Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Creation
When I think of God as "Creator of the earth", I think of the God I felt one night while sitting on the surface of a calm ocean.
It's heart-beat pulsed, pushing up rhythmic hills of water that just barely rocked my board, submerged in the gulf beneath me. I stared out at the space around me - I dare not call it sky, because it touched my skin. It was saturated with orange. Yellow was there too, but it wasn't yellow - it was a warm gold light that must have slipped out of heaven on accident. And I, bobbing in the warm saltwater, was the sole witness of God's heaven spilling out onto earth that evening.
My best friend actually took this when I was coming back to shore that night. Can't do justice, but still:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/babygirrrl/747976804/
"Who shut up the sea behind doors
when it burst forth from the womb,
when I made the clouds its garment
and wrapped it in thick darkness,
when I fixed limits for it
and set its doors and bars in place,
when I said, 'This far you may come and no farther;
here is where your proud waves halt'?
Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea
or walked in the recesses of the deep?
Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth?
Tell me, if you know all this.
What is the way to the abode of light?
And where does darkness reside?
Can you take them to their places?
Do you know the paths to their dwellings?
-Job 38:8-11, 16, 18 - 20
It's heart-beat pulsed, pushing up rhythmic hills of water that just barely rocked my board, submerged in the gulf beneath me. I stared out at the space around me - I dare not call it sky, because it touched my skin. It was saturated with orange. Yellow was there too, but it wasn't yellow - it was a warm gold light that must have slipped out of heaven on accident. And I, bobbing in the warm saltwater, was the sole witness of God's heaven spilling out onto earth that evening.
My best friend actually took this when I was coming back to shore that night. Can't do justice, but still:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/babygirrrl/747976804/
"Who shut up the sea behind doors
when it burst forth from the womb,
when I made the clouds its garment
and wrapped it in thick darkness,
when I fixed limits for it
and set its doors and bars in place,
when I said, 'This far you may come and no farther;
here is where your proud waves halt'?
Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea
or walked in the recesses of the deep?
Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth?
Tell me, if you know all this.
What is the way to the abode of light?
And where does darkness reside?
Can you take them to their places?
Do you know the paths to their dwellings?
-Job 38:8-11, 16, 18 - 20
Sunday, February 24, 2008
From a small sketchbook
...I think that as we become comfortable with everything technological, we have less concern for what goes on on earth. I have a strange feeling that, in 70 years, if you ask an adult what a lily looks like, they won’t have the faintest idea.
Does our education system instill a mind-frame in us that says you must have only one path in life? I like a lot of things. I can do a lot of things. I can be an artist throughout all of them.
A good painting or a bad painting may be the same painting, seen by different people. To me, my paintings are good.
“Being a ‘dyed in the wool’ painter happens when the two things that seem seperate - like the color and wool - have actually become one.” -Timothy App
Painting can be whatever you want it to be.
Jennifer Stockholder Lecture (Paraphrased quotes):
-Art is a way of making sense of things
-A big piece of us in unavailable to us through words.
-Sometimes, being expressive is seen as a joke - you have to be intellectual, analytical, intelligent. Expressiveness and the subconscious are often seen as stupid.
-Art is most exciting when it challenges ways of thinking and seeing
Does our education system instill a mind-frame in us that says you must have only one path in life? I like a lot of things. I can do a lot of things. I can be an artist throughout all of them.
A good painting or a bad painting may be the same painting, seen by different people. To me, my paintings are good.
“Being a ‘dyed in the wool’ painter happens when the two things that seem seperate - like the color and wool - have actually become one.” -Timothy App
Painting can be whatever you want it to be.
Jennifer Stockholder Lecture (Paraphrased quotes):
-Art is a way of making sense of things
-A big piece of us in unavailable to us through words.
-Sometimes, being expressive is seen as a joke - you have to be intellectual, analytical, intelligent. Expressiveness and the subconscious are often seen as stupid.
-Art is most exciting when it challenges ways of thinking and seeing
Monday, February 18, 2008
Impossible
This past Sunday at the Light we sang a song written for a city in Ireland that was in the middle of a revolution (which I completely forgot all the details about. oops). Here's the chorus:
"Greater things are yet to come
Greater things are still to be done
in this city."
This made me think of "My Impossible Prayer": for God to take away the drug and gang violence in Baltimore. Hey, even the tiniest bit of faith can move a mountain. Sounds impossible, but I believe that God can seriously do anything, and I believe that He can use me and others to do it! (Um, Community Arts anyone?)
