transforming culture

Tapestry: Living Christianly in a Post-Christian Culture

March 27, 2009 By heather 1 Comment

I posted at Tapestry the promised discussion from the panel last weekend at the Christian Book Expo, "Living Christianly in a Post-Christian Culture" with authors Donald Miller, Randy Frazee, Mary DeMuth, and Ruth Haley Barton and moderated by Andy Crouch.

Because of the broadness of the subject matter, I pulled out three points from the panel. A taste:

"Our Christianity is pagan and looks more like voodoo than it does the
Christianity of the Bible. Following American materialism, our
Christianity has become consumerism. Have an unhappy, uncontented life?
Consume some Jesus."

Read the rest here.

Also, Mary DeMuth posted her beginning and closing statements from the session on her blog. I highly recommend reading at least her opener. I found it hard to restrain myself from a hearty "Amen" (or "So say we all," for fellow BSG fans–no, don’t discuss the finale here; I haven’t seen it yet).

Filed Under: Andy Crouch, Christian living, culture, Donald Miller, Mary DeMuth, post-Christian, Randy Frazee, Ruth Haley Barton, transforming culture

Art's Balance Beam: A Manifesto

January 19, 2009 By heather 9 Comments

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?

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, communication, transcending culture, transforming culture, writing

There's No Place Like Home

May 27, 2008 By heather Leave a Comment

If N.T. Wright and music had a child, it would be Jeremy Begbie.

I’m pretty sure neither Wright nor Jeremy would endorse that statement, but there it is.

Begbie spoke of my two favorite things: the resurrection (meaning not just Christ’s, who is a foretaste, but the resurrection of the world) and arts. As a friend said, the resurrection makes me giddy. It’s true. I think of frolicking–yes, frolicking–at a beach with my grandparents or riding the back of a tiger (or even a unicorn!) or jamming on the piano with a jazz combo. Can you imagine what it’ll be like to play and sing and dance in the midst of the music of every tongue and nation? Can you imagine what it’ll be like to cuddle up next to a lion? Can you imagine what it’ll be like to sing with the mute, dance with the lame, and chat with the deaf? Who says being a Christian isn’t fun? (See–I mention the resurrection and end up on a digression.)

What’s more, Jeremy spoke in a language I understand: music. Throughout his session, he used Prokofieff’s Piano Sonata 7 to work through his points.

It made me happy.

I can’t begin to go through all of his points and do justice to them (I suggest buying the CD of his session).

Jeremy took on the topic, where do we go from here? What is the vision of arts and the Church? The vision comes from the future (rather than going into the future). Instead of moving from present to future, instead of keeping up with trends, trying to make the Church hip, dare I say trying to make our art edgy? (now there I go stepping on toes again), we move from the future to the present.

Amen.

We have a glimpse of the future in the resurrection of Christ, in Revelation 21-22, and in Isaiah and other prophetic writings. (My imagination often goes crazy with these passages thinking of a time when creation is beautiful and just and harmonious and radiant.) The Holy Spirit brings the future into the present, churning the culture. Begbie compared it to the transfiguration–God’s future erupting into the present.

This is our jam session. This is what we get to participate in.

The Spirit’s work is energizing, creative, unifying, deep, inverting. The possibilities of the Holy Spirit’s work are limitless.

How can we not get excited about this?

We taste the resurrection, don’t we? In relationships, in nature, in art, in a good meal, in dancing. This is what we are to cultivate.

Let me make a note (and this relates to the above statement about "edgy"): cultivating the resurrection does not mean ignoring or trivializing the evil. On the contrary, it’s willing to go to the depths of the evil around us. A story is only good if the hero has to overcomes obstacles, if he has to go through a trial. This story reflects the story of humanity and the story of Christ. Christ delved into the depths of evil. He resisted the temptation in the desert. He "descended into hell." From there comes the beauty of resurrection and victory. I say this relates to my comment about "edgy" art because there’s a difference between taking risks and trying to be edgy for the sake of being edgy, a trap into which I fear we sometimes fall. I’m not saying that anyone who uses the term "edgy" has fallen into this trap. I’m only saying let’s be careful. As C.S. Lewis said, "In literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it." This from the man who’s greatest work of literature is a retelling of an old myth (Till We Have Faces).

