You Better Know Who Has An A Game

It is on again.  Classes begin.  It is a joy to begin class, a chore in many ways thereafter but, throughout, it is a task of connecting humans to God, and there is a great meaning.  Even in the most secular classroom overseen by the most suspicious there is no denying that Art is a Devine enterprise.  Art and beauty go hand and hand with that which we cannot prove but we all know; life on earth is the most grand experience conceivable on earth.  That is the goal and often the result of Art/beauty; clarifying that reality.  If you believe you will make and have an overwhelming desire to teach others of the “great pearl” you have found; God connecting Himself to you. 

 

The Party's Over?

The party’s over.  I awake in a hotel and am relieved.  I will readily admit I do better on a mountain top than under the big top.  But boy howdy was it a shindig, over the top, an event not to miss.  Even God got involved as a slight shower turned into warm sunshine just as the groom kissed his new bride and then a black storm came pouring over the top of the mountains like a massive waterfall and it poured just as everyone had gotten under the tent.  And the party began!!! a Motown band played favorite soul tunes from the ’60s and ’70s, everyone was shaking everything they had or could get to shake and the wine and food came non-stop.  Joyous exuberance would be an understatement.  When the Scots get to partying they get to partying.  I’ll give them this, they got stamina, I have never seen so many people dancing the light fandango since my high school prom.  My lover and I finally threw in our linen napkin and called it a night.  We collapsed in my old Ford, took a breather, adjusted our gown and tux, and laughed at how old we have grown.  We drove off into the night, across the bridge, over the dam and stopped one last time to look back at the tent and could hear the needle still in the soulful grooving playlist of our youth and knew—the party is never really over.  God is good.  God is great.  Let us thank Him. 

The party is never over in God's good world.

A Grand Soiree

It is good for an old country Baptist to attend a grand party every now and then especially if it is a wedding much like the one at Canaan.  My lover and I are at just such an event.  Deep in the southern Appalachians, at a grand Scottish Country Club surrounded by beautiful golf courses, stately mansions, and mountainous glory that continually remind you that God’s wealth is unmatchable.  Last night was the rehearsal dinner, silver, china, fine glass; mighty timbers, wood floors, old art, and the most beautiful people.  The wine flowed freely, the conversation lively, toasts in abundance as the bride and groom’s character was upheld and applauded by all with the tinging touch of fine glass filled with the best reds and whites.  And Christ was there, invited at the start and several times throughout the evening His presence was acknowledged by His rightful title, Lord, Christ, Savior, Jesus.  By the end, many were flushed with wine and joy and my heart was filled with sincerity for the beauty of humanity's ability to celebrate…and all along I escorted the most beautifully elegant lady in the room, my lover.  Round two this evening, the wedding. 

P.S.  For you good Baptists who are wondering--I drank water.

 

    

 

UGH!!! Taking A 200 Pound Load On A Road Trip

We are in Chesterfield MO preparing to move on south and be home by evening.  We are both somewhat weary, not from any great effort other than the effort of moving ourselves around the earth.  Moving 200lbs, my current weight, requires a lot of effort, especially when I do it all day.  Another startling revelation of growing old is how much your weight bears on you.  Understand it this way; if you were in a car and carrying a large 100 lb. sack in your lap imagine how sore you would be after six hours.  That is what my 200 lb. body has become, a burden I bear.  Old age is a constant awakening to the vast effort of being alive.   

Demoing throwing while sharing my faith testimony at Hope Farm School.

A Coming to One's Senses

We made it.  We are at the Hope Farm School in Stockholm WI or truthfully, in a deep mountain valley, forest ringed, in a hope filled communion reminiscent of the communes of the 1960s & ’70s, peace, love, and understanding with God in Christ.  I guess this is as close to Eden’s Church as it gets; believers helping youngsters by growing crops, harvesting livestock, teaching, playing and trying to live in harmony with God, His earth, His love.  My lover and I are here to learn, to see if there is a way to tie our life to their life; to tie our people with their people, our talents with their talents to harvest in the white fields.  God is like a great silent cosmos moving through the cells of all declaring, I AM—Good.  That is where I am, Hope Farm School learning from my cells being aware, HE IS; a coming again to my senses.       

God Blessed America

My lover and I are crossing America again, south to north following the Forever Mississippi currently in Hannibal MO.  We haven’t trekked the country in several years.  Nothing has changed; mostly beautiful, empty, natural, spaces filled with growing abundance.  America the Beautiful is such an apt description.  Now however instead of hiking the land to see, we bask in the glow of our devices to pseudo see; their white light growing discord instead of abundance; eyes burned blind that cannot see.  I am a very simple person, my needs mostly met every day with God, His Most Ancient Living Word, a cup of good coffee, my lover always near, and a long view.  America has always offered me that but required me to go.  Go far in America, long quiet roads through a mostly isolated wilderness that seem to go on and on, and still, I am in America.  The wealth is overwhelming, growing, towering, flowing, it is always unimaginable, even in your memory, unless you witness it again and again.  The song God Bless America is better understood God Blessed America but you must go see to understand.  When He made this expanse of earth, He was having a Red-Letter Day.  

      

Dog Days Will Eventually Always Be Puppy Days

The dog days of summer have come slinking down our lane, more a cur than a dog.  It is hot, humid, and still this morning as dawn seems dulled by the heat of the night.  These are good studio days spent creating behind closed doors with the air conditioner making conditions right.  Currently, I am being hounded not only by late summer but by a long labor that comes with my latest project.  I began with earnest and a five-year plan but have readjusted my time frame to double that.  Ten years on a single project will hound anyone.  Surrounding that project is another which is dependent upon a small little angle child away off who must fund its realization.  That project is not art so much as it is Holy work.  Under the fall our visions far outshine our productions but we are encouraged by the coming labors in eternity where vision and reality will be the same. 

A peek at the vision in my studio.