The Master’s Artist: A Sponge with a Long Swivel Handle and a Soap Dispenser

Oh, you’re in a real treat today. You get a backstage glimpse into the real inventor of the sponge with a long swivel handle and a soap dispenser in said handle.

Exciting stuff, folks.

As I contemplate fostering an environment of creativity and discovery, I consider how my parents nurtured the same in me: “Was there a secret in the wooden blocks? In Raggedy Ann and Andy’s Please and Thank You book? In dancing around the dining room table to “Arky Arky” by Kid’s Praise?”

Read A Sponge with a Long Swivel Handle and a Soap Dispenser.

On the Absence of Creativity

Lately my creativity has seeped away into the unknowable land of where ever lost things seep away to. (It’s unknowable, therefore I can’t describe it any better. Plus, my creativity is so bad that I can’t think of a way to describe how bad my creativity is. Also, this is where the left socks go. [After washing baby socks in preparation for Baby G and seeing how small these suckers are, I'm mentally readying myself for gobs of seeped socks.])

I may not be able to think of an apt metaphor for my seeped creativity, but I can offer some reasons as to why my creativity has indeed seeped:

  1. Lack of routine. We’ve covered this. But, in the past, when routine broke, my mind still worked so that when I returned to the keyboard, my fingers couldn’t keep up with my words. This is not true this time. Which brings me to reason #2.
  2. My brain is otherwise occupied, mostly in imagining who Baby G will be: girl or boy? adventurer? reader? imaginer? curious? cuddler? climber? Also, I have to keep lists in my head more than before because of my tendency to forget things lately. I write some of these things down, but I’m not very good at that. So I’m constantly reminding myself to ask Chris this or my mom that or the doctor this other thing. Right now, I have a list going in my head of Things That Have to Get Done This Weekend Or the World Will End like finish painting that one swatch of bathroom wall and hang the curtains and shelf and spear in the nursery (yes, I said spear–an actual spear from a Maasai warrior, who used it in a lion hunt [to kill the lion] and gave it to my husband) and put the last piece together on the crib and etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. All that takes brain cycles that used to be used in writing while I burned dinner.
  3. I’m in my last month of pregnancy, which means I’m tired, uncomfortable, cranky, and tired. (Being three weeks away from one’s due date means one can use a single adjective twice in one sentence if one chooses.) Also, I waddle. Which has nothing to do with writing, but there it is.
  4. I’m consuming more sugar than I’ve consumed in my entire life. Again, this has nothing to do with writing, but I felt the need to confess this to someone.

This leads to the fear I’ve harbored since dating Chris (and knowing that someday my life would most likely include kids): My writing (and my life and goals and dreams) would play secondhand Rose to the little one.

Selfish, I know.

But looking back at reason #2, which is the heart of my seeped creativity, I can’t help but wonder how to conquer this. Once the baby comes, I will be no less distracted with all those mom things that consume mom brains. How do I continue to write in this space?

People do it, I know. Many a mom has created song, story, and sculpture. But can I?

The Master's Artist: Risky Business

Today’s post at The Master’s Artist reflects on my recent completion of my rough draft and my intention and work on the revisions.

"Art is discovery. In the rough draft, I work through the characters’
emotions (as well as my own). I answer the questions: How does my
character feel about and react to all these things? How do I feel about
these ideas? In the rough draft, I discover meanings and muck through
what it means to be human. But if I stop there, my work stays in the
realm of self-expression, of emotionalism, and possibly,
horror-of-horrors, sentimentalism. I might even attempt to manipulate
or stimulate the observer so that she feels the same way I do about all
this mess."

Read the rest of Risky Business.

Everyday Liturgy: Worship and Creativity

I’m guest-posting today at Everyday Liturgy about worship and creativity.

A sneak peek:

When Chris and I joined our church, we attended a smaller service
(at our larger church) with simple, acoustic music in tune with our
everyday lives and with opportunities to use our creativity in the
service—readings, films, and music.

A couple of years later, our church canceled that service. Now we
attend a larger service at the same church. The music (think The New
Main Street Singers from Mighty Wind) makes me want to put my eardrums
through a shredder, and I no longer have the chance to offer my writing
and music in the Sunday morning service.

When Thomas posed the question “how do you use creativity in
worship?”, I jumped at the chance to blog about it. I’d been struggling
with this very thing for over a year.

You can read the rest here.

The Creative Life: Memoir

One of my regrets: I didn’t write down the stories my grandmother told me at the kitchen table. I didn’t ask her to write her memoirs.