This leads me to a very relevant prayer by a guy in the old testament named Habakkuk:
Habakkuk's Complaint
How long, O LORD, must I call for help,
but you do not listen?
Or cry out to you, "Violence!"
but you do not save?
Why do you make me look at injustice?
Why do you tolerate wrong?
Destruction and violence are before me;
there is strife, and conflict abounds.
Therefore the law is paralyzed,
and justice never prevails.
The wicked hem in the righteous,
so that justice is perverted.
The Lord 's Answer
"Look at the nations and watch—
and be utterly amazed.
For I am going to do something in your days
that you would not believe,
even if you were told.
"Greater things are yet to come
Greater things are still to be done
in this city."
This made me think of "My Impossible Prayer": for God to take away the drug and gang violence in Baltimore. Hey, even the tiniest bit of faith can move a mountain. Sounds impossible, but I believe that God can seriously do anything, and I believe that He can use me and others to do it! (Um, Community Arts anyone?)
This leads me to a very relevant prayer by a guy in the old testament named Habakkuk:
Habakkuk's Complaint
How long, O LORD, must I call for help,
but you do not listen?
Or cry out to you, "Violence!"
but you do not save?
Why do you make me look at injustice?
Why do you tolerate wrong?
Destruction and violence are before me;
there is strife, and conflict abounds.
Therefore the law is paralyzed,
and justice never prevails.
The wicked hem in the righteous,
so that justice is perverted.
The Lord 's Answer
"Look at the nations and watch—
and be utterly amazed.
For I am going to do something in your days
that you would not believe,
even if you were told.
Jesus was so not "conservative"
Lyrics to a song Pastor Bill played in church the other week, reminding us who God loves, who we should love, and who we should be reaching out to:
"Politicians, morticians, Philistines, homophobes
Skinheads, Dead heads, tax evaders, street kids
Alcoholics, workaholics, wise guys, dim wits
Blue collars, white collars, war mongers, peace nicks
Breathe deep
Breathe deep the Breath of God
Breathe deep
Breathe deep the Breath of God
Suicidals, rock idols, shut-ins, drop outs
Friendless, homeless, penniless and depressed
Presidents, residents, foreigners and aliens
Dissidents, feminists, xenophobes and chauvinists
Evolutionists, creationists, perverts, slum lords
Dead-beats, athletes, Protestants and Catholics
Housewives, neophytes, pro-choice, pro-life
Misogynists, monogamists, philanthropists, blacks and whites
Police, obese, lawyers, and government
Sex offenders, tax collectors, war vets, rejects
Atheists, Scientists, racists, sadists
Photographers, biographers, artists, pornographers
Gays and lesbians, demagogues and thespians
The disabled, preachers, doctors and teachers
Meat eaters, wife beaters, judges and juries
Long hair, no hair, everybody everywhere!"
"Politicians, morticians, Philistines, homophobes
Skinheads, Dead heads, tax evaders, street kids
Alcoholics, workaholics, wise guys, dim wits
Blue collars, white collars, war mongers, peace nicks
Breathe deep
Breathe deep the Breath of God
Breathe deep
Breathe deep the Breath of God
Suicidals, rock idols, shut-ins, drop outs
Friendless, homeless, penniless and depressed
Presidents, residents, foreigners and aliens
Dissidents, feminists, xenophobes and chauvinists
Evolutionists, creationists, perverts, slum lords
Dead-beats, athletes, Protestants and Catholics
Housewives, neophytes, pro-choice, pro-life
Misogynists, monogamists, philanthropists, blacks and whites
Police, obese, lawyers, and government
Sex offenders, tax collectors, war vets, rejects
Atheists, Scientists, racists, sadists
Photographers, biographers, artists, pornographers
Gays and lesbians, demagogues and thespians
The disabled, preachers, doctors and teachers
Meat eaters, wife beaters, judges and juries
Long hair, no hair, everybody everywhere!"
I love O'Keffe's words..
“A flower is relatively small. Everyone has many associations with a flower - the idea of flowers. You put out your hand to touch the flower - lean forward to smell it - maybe touch it with your lips without thinking - or give it to someone to please them. Still - in a way - nobody sees a flower - really - it is so small - we haven’t the time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time. If I could paint the flower exactly as I see it no one would see what I see because I would paint it small like the flower is small.
“So I said to myself - I’ll paint what I see - what the flower is to me but I’ll paint it big and they will be surprised into taking time to look at it - I will make even busy New Yorkers take time to see what I see of flowers.