This journey is complete. We’ve been called to be beautifully unuseful to God, we’ve been mentored in the lifestyle, we’ve crossed the threshold, we’ve met our enemies, dealt with trials, and found allies, we’ve descended into the depths of the ordeal, and today we’ve been resurrected, our art has been resurrected.

The question is, our we willing to return to our Original World with the lessons we’ve learned from our journey, with this elixir to heal the nations? In other words, am I willing to use my art to participate in God’s kingdom work by showing Truth and creating beauty?

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, eschatology, Jeremy Begbie, resurrection, theology, transforming culture

Running to the top of the art museum stairs

May 22, 2008 By heather 1 Comment

Continuing on our artist’s journey, specifically in Barbara Nicolosi’s session in the Transforming Culture symposium…

Barbara talked about the terrain of the artist, namely what is beautiful. She relied on Aristotle’s definition of beauty, which has three parts: wholeness (meaning nothing’s missing), harmony (meaning related to one another in complementary ways), and radiance (meaning something is communicated that is profound, beyond language–I understood this to mean beyond language used in propositions and explanations–and personal).

She also defined what beauty is not: "cute, easy, benal, silly, sweet, facile, non-threatening." Not to say that there isn’t a place for Precious Moments and silly youtubes, but those are not what the artist is obsessed with. The artist is obsessed with what is truly beautiful.

It occurs to me, then, that beauty and Truth approach each other with these ideas. That beauty is not necessarily what is pleasing to the eye but what draws you closer to Truth. That, to some extent (and to differing extents) we have to work at it both as artists and as audience. That beauty, being obsessed with beauty, is an act of victory over the Curse.

I’ve been doing the Colossians study with Soul Per Suit, and here’s what I wrote to the group yesterday based on my reflections and meditations:

Life is about undoing the Curse. People try to extend their lives, read self-help books to fix relationship, garden and plant, fight injustice. These are good things, but they’re not enough. The curse can only be destroyed in Christ, and now, in this new life (which, as Paul said, is being restored to the Imago Dei that was corrupted at the Fall), we have victory over the Curse. We’re not trying to undo it–Christ has done that–but we’re learning to live in that victory. Christ, who is our life, is the opposite of the curse, which is death. We’re returning to harmonious relationships by submitting to each other and being kind, merciful, humble, gentle, and patient. We’re living out our defeat of death by bringing justice to the oppressed. Our gardening and art and cultivating and relationships and recreation, everything, is done because of and through that victory over he curse. Sometimes we dothe same things we did before, but this time, we’re doing them in victory, knowing that we’re participating in God’s kingdom work, not ours, knowing that He has a future that returns the earth and everything in it to beauty (Rev. 21-22). Sometimes we’re doing the opposite of the things we used to do when we were trapped by the curse, throwing off the vestiges of death–grasping at things other than life and the fullness of life. We thought those things took us to life through power or security or whatever. But they didn’t.

Art is part of this. As artists, we participate in God’s redemptive work, which not only undoes the Curse, but if you look at Revelation 21 and 22, takes us somewhere better than from where we came. I imagine that without the Curse, we would’ve cultivated the Garden, enjoying our work, discovering, creating. He continues to cultivate us, and because of that, we join Him in His creative work.

I’d do well to remember this. I don’t know about you, my fellow artists–painters, sculptures, playwrights, novelists, graphic artists, musicians, actors–but fear overwhelms me at times. Am I good enough? Is my work good enough? Of course it’s not. Of course it’s never as good as what I expect, as what I have in my head. Case in point: I wrote a short story. In my head, it’s brilliant. But it comes out on the page as rubbish. I’ve gotten extreme reactions to this story. I don’t know what to do with it. And I conclude that I’m insufficient. Someone said of Miles Davis when Miles was a rookie musician (was it Dizzie who said this?) that he’s brilliant, but he didn’t yet have the chops. He couldn’t yet do what was in his head.

Sorry, digression. What I mean to say is that in the midst of all these fears, I need to remember that I live in Christ’s victory.

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, art and theology, Barbara Nicolosi, theology, transforming culture

Belly of the Whale

May 15, 2008 By heather 7 Comments

Barbara Nicolosi had me snorting coffee. She began with this statement:

There are two kinds of people in the world–people who are artists and people who are supposed to support them. Figure out which one you are and do it with vigor.

Tell me, how can you not love this woman? When the mean old time keeper looked at his watch and raised his eyebrows, we shushed him and told Barbara to keep talking. We would’ve listened to her all night.