Whether as a legacy to family or as a book for the masses, memoir is story made from real life. I asked Mary DeMuth, whose book Thin Places: A Memoircomes out in February, to guest blog on writing memoir.

***

Heather kindly invited me to write about memoirs. I’m thankful to have the opportunity. I wrote Thin Places (releasing in February) only after I gave myself permission to say it all. More on that later.

First, one clarification about memoir: no memoir can be 100% accurate. Every memoirist must recall, to the best of his/her ability what happened in the past. Only God knows what truly happened! And to protect the people listed in a memoir, I’ve changed names and distinguishing characteristics. That’s allowable in a memoir, and is often expected.

To make a memoir work, it must be:

  1. From someone famous.
  2. Or a story so strong and surprising, the story carries the book.

I’m of the latter category since I am by no means famous. But my story is raw and redemptive. And a bit out there.

The most important thing for a memoir is that it be memorable and beautifully written. If you don’t have a platform, near perfect writing is a must backed up by an intriguing/surprising story. Think of a memoir as a novel with rising action, climax and denouement. Consider writing it as you would a novel, with characters, dialogue and a plot (even if the plot is your life!).

A great example of a memoir that tells an amazing story is Parting the Waters: A True Story: Finding Beauty in Brokennessby Jeanne Damoff.

But even though the story is beautifully written, Jeanne shopped the story to every publishing house far and wide through her agent. Though it was a great story, she faced a lot of rejection.

Eventually, after much prayer and seeking wisdom, she decided to self-publish the book through WinePress. It’s got a wonderful cover and is selling well.

Another amazing memoir is Startling Beauty: My Journey From Rape to Restorationby wife Heather Gemmen. Wow. It’s one of the most beautifully written, achingly painful memoirs I’ve read.

It’s not easy to write a memoir. I fear that some people are so afraid to do it because the people involved aren’t yet dead. So they work on a fictionalized version. Is that really honest? What is the purpose of telling your true story if you make it fiction? Of course, you can take elements of your struggle and life and place that in fiction, but I’ve found that tacked on messages seldom make a book.

My best advice: obey God. Write what He tells you to write. If you’re too afraid to write a memoir, then don’t do it. Prayerfully consider whether your need to get it all out is, instead, a form of catharsis that no reader really needs to see. And if you add some of your story to the memoir, consider that story is the king. The story must support what you write about.

Author of three parenting books, four novels, and a memoir, Mary E. DeMuth helps foks turn their trials into triumphs. Mary has spoken at several national writers conferences and has had the privilege of teaching in the US, Europe, and Africa for various churches and church planting ministries. She’s appeared on national TV in Canada, and WFAA’s Good Morning Texas. Mary and her husband, Patrick, reside in Rockwall, Texas with their three children. They’ve returned from breaking new spiritual ground in Southern France, where they planted a church. 

Movies: The Diving Bell and The Butterfly

The Diving Bell and The Butterfly is based on the memoir of Jean-Dominque Bauby, editor-in-chief of Elle magazine. After suffering a massive stroke, Jean-Dominique lived with locked-in syndrome, meaning that though his mind was active and healthy, his body, except for his eyes and minor head movement, was paralyzed.

A speech therapist devised a system so that Jean-Dominique could communicate by blinking his left eye (his right eye had to be sewn closed because of problems–I can’t stand watching anything related to surgery, needles, or sharp objects and eyes). She repeated each letter of the alphabet (arranged according to popularity rather than in alphabetical order), and he blinked at the correct letter to spell words.

After Jean-Dominique learned the system, he contacted the publisher that had recently signed a contract with him. He wanted to write his memoir.

This movie is some Swiss Family Robinson story. It doesn’t gloss over the ugliness of the disease, making it some beautiful conduit without which Jean-Dominique would have never discovered himself. It is wonderfully acted, directed and filmed, often in a documentary style. When Jean-Dominique first wakes in the hospital after coming out of a coma (and for quite a bit after that), you see everything from his hazy perspective. My husband and I cringed at the blurry, vacillating objects. It’s hard to watch, in other words, attempting to give you a taste of Jean-Dominique’s adjustment.

Jean-Dominique is not suddenly some saint because of his stroke and syndrome. He feels sorry for himself; he doesn’t always treat people well. In fact, at times, he can be an ass (at least in the movie–who knows what’s fictionalized and what’s true to form).

