Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Art Is Dead...


Art is dead.  It is dead in its historical context of painting and sculpture.  It is dead in its historical context of purveyor of awe.  It is dead in its historical context of significant purpose to culture.  It is dead in its loss of contemporary humans attuned to its harmony.  It is dead in its relevancy.  Am I a alarmist, a pessimist, delusional, arrogantly opinionated or a honest artist?  I believe all of this because I love art and see it as sacred and a crucial part of humanity.  The complexity of the human beings “attention essence”, our ability to be attentive, has become so complex that Art must become that which can harmonize with equal complexities tuned to this ever-increasing new attentiveness.  Humans are increasingly lacking in the historical understanding of attentiveness, that ability to have prolonged contemplation and/or focus, and are instead finding new ways to be attentive.  As artist we must understand this and create in ways that can harmonize with this new viewer.  Old understandings of art must die because the viewer it once talked to no longer exist.  To continue to create in the same manner, as even the recent past is to accept irrelevancy but sadder still, too fail to make Art.  It is a very difficult task but no true artist has ever walked into their studio with anything other than overwhelming awe from the idea, “I must create a work of Art!” and there is where I find meaning to being.  Art is alive. 

Union Art student Skylar Gregory's work on understanding
the Divine nature of Form.  

Monday, July 9, 2018

In Quiet Hearths And Hearts


A new Supreme Court Justice nominee is going to be announced today in what will become a national media screech of hysteria over abortion.  I believe in the quiet lanes and plains of America most people are deeply concerned with how the Supreme Court decision in 1973 has played out.  It is difficult to believe that the Justices at the time could ever have envisioned how many millions would perish or how violent the procedure would become.  I cannot imagine anyone in America not sincerely believing that with all we have come to know about the human in the womb that it is morally and ethically imperative we reexamine that decision.  I fundamentally believe that the majority of Americans would strictly limit this procedure.  It is the political worldview foundational to my understanding of America and Americans. 

   

Saturday, July 7, 2018

You Are That Man


There are certainly occasions when you are allowed to know yourself so well that you realize that it would take the death of God’s very own Son to save you from yourself and at those moments (by Amazing Grace) you know your story (as is every human story) is not about your catastrophe but about His Love. 




Thursday, July 5, 2018

Memories


Two old friends stopped by yesterday, those friends of your ancient days that hold your most antique history in trust.  It stirs something in us when young skippers steer old ships across your olden bow.  There are no friends like those of your youth, when all of life was 16 years and your heart and mind were as sharp as a stylus and could record memories like an 8-Track, wide tape with lots of room for detail for “the way we were.” 


Sunday, July 1, 2018

By God I Knew

Sunday morning, quiet, read, think, pray, live fully in where I am, keep quiet and still, listen, listen very well, no unaccustomed sound but many unidentifiable; think, “I’m just another wild thing in the woods”, realize I’m not that wild.  Coffee needs warmed.  Snort to myself, “I’m really rather tame.”  Watch a large ant hiking along my splitting stump, he seems to waste a lot of time retracing his steps but he moves fast.  A loud clear songbird over the lake and a lone dog barking. 

A friend, ex-student, sent me a message yesterday that she was going to send me a picture of her in Glazier National Park smoking a Cuban cigar; both on her bucket list.  She’s 25 or 30 I guess, always on the road to adventure.  Its amazing how many people pass through ones life, each leaving a mark, some wounds, some balm, some bright spots (her), almost all brief intermingling’s and then un-swirled and off down the river life never to cross again.  We had other friends stop by yesterday, hadn’t seen in years, we laughed and laughed like good neighbors (how we met 27 years ago) and may not see them again for years.  At the close of the day, sun setting west river like a molten bronze poured on the waves I sat with my beloved, my daughters and there beloveds and our dog.  My oldest daughter said to us—but maybe more to the earth and to God, “you know how blessed we are to be with each other in this place!”  Blood speaking to blood!  I knew!!!                                       By God I knew.   

How we lived last summer!  God is so very, very good.