(Barbara, can you hear me?)

(Great, now I have that song stuck in my head.)

(Apparently, I can have entire conversations in parenthesis.)

(One more note: for those who aren’t familiar with Barbara’s work, you need to check out her website and blog. She heads up Act One Program, which trains Christians looking to go into the screenwriting biz. She’s been called anti-Jonah, encyclopedic, and dare I add brilliant? She’s also the author of the book, Behind the Screen: Hollywood Insiders on Faith, Film, and Culture.)

Her talk looked at who the artist is and how they need to be shepherded. This interests me for two reasons: I’m an artist, and I have a heart for spiritual formation, specifically for the creative minded. Let’s be honest, a lot of people out there don’t know what to do with us. I start talking and faces get this odd contortion like they do when viewing a monkey doing something unusual at the zoo. Because of this, I’ve led and written Bible studies and done talks specifically for the creative mind. We don’t think the way engineers do.

But another reason her talk had me in tears: it’s about being in the belly of the whale. It’s about feeling cornered and scared and convicted and fulfilled and dependent on God because you have no where else to go. It’s about coming to terms with who you are and what you’re supposed to do because that’s who God called you to be and that’s what God called you to do.

I’m an artist. God called me to write. He called me to be a storyteller.

I’m an artist. God called me to be a prophet and priest for the masses.

This session cleared up a lot of things for me. In seminary, I was uncomfortable with the idea of working in the church. Not that working in the church is bad, mind you, but I sensed it wasn’t my job. At the end of my time there, I went through this indepth program called LEAD that helps you determine your gifting, calling, ministry (and, um, problems, but we won’t go there). Two things they said about me (they said more, but two things that pertain to this): you need to be in the world of artists, and you shouldn’t be working for the church.

I had no idea what to do with that.

Sounds like a dream scenario, being an artist, but impossible. I forgot about it and took a job as a medical receptionist to pay the bills.

Several years later, Chris and I joined Christ Church. I fell in love with this church, and it had been a long time since I loved a church. I’m not talking about this lovely idea of loving the Church. I’m talking practical love of a church. I love this church, my church, Christ Church of Plano. Something inside of me, something that knows that God has something for me, that maybe this something has to do with being a prophet and priest, thought, maybe I should look at being ordained. Maybe that’s what God has for me. Haven’t others said that they believe I have the gift of prophecy (meaning Truth-telling, not reading tea leaves).

This session cleared that up for me. Nope. Ordaination is not what God has for me. Yes, He called me to be a prophet and a priest, but as an artist.

In the belly of the whale, we are called to die. Jonah had to die to himself, suck it up, and go to Ninevah. Of course, he never had a good attitude about the thing, but he did it. Being an artist, while I couldn’t imagine a better life, a more fulfilling life, requires sacrifice. This is our ordeal. This is Orpheus singing to Hades and Persophone in the heart of the land of death because of his love for Eurydice. This is Jack Sparrow (sorry, Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow) fighting Captain Barbossa in the cave, even taking on the curse himself. This is Jason Bourne venturing into the hotel room of his first assassination because he needed to know the truth.

Being an artist is beautiful but scary and painful. We’re going to camp on Barbara’s session for a while. She has a lot to say about the beautiful and the scary and the painful.

PS: There’s talk of being able to get the CDs and at some point mp3s of the main sessions. You can find more information here.

PPS: For more on the artist as prophet, you can read L.L. Barkat’s post, "Go Ahead Artist, Prophecy" and Gregory Wolfe’s article in Image, "The Artist as Prophet."

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, Barbara Nicolosi, transforming culture

Beavers, Fauns, and Lions

May 12, 2008 By heather 3 Comments

Artists often live a solitary life. We struggle with loneliness. We struggle with being misunderstood. We struggle with rejection. So on this journey, who do we turn to? Who are our allies?

We’ve discussed the dangers or "enemies," as I’ve termed them, of art as set out by David Taylor in the Transforming Culture symposium. (You can find it here and here.) David talked not only about the dangers but also about the 3 qualities of a healthy, artistic life. Allies, in other words (or, to be more specific, in my words). (Note: David’s words are in italics. The rest are my thoughts.)