But here’s what amazed me: even at this point, when his body betrays him, when he cannot function as he once did, he responds with creativity and culture. He chooses to use his imagination. This is how integral creating is to humanity. I found myself wondering if he, in fact, acted more fully human than I do watching TV on the couch every night (or in the office crammed together with my husband on the one overstuffed chair, since we no longer have cable and watch TV shows on the Internet). This shamed me. How can I complain about the difficulties of writing? He awoke early in the morning, considered what he wanted to write, memorized it, then dictated it by eye-blinks later that morning for four hours each day. No surprisingly, his book became a bookseller.

But he didn’t have much time to enjoy that. He died ten days after it released.

Writing the book wasn’t about acknowledgement. It was about creating itself and about communicating.

The Artist in the Sunday School Class

She arranged the six squares of construction paper–red, blue, and yellow on the top row, green, purple, and orange on the bottom. In a Modrian-esque way, she then selected smaller squares of tissue paper in colors that mimicked the construction paper blocks.

The other four-year-olds left the table, one by one, as if retreating
from the ark. They found legos and kitchen sets and toy cars.

She undid some of her work in order to glue it down, every decision made after contemplation.

After that came the streamers–not dumped or thrown, not amassed like a shimmering mountain as the other children had applied their goodies. Her silvery streamers, each with hints of different colors, she smoothed, twisted, and swirled just so.

"Do you want glitter?" I asked. (Actually, Kim, the teacher I assisted in the Sunday school class may have asked her this.)

She considered her piece. "No, thank you." Then she signed her name.

A masterpiece.

Art and Christianity: Interview with Josh Havens, Part 3

Josh Havens (of The Afters) and I continue our conversation. In this episode, we talk his favorite and least favorite parts of being a musician and his challenge to Christian artists.

This audio podcast is under 7 minutes. You can download it by right-clicking on the link.

(P.S. The dog makes rare appearances in this episode.)



Suggestions for Engaging in Art in Your Everyday Life

Engaging in art starts in areas close to home. As you learn how to construct meaning with the artist, you can expand into more unfamiliar circles to stretch and develop.

  1. Your favorite TV show: What do you enjoy about this show? How is it unique? How do the writing, camera angles, colors, dialogue, etc. work together? What is the premise and what does that premise say about humanity? What does it say about the world? How do the characters develop and grow? Do you see yourself in them?
    For example, Pushing Daisies uses bright colors to show grace and joy in second chances. The premise of Dexter takes the hero–Batman, Superman, or the western vigilante–and puts a twist on it.
  2. This weekend’s movie: As you watch a movie this weekend, consider how the storyline develops, the motivations, ethics, and development of the characters, and the images used in the movie. Pay attention to how the director framed the world of the movie. What is the subject of the movie? What does the movie say about that subject? As you did with your TV shows, think about what that says about humanity and the world. Do you agree or disagree with this? Would you act differently than the characters? Why or why not?
    For example, Chocolat shows the risk of joy and grace in a controlled environment. It contrasts rich colors of reds and oranges against the dreary grays of the town, structures the story along the liturgical calendar of Lent to Easter, and uses chocolate as a sacrament. It also forces the townspeople to find joy and grace in unexpected characters. Sweeney Todd shows the depravity of humanity through one man’s story of revenge. In this singular purpose, Sweeney destroys life rather than rediscovering it.
  3. A local gallery: After taking in the whole exhibit, find one or two pieces in the gallery to engage with and spend time with them. How does the artist use colors, lines, and spaces? Is it abstract or traditional? What emotions does it invoke? How does the title relate to the piece? Does it make you think of another artist’s work? What is the subject matter of the piece? How does that relate to your life?
  4. A concert: This can be symphonic or popular music. Before going, learn about the composer or singer/songwriter. If going to a symphony orchestra, read about the piece they will be playing–the influences, musical themes, styles, structure etc. When there, see if you can pick out the themes. Close your eyes and enter into the music, following it like a roller coaster. Does it conjure images or colors? What emotions do you feel? If going to a popular concert, consider how the lyrics and music work together. How does the artist deviate from typical songs? Are there places that surprise you? How do the lyrics relate to your life?

These are a few ideas to get you started in engaging art. As you think about the art created around you, think of ways that you can respond through your own art and life, whether by choosing an art form (e.g. painting, poetry, sewing, journaling, collaging) or incorporating your response in your life (e.g. your job, household chores).

Makoto Fujimura: Collaborative Performance

I can’t put my finger on it quite yet, but something compells me to come back to this piece. It’s not flashy, like watching Ed Harris re-enact a Pollock creation. Perhaps it’s the meditative quality or the improvisational nature as Susie Ibarra and Makoto Fujimura influence one another.

Whatever it is, it’s beautiful: