago, I began gardening. Two years ago, I put in a small flower bed, and discovered a love for cultivating beauty in this way. Last year, I added containers with tomato plants, bell peppers, artichoke (which never grew), and herbs. I discovered a love for eating fresh from my backyard (or, side yard, rather).

This year, we’ve expanded. My husband built a few raised beds, and I’ve added carrots, cucumbers, peas, broccoli, lettuce, spinach, onions (sweet and green), green beans, and squash to last year’s repertoire (senza that stubborn artichoke).

Grocery Store Green Bell Peppers

Image via Wikipedia

My endeavor fills me with anticipation and fear: Look at the tiny seedlings emerging from the ground from nothing but that seed I planted! one moment, and What the bleep! Clouds and clouds! I need more sun! These veggies will never grow! the next (accompanied by the appropriate amount of hand-wringing–my mother tells me now I know the life of a farmer).

But more than that, my endeavor with gardening teaches me about writing.

Novelist Valerie Sayers says, "Whether their eyes are on God or not, all writers worth reading go out on the muck, in the muck, and stir up threat, possibility, celebration crisis" (Valerie Sayers, "The Muck" in Image, no. 60, p. 107).

Gardening requires I thrust myself into the muck. Sometimes this brings delight in the way a mudpie does to a four-year-old. Sometimes I think with disgust, "Ah, that’s cow manure beneath my finger nails." But in the muck I am.

Gardening offers hope, but no guarantees. Every day, I go out there. Has anything grown? Is anything new? But until I pluck the fruit (or vegetables, as it were), I don’t know if it’ll work.

Gardening requires tender care. I can’t force anything, though I’d like to. I can buy a farmer’s almanac, read up on what’s best for my areas and the how-tos, and follow the rules, but I can’t make my garden grow (50 points for naming the song and musical that references).

The elements may be against me, but I must press on. For example, we had a freeze the other night, a fairly late freeze for the Dallas area. I followed all the planting instructions of what to plant when. I prepared for the freeze. I did everything right, but I lost my cucumbers to the bitter night (as well as several flowers–impatiens and potato vines, mainly). The elements are against me. Isn’t this the consequence of the Fall? But God commands us to continue with our work, to press on. The rejections may pile on; life may intrude (silly bills!), but write I must.

And sometimes the plants are heartier than I expect. The freeze, for example, only took my cucumbers. It appears all other plants are intact. Torrential rains failed to wash away my seeds. Peas sprout, though I was told, "Good luck with those finicky plants!" (Although we’ll see if I harvest vegetables from them when the time comes.) They remind me of those obstinate characters: They have a mind of their own, and sometimes that’s frustrating, but sometimes it brings unexpected pleasures.




On Christianity in Structure

"What the artist has developed . . . is a telos that is less explicitly religious in its subject matter but more profoundly religious in its structure, a structure that not only pervades his subsequent work but underwrites his behavior as an artist and human being, guiding his thoughts, words, and deeds."

- Daniel Siedell, God in the Gallery, p. 58

I’m currently reading this book, and in Siedell’s analagy of a painting called Thing and Discovery by Enrique Martinez Celaya, Siedell made this observation. Yes! I said out loud (yes, I actually said it out loud, though no one was near to hear me).

CBA books are considered Christian or not by their content: Is the book about a Christian or about someone wrestling with Christianity? And this is legitimate. But so many of us want something more, something deeper. Many times, my writing is not about a Christian or about someone confronting the ideas of Christianity, but Christianity undergirds the structure of the story itself.

Which leaves me with the question: Does CBA have a place for this kind of writing?

Side note: I’m off to a retreat this weekend. I’ll be teaching a session on film called Popcorn Theology: Seeing God’s Beauty at the Movies.



Art and Christianity: An Interview with Dr. Reg Grant, Part V

(To enter February’s Artuality on furniture, click here.)

In this podcast, we explore two ideas of being a Christian in the art
world: (1) seeing beauty and truth in art created by Christians and non-Christians alike and (2)
pursuing excellence in our craft because we are Christians.