A healthy, artistic life is relationally ordered. Relationships exist between pastors and artists, theologians and practitioners, old and near generations. I think there’s sometimes a fear in this. There’s fear because we’ve so often been misunderstood. Pastors don’t understand what we’re doing, and if they don’t condemn us in specific, they may condemn us generally. There’s fear because sometimes we’re asked to water things down in these relationships. But here’s the thing, these relationships have the potential for beauty, strength, and a furthering of art in general. When I toured an exhibit of early Christian art, I discovered the close relationship between the artists and the theologians. (You can read my article about the exhibit here.) The art was grounded in the creeds and in relationship with the developing theology, and the art informed the theology of the people. Remember how we talked about our spiritual formation making us better artists? Honestly, I think this is the hardest of the three David talked about. It forces us to act in gentleness when we’d rather say something to the effect, "Hey, idiot, don’t you get it?" It forces us to forgive when someone says something hurtful about our art or something like, "What’s the point?" Here’s something I’m realizing about myself: I talk about the bubble Christians tend to live in. We hang out with other Christians more than unbelievers. We have our own T-shirts and publishing houses and record labels (some of this for good reason, but perhaps some for bad reason). But to be quite honest, don’t I have the tendency to do the same thing with other artists? Don’t I prefer being with other writers and artists who get me to having to be around the philistines who say stupid things? I need to get out of this place. Part of my dream for Intersection is that it can be a place where artists can stretch and grow each other. That it can be a place where artists will go to improve their craft. But part of my dream is that it will connect artists with missionaries and pastors, because aren’t we all interested in living missionally? So our allies: the pastors and theologians, the people of other generations. In other words, all people who will challenge us in different ways and force us to look outside of ourselves.
A healthy, artistic life is contextually ordered. Painting a mural for the sanctuary may look different than painting a canvas for an art exhibit at the Guggenheim. Composing a song for the church choir may sound different than composing a tract for an R&B album. Writing a skit for a Sunday morning service may be different than writing the script for a Broadway play. It took me a while to be okay with this. I’m not saying that these never cross, that you never have R&B in church (which would be ironic since part of R&B’s foundations are in gospel music). I’m saying that to everything thing (turn, turn, turn), there is a season. I’m saying that there’s a place for challenging believers and being in the marketplace. I have these quotes around this lovely statement in my notes, and I’m not sure to whom I should attribute it: "A work is artistically excellent if it accomplishes the work for which it was created." I think this is why it’s sometimes okay to have the Christian publishing houses and record labels. Yes, we hope that it bleeds over into the rest of the world, but some are called to shepherd and challenge the people of God (see Athol Dickson’s comments on Mike Duran’s post about the Christy Awards). Of course, we can’t use this as an excuse to be exclusive one way or the other. What I’m saying is that maybe some artists are called to minister primarily to Christians and some are called to minister primarily to non-Christians. (Another example: Peter was called to minister primarily to the Jews, although he often ministered to Gentiles. Paul was called to minister primarily to the Gentiles, although he often ministered to Jews.) So our allies: those who hold us accountable to ministering within the context to which we’ve been called, those in our ministry.
A healthy, artistic life is organically-rhythmed. I love this statement. This is my favorite. David used the terms "festal muchness" and "cleansing simplicity." Aren’t those beautiful? It reminds me of Babette’s Feast. It reminds me of the fasting of Lent and the celebration of Easter. It reminds me of my love of food and my need for cleansing. It reminds me of liturgy. "Living only one or the other will tire us out either through too much or too little," David said. What does this look like personally, in my writing? Do I literally fast from my writing at times? Some have. I’m not sure that’s applicable to me at this time. So what does it mean? The statement is beautiful and lovely, and I’m still trying to figure it out. I think it means for me that there are times to lavish on myself all the pleasures of being in an artistic community: symposiums (like the Transforming Culture symposium) and conferences and chats with the Misfits and evenings with the Rockwall Christian Writers Group. And these things improve my art and my spiritual formation in leaps and bounds, but I won’t be a good writer if I’m only in these feasts. There are times when I have to be serving others (such as the homeless, the parentless, the hurting). There are times when I have to be alone. So our allies: church liturgy, the poor, other artists, solitude.

These, David said, are the qualities of an artist living within the protective family of Jesus, the transcultural and transtemporal family of Jesus. Sometimes we don’t think of this family as being protective. It’ll take work, both on the part of the artist and the pastor and every single believer. It’ll require education and deliberation. It’ll require that we go slowly. But living within this family is good for the artist.

I’ll leave you with David’s last words at this session: "Fail grandly, fail humbly, and fail within the family of God."