“Well - I made you take time to look at what I saw and then you took time to really notice my flower you hung all your own associations with flowers on my flower and you write about my flower as if I think and see what you think and see of the flower - and I don’t.
“Then when I paint a red hill, because a red hill has no particular association for like the flower has, you say it is too bad that I don’t always paint flowers. A flower touches almost everyone’s heart. A red hill doesn’t touch everyone’s heart as it touches mine and I suppose there is no reason why it should. The red hill is a piece of the badlands where even the grass is gone. Badlands roll away outside my door - hill after hill - red hills of apparently the same sort of earth that you mix with oil to make paint. All the earth colors of the painter’s palette are out there in the many miles of badlands. The light Naples yellow through the ochres - orange and red and purple earth - even the soft earth greens. You have no associations with those hills - our waste land - I think our most beautiful country. You must not have seen it, so you want me always to paint flowers...”
-Georgia O’Keeffe
Exhibition catalogue, An American Place, 1939
“So I said to myself - I’ll paint what I see - what the flower is to me but I’ll paint it big and they will be surprised into taking time to look at it - I will make even busy New Yorkers take time to see what I see of flowers.
“Well - I made you take time to look at what I saw and then you took time to really notice my flower you hung all your own associations with flowers on my flower and you write about my flower as if I think and see what you think and see of the flower - and I don’t.
“Then when I paint a red hill, because a red hill has no particular association for like the flower has, you say it is too bad that I don’t always paint flowers. A flower touches almost everyone’s heart. A red hill doesn’t touch everyone’s heart as it touches mine and I suppose there is no reason why it should. The red hill is a piece of the badlands where even the grass is gone. Badlands roll away outside my door - hill after hill - red hills of apparently the same sort of earth that you mix with oil to make paint. All the earth colors of the painter’s palette are out there in the many miles of badlands. The light Naples yellow through the ochres - orange and red and purple earth - even the soft earth greens. You have no associations with those hills - our waste land - I think our most beautiful country. You must not have seen it, so you want me always to paint flowers...”
-Georgia O’Keeffe
Exhibition catalogue, An American Place, 1939
Expression!
Today my friend came into the piano room as i practiced the very first scale i was taught at my very first music lesson that morning. He was having a bad week and needed a piano. The music he made was full of emotion. He told me he didn’t know the name of the notes he played, but he knew it was what he needed. He knew that if his fingers pressed these keys, and then these, the sound that came out would match what was inside of him. And then it was out. And it was better. It was beautiful. I was glad that no one had ever told him that he had to play any other way; that he only played the notes he needed, and the rhythms that made him feel right. He even banged his fists on the keys, and it hurt my ears, but he let out a loud “AHH!” and said “Sometimes even that feels good.”
When he left, I thanked God for giving humans something inside, and I thanked him for giving us so many different ways to get it out.
I was then presented with a problem. A person could consume their entire life in trying to figure out ways to get what’s inside of them out. A whole lifetime! For one way! Each one has so many caverns and depths to explore.
For some people, paint is able to get out what’s inside of them. For another person, its the sounds that a violin’s strings make when they move a bow across in different ways. For some people, it’s dancing that allows what’s inside to come out. Hip hop dancing, crump dancing, break dancing, modern dancing, ballet dancing, ballroom dancing. Some people can get it out through clothing - making it and wearing it. Putting together different colors, fabrics, stitches, prints, head-dresses, jewelry, shoes - wearing what’s inside of them right on their body. For some people, running can do it. Or rowing, playing soccer, football, tennis, or swimming, yoga, meditation. Some people release what’s inside when they pray and serve God. Focusing on Him is all they need. To some, writing. words are their paint, their movement, the notes they need. To some, its different languages. Some people can only get what’s inside by cooking. Dreaming up combinations of dough, berries, sauces, fruits, cheeses or crusts. When they combine ingredients, flavors, to finally achieve the taste, the feel and the look, they wanted, they’ve gotten it out. Some people use math. When they twist and push their mind to figure out a problem that’s important to them, they are able to get it out. Some people use their voices
What results is a sense of urgency in me. There’s absolutely no time to waste! How will we ever get it all out in one lifetime!? There’s so many chords, so many sounds, so many songs. There’s enough combinations of colors and shapes and materials to tell about what’s of me for thousands of years. Why waste one minute of your life? Why waste time forgetting about that fire in you, or ignoring it? Or even worse, letting other people douse it? Or letting it go out because of routine, or monotony, or laziness, or worry? None of those things can help that fire grow. What a waste of a candle when it forgets that its meant to hold a flame! What a waste of soil when it forgets that it is able to produce a garden of flowers, colorful and alive!
