art

Recently, I've been reading The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver. The book is about a writer. For part of his life, he worked for artists Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. In these relationships, Kingsolver explores some questions about art, including its purpose and function.

In one section, the protaganist, Harrison Shepherd, considers the difference between the artwork of his two employers. Diego's murals "[command] men to rise from their knees and fight!" Frida's, however, are "smaller . . . Something people would find dear" (p. 161). It's Frida's work, not Diego's that inspire Harrison to want to write "something beautiful, that people would find very moving" (Ibid).

Side note: I doubt many people would consider Kahlo's work "dear." But Harrison doesn't speak about the surrealism of her work but the smallness and purpose of her work. She doesn't paint political paintings or see her job as doing something big. She observes her life, her world, small as it is, and translates that to painting.

In another scene soon after that, Frida takes seriously the task of decorating a table for dinner. Harrison says about this event, "It's a lot of work to use flowers as paints. By the time the party ends, they'll be a mess of wilted petals. Stains on your white tablecloth that could have been prevented." Frida reacts: "Unnecessary stains and dead flowers! Soli, excuse me but what else do I have for making my marks on life, if not lo absurdo y lo fugar." Harrison supplies the definition to fugar (or attempts to) as "things that run away with time" (p. 169).

Later, Harrison and Frida have a conversation about art. Frida asks Harrison, who journals every day of his life as well as types away his novel, why he doesn't consider himself a writer. He answers, "To be a writer, you need readers." She retorts that she is no painter, then. "Who ever looks at my dumb little pieces of shit?" (p. 197).

My point being: In today's global world with its global problems, we think of our lives in global terms. How am I changing the world? How is my art changing the world? How can I have the largest impact, the most readers, the best marketing? J.D. Salinger said, "There are no writers anymore. Only book-selling louts and big mouths."

But in these passages, I found something freeing. I can create something small. I can focus on making something small and beautiful that might move only a few people. I don't say that I wouldn't like to have millions of readers who read my books and find something beautiful, moving in them, that I wouldn't want half a nation to see my words and realize they're not alone. I'm not even saying that we shouldn't market our art.

But that's not the point, is it? The point is "writing . . . with eye and ear and heart" (Adam Gopnik, "Postscript: J.D. Salinger," The New Yorker). As Andy Crouch says, we create unuseful things (as opposed to utilitarian things). And this is beautiful.

Recently I finished Unveiling by Suzanne Wolfe (an excellent read I highly recommend due to her poetic prose, complex characters, and willingness to enter into suffering and beauty). In it she comments that museums, with their metered environments, lose the contexts of churches and homes for art. This made me think about museum installations. Are they the artist's desire to create context where none exists?

I suppose "no context" is impossible. How about sterile? Removed? Unfamiliar with the breathings of our daily lives?

***

Over the past several years, memoirs have invaded Barnes and Nobles. I recently read an article about this plethora of memoirs. The author (Daniel Mendelsohn) compared this to the phenomenon of reality TV. He remarked, "If you can watch a real lonely woman yearning after young hunks on a reality dating show, why bother with Emma Bovary?"*

In a global, transient, cyber world, are memoirs our attempts to grasp a lost context? The question, "Where are you from?" becomes more and more difficult to answer without giving an essay.

Mendelsohn also notes that this may stem from a misunderstanding of the type of truth presented by fiction, "'a truth' about life," he says, "whereas memoirs and nonfiction accounts represent 'the truth' about specific things that have happened." While not wanting to dismiss all memoirs by any means, in a world where specifics shift faster than we change our shampoo bottles, perhaps we look for specifics rather than general truths in the books we read.

*quote from "But Enough About Me" in The New Yorker, Jan. 25, 2010, p. 73.

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.

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.)

Click to play

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).

I've been remiss. I attended the Trinity Arts Conference with inspiring folks like Gregory Wolfe and Jeffrey Overstreet two months ago, and I've failed to tell you about it.