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, artists, David Taylor, transforming culture

Along the Yellow Brick Road

May 2, 2008 By heather 5 Comments

The artist encounters obstacles and enemies on the journey. He faces trials that must be overcome. But these trials refine both the art and the character of the artist. These trials have the potential for spiritual formation.

I want to share with you the rest of David Taylor’s dangers from the Transforming Culture symposium. (Side note: they are planning on having the mp3 files of the main sessions on their website at some point in time.) I think it’s important to identify these dangers so that we can see how they affect our lives and art. I won’t go into all his points–you’ll be able to hear them on the talk. His talk centered around the dangers of art within the church, within the worship service. Personally, they were important to me to hear (1) as I pray about how to get involved more with my church and (2) to consider as my development as an artist. What I’m interacting with here is the latter–how his points affect me in all my art, but mostly that which I’m doing outside the worship service.

With that in mind, here’s what hit me:

Manipulation. This was not one of the points proper, but something he talked about under another point and something that was touched on in another breakout session I attended. Dictionary.com says about manipulate, "to manage or influence skillfully, esp. in an unfair manner." What struck me is the term "skillfully." Which brings us to the question of bad art v. good art. Both can have skill. It’s how the skill is used. This is a hard balance–how to awaken emotion without manipulating it. I want to make people think. I want to make people feel. I want to compell people to action. However, I want to do it because they’ve made a thoughtful decision to change, not because they feel forced or brainwashed or sappy. This point for me is something I know when I see, but I can’t explain well. The gospels are frought with pain and hope (emotion) and a call to a change in thinking and acting. However, they are not manipulative. They demonstrate ways to respond to Jesus: rejection, following, loving, betraying. They point to which responses are godly and which are ungodly. But they aren’t manipulative. There are no Pavlovian bells ringing.
The utilitarian subjugation of art. Art can be used for evangelism, to raise awareness for social justice issues or political questions. It can be used to teach. But it doesn’t have to. Good art is worthy in itself. The act of creating is worthy in itself. I desire to draw people to God through my art. I desire to embody, to incarnate Christ and theology in my art. But that doesn’t mean that my art has to be useful for evangelism or a theological lesson or social justice in order to be beautiful to God.
Immaturity. Oy. Emotions are good, but loss of control is bad. Let’s be honest, art is a touchy subject. So is theology. Bring the two together, and Armageddon threatens. We artists tend to be (although not always) emotional people. So are fights can be ugly. And as much as I’ll fight (haha) for my belief that there’s more objectivity to art than we’ve allowed (separating our preferences from our evaluations of good art), there is an amount of subjectivity both in defining good art and in our preferences. For example, the movie Sweeney Todd. We had a good discussion about it over at Intersection. I think it’s good because of the theme and message (not to mention the incredible music and lyrics). Someone else has problems with the gore. This is where forgiveness and permission come into play. As believers, we give others permission to do what they believe with conviction. Of course, there are limits, and these limits are found in Scripture and understood in the context of the Body of Christ, but this bleeds into another day’s discussion of our allies along the journey…(Like my cliffhanger?)

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, artist journey, theology, transforming culture

Aboard the Black Pearl

April 29, 2008 By heather 9 Comments

We have our calling. We’ve been guided, gifted, and inspired by our mentor. We’re grounded in the Church–as a friend said, the audience breathes with the liturgy of the worship. Now the question is who are our enemies and allies? What is the rhythm of our journey?

(And what is your favorite color?)

This leads us to David Taylor’s talk from the Transforming Culture symposium. For those of you who don’t know (and I didn’t put two and two together until well after the symposium, but math isn’t my strong suit–I much better with spades), David Taylor is the keeper of the Diary of an Arts Pastor blog. He listed six dangers of the journey. (The journey term is mine, so if it’s bad, don’t blame poor David.) Again, David focused on art within the worship service, but I think that the dangers he listed are the enemies of the artist in general.

Enemy #1: Bad art.

Thank you for saying this, David. Confession: I recently ranted about this in the comments on Bertrand’s post on The Master’s Artist about book critiquing (or something to that effect). Christians in general don’t like to hurt people’s feeling, which is a good quality, but we don’t know how to critique art without hurting feelings. Which means we just allow for everything and call it a matter of taste. But Christians do produce bad art. We produce art that is sentimental (and thank you, David, for listing sentimental as a quality of bad art), lazy, mellodramatic, elitist. We reject things we don’t understand without taking the time to educate ourselves. (John Witvliet said at some point, or more likely several points, that the future of art in Christianity and by Christianity lies in the hands of teachers both to form good artists and also to educate the congregations about what is and what isn’t good art.)