When he left, I thanked God for giving humans something inside, and I thanked him for giving us so many different ways to get it out.
I was then presented with a problem. A person could consume their entire life in trying to figure out ways to get what’s inside of them out. A whole lifetime! For one way! Each one has so many caverns and depths to explore.
For some people, paint is able to get out what’s inside of them. For another person, its the sounds that a violin’s strings make when they move a bow across in different ways. For some people, it’s dancing that allows what’s inside to come out. Hip hop dancing, crump dancing, break dancing, modern dancing, ballet dancing, ballroom dancing. Some people can get it out through clothing - making it and wearing it. Putting together different colors, fabrics, stitches, prints, head-dresses, jewelry, shoes - wearing what’s inside of them right on their body. For some people, running can do it. Or rowing, playing soccer, football, tennis, or swimming, yoga, meditation. Some people release what’s inside when they pray and serve God. Focusing on Him is all they need. To some, writing. words are their paint, their movement, the notes they need. To some, its different languages. Some people can only get what’s inside by cooking. Dreaming up combinations of dough, berries, sauces, fruits, cheeses or crusts. When they combine ingredients, flavors, to finally achieve the taste, the feel and the look, they wanted, they’ve gotten it out. Some people use math. When they twist and push their mind to figure out a problem that’s important to them, they are able to get it out. Some people use their voices
What results is a sense of urgency in me. There’s absolutely no time to waste! How will we ever get it all out in one lifetime!? There’s so many chords, so many sounds, so many songs. There’s enough combinations of colors and shapes and materials to tell about what’s of me for thousands of years. Why waste one minute of your life? Why waste time forgetting about that fire in you, or ignoring it? Or even worse, letting other people douse it? Or letting it go out because of routine, or monotony, or laziness, or worry? None of those things can help that fire grow. What a waste of a candle when it forgets that its meant to hold a flame! What a waste of soil when it forgets that it is able to produce a garden of flowers, colorful and alive!
Painting
My roommate is learning how to paint this semester. Last night she asked me how I paint. I couldn’t think of a more difficult question. I didn’t know what to say - “Well, I dip my brush in my brain and soul and paint everything I’ve ever come to know.”?
I pointed to a group of 5 diverse abstract paintings I’ve recently done that were lying on a table. “I paint like that. And that. And that. It’s always changing - there’s no formula.”
We went on to talk about the technicalities of making a painting, but i felt like there was a brick in my mouth.
Maybe i could take some time and write enough about how I paint to create a clear definition...
I pointed to a group of 5 diverse abstract paintings I’ve recently done that were lying on a table. “I paint like that. And that. And that. It’s always changing - there’s no formula.”
We went on to talk about the technicalities of making a painting, but i felt like there was a brick in my mouth.
Maybe i could take some time and write enough about how I paint to create a clear definition...
New Years Thoughts
I’ve realized something about myself. I don’t want much. I don’t want my future to be complicated or chaotic. I just want a small house with a few things - not riddled with five different kinds on face cleansers, toners and moisturizers in the bathroom; 30 different kinds of shoes in the closet. I don’t want a huge house when I’m older, and I don’t want a lot of stuff. I don’t want a lot of friends that are only mediocre - i want a few friends who know me and i know them and we enjoy just spending time together. I want friends with morals, and I want morals of concrete. I don’t want alcohol and I don’t want drugs, because they make things difficult and complicated. I don’t want a partying lifestyle, because that is meaningless. When I’m older, I want a good man, one who will pray with me instead of pressure me. One who will constantly guide me in my walk with Christ. I want art, and design, and to have made an impact in the world through them. And I want paint. I definitely want to paint.
Bare feet will do. Staying in some nights will be just fine with me. I’ll be happy with a blank book and a pencil, some clothes, a lot of warm sunshine, and good nights of rest - thats all I really need. I don’t need diamonds in my ears, on my neck, or around my wrist. Just a little gold necklace with a small sphere of turquoise at the end is enough of a treat. I would like to continue to be a muse, and continue to take good care of my body. I would like to have time for people. Time to really care for people.
Bare feet will do. Staying in some nights will be just fine with me. I’ll be happy with a blank book and a pencil, some clothes, a lot of warm sunshine, and good nights of rest - thats all I really need. I don’t need diamonds in my ears, on my neck, or around my wrist. Just a little gold necklace with a small sphere of turquoise at the end is enough of a treat. I would like to continue to be a muse, and continue to take good care of my body. I would like to have time for people. Time to really care for people.