In conferences like these, it's partly about what you learn (in addition to the main sessions, I went to a writer's workshop what was oodles of fun), partly about the people you meet (a couple of fun writers, although, let's be honest, probably not lifelong friends from here on out), but mostly about knowing you're not alone. You enter this group of people who understand you, and that gives you the comfort of going back to your world, sitting at your keyboard, and typing words and paragraphs and stories.

But let me tell you the things said at the conference for which I cheer:

Art finds habitations for mystery like dreamcatchers, and it catches mystery fleetingly. To do so, we, as Emily Dickinson said, "dwell in possibility." What does it meant for me to live in the question today when I prefer predictability?

Side note: it's interesting to rethink these things just two months later. My husband and I have been in limbo for seven months, now. For a while, that was okay, but we're getting tired. We want stability. We want predictability. But God forces us to live in the question. I wrote a note in my green journal (green in color, that is): "What can this stage of our lives do for my faith and my art?"

Indeed.

To continue, in our art, we muse over questions rather than answers. This is hard because not only do we want answers in our lives (perhaps why Rent has been running through my mind--"How we gonna pay? How we gonna pay?"), but in our art, sometimes we want to give answers.

But Richard Rodriguez says, "Books should confuse people." Artists are stewards of mystery and need to let go of control. It's not about getting the point but raising questions and allowing others to get something different than we do. We invite in the struggle and allow our art to be a living thing.

Jeffrey Overstreet said it's not just about showing v. telling. It's about showing and hiding. What do we hold back?

Side note 2 (or 3, I've lost track): Have I blogged yet about making readers work? I need to do so if I haven't.

In art, we wrestle. It brings both a wound and a blessing.

Also, the point is not whether we're called to be an artist or minister or janitor. We are all called to follow Jesus. The question is how do we best do that?

Amen.

Personally, I feel that at this point in my life, I best do that through loving and serving my husband, through knitting scarves and making meals for girls at a halfway house down the street from me, and through writing. (I should add that I'd like to start doing this through simple tasks such as vacuuming, but baby steps.)

Josh Havens (of The Afters) and I continue our conversation. In this episode, we talk about the creative process.

Yes, the dog barks on (perhaps it's poetic). And no, now that it's fully night, you can't see us. I'm looking into getting the audio-only version. I know it's out there somewhere.

Ah-ha. I'm starting to get somewhere. But apparently, blip.tv can't handle having both available on the same blog. Since it's dark, let's try the audio-only (mp3) version today, shall we?

Also, if you right-click on the "Click to Play" link, you can "Save link as" a file on your computer. That way, you can download it on your iPod. I know you want to take me everywhere you go, don't you?

 

Click to play

 

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:

A few days ago (meaning sometime in January, February, or perhaps March), I sat down with Josh Havens, lead singer of the Dove Award-winning band, The Afters (as well as guitar and keyboards) and apparently Coffee Master, and talked about music.

This podcast is Part One of that interview, where we discuss how Starbucks is working toward Total World Domination in good ways.

Please ignore the incessant dog barking. Also the fact that we decided to have the interview outside with no outside lighting at night. I promise that is, indeed, Josh Havens.

Also, you can subscribe to these podcasts (and more!) through Blip.TV or through iTunes. Rumor has it the audio-only (mp3) version is floating around in cyberworld (on iTunes, I believe), but I have no idea how to get it on this post.

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.

Refractions: A Journey of Faith, Art, and Culture collects essays written by Makoto Fujimura to artists from 2004 to 2006. Living in post-9/11 New York City, Fujimura challenges artists: How does your art recognize the brokenness around you? How does your art offer hope and redemption in the midst of it?

I began this book months ago. The essays demand to be read contemplatively, even devotionally. I savored it morsel by morsel, letting each piece roll on my tongue, slide down my throat. As I digested it, it became part of me and part of my art.