Embarrassing story: A few years ago, I went to an art exhibit at the Dallas Museum of Art of Duchamp and a few others. I saw art pieces like the porcelain urinal and thought, what on earth? Here’s the thing: I should’ve known better. I knew the contemporary music scene, the dadism art statement. I still didn’t get it. I didn’t take the time to figure it out. So I thought, well, this isn’t art. A patient friend explained it to me, and I remembered composers such as John Cage and movements such as musique concrete, and I realized, yes, this is good art.

It took education.

I’m not saying that if we just figure out the meaning behind the art we’ll realize that it’s all good art in its own realm.

Not at all.

I’m saying we’re often too lazy to educate ourselves to understand what is good art and what is bad art. Instead, we rely on what feels good. Too often, that judgment alone (what feels good) translates to sentimentality.

Jesus was anything but sentimental.

I can see long-winded me has taken the helm. David actually has six dangers (or enemies, in my lingo) and three qualities of a healthy artistic life (or allies), and I’ve only interacted with the first one thus far.

I can see that this series will be long. Very, very long.

I’ll stop here, but I want to give you a couple resources for those of you who are interested in the education process:

Music

A History of Western Music

Keeping Time: Readings in Jazz History

Enchanted Evenings: The Broadway Musical from Show Boat to Sondheim

Pop Music USA

(This is only the beginning–email me if you’re interested in this.)

Literature

The Writers Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, 3rd Edition

The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Mythos Books)

Book Club 101, a website for those interested in starting a book club–the general questions on the page to get your brain going are helps for digging deeper into a book

A Book Review Format by Dee Stewart, a blog post about how to look critically at books

You can also see my Writing Resources page–though these are focused for the writer, the same ideas can be applied to reading. (After all, learning to become a better writer translates to being a better reader.)

Film

Reel Spirituality,: Theology and Film in Dialogue (Engaging Culture)

Hollywood Jesus, a website of film reviews

Church of the Masses, Barbara Nicolosi’ blog (one of the speakers at the Transforming Culture symposium–I’ll be interacting with her talk after I finish with David Taylor’s)

Art

I want to be honest that this is my weakest area, but I have found some things to be helpful.

Purposes of Art: An Introduction to the History and Appreciation of Art

The Symbols of the Church

Refractions, Makoto Fujimura’s blog

There are more resources listed on my Incarnating Christ page for all categories. If you know of any other resources, please let me know–I love discovering new things! Also, for those of you who love to talk shop, you can always hop on over to Intersection, a social online community where art, theology, and missional living cross.

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, music, theology, transforming culture, writing

Living Vocationally

April 9, 2008 By heather 2 Comments

We now embark on the next part of the story, Meeting the Mentor (Christopher Vogler’s paraphrase of Joseph Campbell’s hero structure).

Note: if you haven’t been following my interactions with the Transforming Culture symposium, you can catch up by reading Debriefing, which consists of overall impressions, and Beautifully Unuseful to God, which tells of the artists’ Call to Adventure.

As any heroine (or hero) begins her journey, she meets a mentor–Obi Wan Kenobe, Glenda the Good Witch, or, in this case, Eugene Peterson. The mentor gives advice, training, or gifts.

In this case, all three.

Eugene told his story of how he’s been shaped by artists, specifically by three in his ministry. Again, my intention is not to tell you what he said but to tell you the effect it had on me.

Namely, that I’m an artist, and I’m doing what God has for me, no matter what the external success tells me.

We live in a world where businesses succeed and fail, and it’s known fairly quickly which camp they’ll fall in. We live in a world where if the facial lotion doesn’t tighten your skin in two weeks, you try a different kind. We live in a world where day-traders make or lose millions of dollars in the stock market in minutes.

Not so the artist.

I forget this. I forget that instant success isn’t my goal. Indeed, success in the public eye no matter how fast or slow isn’t my goal.

Eugene’s first story was about a group of artists in his congregation when he was an intern. While he went on to focus on one artist in particular, his description of the group as a whole struck me.