Coming Home in December
I live in paradise.
No, not palm trees, beaches and sunshine; get that image out of your head.
Paradise is returning to ultimate comfort. It’s leaving the chaos of college and big cities, and returning home. Home - that word carries so much to so many different people.
To me, its trading freezing cold weather and icy strangers for the familiar press of the sun against my skin, and warm, laid back personalities. It’s leaving the buttery sun of Baltimore for the citrus sky of St. Pete.
The paradise of home is seeing my brother’s slow evolution into a handsome young man. Hearing him play classical guitar for the first time, and reminding me all too much of my boyfriend.
Seeing my gorgeous sister asleep in a bed fit for a queen, surrounded by an open textbook and a bible, with dance competition forms lying on the floor. Hearing her gentle and happy personality; realizing that it is maturing constantly.
Paradise is pumpkin bread, baked by mom, bagged and bountiful. Too much food in the fridge. Any kind of food I want. Water from a fridge spout. A warm, familiar kitchen. A kiss on the cheek from dad, who just took a shower and smells like soap, who was probably waiting up for me before he went to bed.
My paradise has a round, ornate christmas tree warmly lighting the windows, and colorful lights lining the roof to match. It has shiny presents bursting from the tree’s base, and a pile of boxes and wrapping paper on the couch. It has a bedroom with more clothes, soft blankets, jewelry, and shoes then any girl needs. It has golden dim lights glowing throughout a dark house. My paradise is one of luxury. There’s comfy furniture everywhere, and a fish tank that fills the house with the faint sound of churning water at night.
But mostly, there’s love. Christmas cards on the table, friends coming over, lots of hugs. Interest in each other’s lives, pride in what my siblings are accomplishing. Gifts bought for each other, and a feeling of comfort and belonging when we’re finally together again.
No, not palm trees, beaches and sunshine; get that image out of your head.
Paradise is returning to ultimate comfort. It’s leaving the chaos of college and big cities, and returning home. Home - that word carries so much to so many different people.
To me, its trading freezing cold weather and icy strangers for the familiar press of the sun against my skin, and warm, laid back personalities. It’s leaving the buttery sun of Baltimore for the citrus sky of St. Pete.
The paradise of home is seeing my brother’s slow evolution into a handsome young man. Hearing him play classical guitar for the first time, and reminding me all too much of my boyfriend.
Seeing my gorgeous sister asleep in a bed fit for a queen, surrounded by an open textbook and a bible, with dance competition forms lying on the floor. Hearing her gentle and happy personality; realizing that it is maturing constantly.
Paradise is pumpkin bread, baked by mom, bagged and bountiful. Too much food in the fridge. Any kind of food I want. Water from a fridge spout. A warm, familiar kitchen. A kiss on the cheek from dad, who just took a shower and smells like soap, who was probably waiting up for me before he went to bed.
My paradise has a round, ornate christmas tree warmly lighting the windows, and colorful lights lining the roof to match. It has shiny presents bursting from the tree’s base, and a pile of boxes and wrapping paper on the couch. It has a bedroom with more clothes, soft blankets, jewelry, and shoes then any girl needs. It has golden dim lights glowing throughout a dark house. My paradise is one of luxury. There’s comfy furniture everywhere, and a fish tank that fills the house with the faint sound of churning water at night.
But mostly, there’s love. Christmas cards on the table, friends coming over, lots of hugs. Interest in each other’s lives, pride in what my siblings are accomplishing. Gifts bought for each other, and a feeling of comfort and belonging when we’re finally together again.
Beginning
I'll begin with a contradiction.
Almost everything I write about is attempting to recall a moment. I enjoy trying to describe an experience or a feeling. So in the next few posts I'm going to throw out a bunch of writings i've done recently.
But I can't help but think how funny it is that humans put words to things. Life is experiences. Words will never be a foot against the pavement, or warm sun on top of your head, or cool water gliding over your hands.
I guess my conclusion is: musings are good, but living is better.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Water
I thought an appropriate way to begin this new blog is with a verse that talks about what keeps me going in life.
I've been thinking a lot about how society today sees dependance as an entirely bad thing. To say that I am young, strong, independent and self-sufficient is enticing, but the truth is, I need God's love like I need water. It sustains me.
"Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost.
Why spend money on what is not bread,
and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,
and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.
Give ear and come to me;
hear me, that your soul may live."
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