Theologian Alexander Scmemann said that Christians see Christ everywhere (as quoted in God in the Gallery by Siedell). Because of the Imago Dei and because of God’s desire to reveal his beauty, we can taste it from so many sources–though the sources may come from non-Christians.

But as Christians, and in this case, specifically as artists, we must also take seriously our call to image beauty and truth with excellence. Just because we are Christians does not make our art acceptable. Just as accountants must work to have correct numbers and teachers must work to clearly communicate, artists must pursue their field with excellence. This means both working on the craft itself as well as the theology, philosophy, and ideas of beauty that become art.




Art and Theology: An Interview with Dr. Reg Grant, Part IV

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a video blog/podcast. Here’s the next in the series of conversations with Dr. Reg Grant.

In this episode, he compares acting to Christianity.

The podcast is under five minutes

Art's Balance Beam: A Manifesto

Not too long ago, in response to a comment I made about a particular piece, a fellow writer told me, "That’s because you’re a modern reader."

I’ve been thinking about that statement. What does it mean? What does it say about me? What does it say about my writing?

Here’s my working conclusion: Art holds in balance three things–reflecting the culture in which it is written (and communicating to that culture), transforming the culture in which it is written, and transcending the culture in which it is written.

Reflecting and Communicating–Art learns from that which has gone before it. As a musician, I learned from Bach, Beethoven, and the Beatles. I learned from Sondheim and Bernstein. Art builds on the masters and may take elements from their music: ideas, quotes, forms. As a writer, I learn from Dickens, Austen, and Russo. But it’s always changing. This is not to say it’s progressing or improving (although I hope my personal writing is). Today’s art isn’t better than the art created in the 1600s, nor is it worse. It’s different because it exists in a different culture. It’s different because of the nature of art itself. When art remains static, it dies. (This is part of the reason why we learn and heed the rules but also break them when necessary.)

Art also communicates immediately to the culture around us. In one sense, art is personal. In another, it’s communal, and that community in part is the culture (and subcultures). (Side note: we artists sometimes are in danger of wanting only to communicate to each other rather than the broader culture.) (Side note two: I don’t think this necessarily means every artist will be widely known or will want to be published/displayed/performed.) (Side note three: I think a lot of what I have to say about art in this post can also be said about Christianity, but that’s a different discussion for a different day.)

Transforming–Art is a way of finding meaning in life. It helps guide the culture in this. This weekend, I began reading The Shape of Mercy by Susan Meissner (a beautiful book, by the way). In it, the main character says, "Abigail pounced on any opportunity to discuss a book we had both read. Dissecting a book was the same as making sense of life. You have to find a way to interpret life, or you’ll go nuts" (p. 43). Others interpret life through movies or paintings or sculpture or photography or any number of artistic mediums. As artists, then, we have the opportunity to help shape this. To be honest, this is scary. It’s a heavy responsibility. I think of James, who in his letter tells us teachers are held to a higher standard. They influence others. In the same way, our work can influence others. And while God can use any art to do this (and often does: How often have I been drawn closer to him through a piece created by a non-Christian?), we have a responsibility to have a healthy spiritual life that influences our art.

To this end, while we write to communicate to the immediate culture, we do not write (or create art) to cater to the immediate culture.

This does not mean every piece has to be overt in our beliefs. We don’t need to paint only crosses or write about only conversions. It means that in the same way our everyday life is guided by the presence of God, we allow our art to be guided by the presence of God.

Transcending–I suppose this is connected to the previous idea of transforming, but it is different, too. Dickens (and he is on the brain because I recently finished Bleak House–a feat in itself!) wrote in a culture different from mine. But his themes transcend to my culture. They are universal. This is why the Bible holds so much meaning for us today, why Beethoven’s third symphony moves us, why I can stare at one Chagall painting for an entire afternoon. In one way, the themes we write are connected to our culture (looking again at Dickens and how much of his writing reflects the classism and social injustices of his day). In other way, the are connected to humanity at large.

I won’t know if my art transcends culture. I won’t know if I pass this test. Only future generations will know.

I’ve written these thoughts down for the first time today. They’ve been swirling in my head like salt water taffy pulled and stretched and twisted. I’d love to hear from some other artists regarding these ideas as I work through them in community.

What do you guys think?