These artists were waitresses, janitors, short-order cooks. That didn’t matter, though. Nor did it matter that they weren’t "successful." Perhaps after Eugene knew them they rose to the top, but as far as contact with them, they were unknown. They weren’t defined by their jobs but by the fact that they were artists. Being artists was their way of life. In this way, they lived vocationally. I looked it up on dictionary.com and found this definition: "a function or station in life to which one is called by God."

They lived understanding that this was their call. (Note: they weren’t Christians, so I won’t impose that they felt called by God, although they lived as if they were called to the work of an artist, no matter what their job was. As a Christian, I can affirm that the Man behind my call is God.)

In fact, Eugene said, we lose our vocation when we live for success.

Am I living vocationally or am I living for success? This idea struck me, because I struggle with it. I want recognition. I want not just to be great in my art but to be noticed as great.

In focusing on the greatness itself, I risk losing the vocation. Eugene the Mentor challenged me to turn to the art, to be willing to be slow and constant and to work underground. I may not be successful. I may not be published. No one may know my name (Cheers, anyone?). But in this vocational living, which is the essence of the Christian life, not just the artist’s life, I live the Bible then begin to understand the Bible, little by little.

We have a fish tank, and my husband loves coral. We have this one coral that wraps around whatever enters into it–a rubber band, a rock, even a diseased area of itself. It wraps itself around that and creates life.

God’s story wraps itself around me, diseased or lifeless though I may be, and creates life as I enter into it.

My art and my Christianity are about life and living my vocation, about being wrapped in God’s story, not about my success.

I’ll be out of town next week, so I’ll continue my interactions with the Transforming Culture story the following week. In the meantime, I leave you with this clip of Eugene Peterson talking about the role of fiction writing and story in the pastor’s and Christian’s life.

Filed Under: aesthetics, artists, Eugene Peterson, transforming culture, writing

Commercial Break

April 8, 2008 By heather 3 Comments

Tomorrow, I’ll continue my interaction with the Transforming Culture symposium, specifically with Eugene Peterson’s talk (yes, the translator of The Message).

In the meantime, some random thoughts.

Politics in a Waiting Room

While waiting for my oil to be changed, I watched news loop on the TV. Some interesting observations. During the transportation of the Olympic torch, there’s been protests to free Tibet. People climb the Eiffel Tower and the Golden Gate bridge. While I agree with their cause, I don’t see how climbing dangerous edifaces makes the point. Hillary Clinton encouraged Bush to boycott the Olympics (or at least the opening ceremony) which I find ironic considering her husband’s history with China.

The guy next to me, a very large man with a wife beater, a beard, a redneck, and numerous piercings, said the only thing he cares about is gas prices. If a candidate–it doesn’t matter which one–promises to lower prices and keep them down, that’s who he’s voting for.

This is why America has a bad name.

The news showed the reconciliation of a released hostage with his family–the whole thing right there for us to view.

This is why media has a bad name.

In Japan, women can hire host boys to entertain them at dinner. It’s sort of like geisha girls, I guess (in some ways, the host boys, who are in their twenties, looked like geisha girls). They said this is a huge step toward equality.

Yes, now we are equally taking advantage of the opposite sex.

New Blog

My dad has begun a blog. I never thought I’d see the day. His latest entry’s about encouragement and how Christianity needs more encouragers.

Good job, Dad!

The Yellow Brick Road

I found out yesterday that I’m a finalist for Genesis! Wahoo! (Everyone, do the dance of joy.) Wait, maybe I’m not supposed to announce it. Oh well. Pretend you don’t know. Here’s how the conversation went (complete with my inner monologue):

"Is Heather Goodman available?"

Great. Sales rep. Like I have time for this. How rude is it to just hang up? Barely tempering my annoyed voice, I answer, "This is she."

"This is so-and-so–" (She didn’t actually call herself so-and-so but gave her actual name, but I’ve since forgotten it, and who needs names at a time like this?) "–from ACFW. I have good news."

Did I apply for the scholarship? I don’t remember applying. How cool would it be if they randomly chose my name from a hat and decided to give me a scholarship so I can go to the conference in September?

"You’re a finalist for Genesis."

Silence. It’s either that or screaming. She probably won’t appreciate screaming.

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Transforming Culture Explained

If you want to see what a random sampling of mall critters have to say about the role of art in the church, go here.

I’ll leave you with David Taylor’s explaination of a successful artist. What I love about this is the fact that being grounded in God and Church makes for a better artist. Novel idea.