October 27, 2009

Our First Date 32 Years Ago

October 27, 1977.

Abilene, Texas.  Mid-afternoon, I get a call from my sister who is working for a local radio station.  She’s got two extra tickets for the Doobie Brothers concert at Taylor County Coliseum that night.   Would I like them?  Sure, I say, sounds fun.  The girl I was semi-dating at the time was nowhere to be found, and at dinner, in “The Bean” at Abilene Christian University, I saw a freshman girl that I didn’t know very well, but that I’d thought about a bit, mostly because she had an electric smile.  So gathering up my courage, I made my way over to the table, knelt down and told her the story of the tickets and asked if she wanted to go to the concert.   She thought about it, flashed that smile and said, sure.

If I remember correctly (and I may be making this up), it was blustery night, maybe a bit of rain, and I have an image in my head of us running through the parking lot, heading for “Will Call.”  The tickets were there under my sister’s name, and we went in.  Details escape me, but I remember us talking easily about things, wandering around the coliseum, at one point ending up behind the band, constantly changing perspectives.   We even ran into her brother, who was at ACU as a pre-med major.  The music was great, the night flew by, that smile of hers so easy to fall for, and before we knew it, I was taking her back to Gardner dorm.  There would be no first-date kiss, but as she climbed out of the car, she said something to the tune of “I was a fun date.”   I watched her run to the covered sidewalk (it was raining by now), and she turned and waved, giving me one last smile to float home on, and I as I drove back to Mabee dorm, I reflected on the simple joy of the evening.   I had a thought that this was a girl I could marry, and if I remember correctly, it was either later that night, or perhaps on a night after the second or third date, that I declared rather lightly to my roommate that I would indeed marry the girl with the dark hair and joyous smile.

As it turns out, three and half years later, after some ups and downs (the downs were all my fault), I did just that.   I married her.

I could not be more thankful for that simple decision to walk across the cafeteria and inquire of the girl with the electric smile.

If I had to do it all over again, I’d walk a little faster.

Happy “First-Date” Anniversary, Anjie.

And that smile?

As electric as it ever was…

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October 26, 2009

Enchanted April’s Closing Weekend

Friday morning, as I stood with Scott and Pam Nolte in the Gordito’s parking lot watching water cascading into the lobby of Taproot Theatre, one thing was very clear: there would be no performance of Enchanted April that night.  There would be a mountain of work, sorting everything out, getting the theatre back on its feet, making the decisions needed to make the path back to normalcy clear.  But as the minutes ticked by, the staff of Taproot began to show up one by one, and the game was afoot…Enchanted April would continue…somehow.

I can’t give you the blow by blow of how the morning went at the administrative offices of Taproot Theatre as calls and emails went flying through Seattle’s theatre community.   I know there were mulitple offers of spaces from various theatres, and the machinery to move all the costumes and sets (the set pieces that could be moved) from Taproot to a new space was somehow cobbled into place.   (Examiner.com credits a Twitter campaign centered in the offices at A Contemporary Theatre downtown for getting the word out that help was needed.)   A touring show that was scheduled to play at a school Friday afternoon managed to get what they needed from the theatre and that show went on as planned, and there was another performance that afternoon featuring two members of the Enchanted April cast for a convention event of arts professionals.  Sometime late in the morning, the decision was made to accept that generous offer from Seattle Children’s Theatre to use one of their spaces, The Charlottle Martin Theatre, a beautiful 500 seat proscenium space.   The staging of the play would require adjustment–Taproot’s stage is an intimate 220 seat thrust space–so Friday night’s performance was cancelled in order to restage the play for two performances on Saturday.

As costumes were being dried (amazingly, the fire sprinklers in the dressings rooms had not turned on, though they had turned on in the adjacent green room) and treated (they reeked of smoke), as sets and props were being moved, every patron that had tickets for the weekend shows received a call detailing the situation and the options.  Friday night’s ticketholders would have their choice of shows on Saturday, and though some couldn’t make the change, most did.   We had no idea what audiences would be like on Saturday, but whoever was going to be there, we figured they’d bring a lot of love.

The rehearsal Friday night was smooth and fun.  The hospitality of SCT floored all of us; baked treats, well-wishes, kind hand-written notes, and lots of work on their part to help prep the space with lights, sound, and props.  And of course, it also meant altering their own work schedule in preparation for their upcoming production of Peter Pan.   As it turns out, one of the primary concerns about this whole event has turned out to be the inability for Taproot to ever be able to adequately thank or repay SCT and the rest of the Seattle theatre community.

The new digs for the show both demanded and created a new energy among the actors.  The performances had to grow in size to fill the larger space, and it was just great fun making the physical adjustments necessary for the new actor-audience relationship.  Saturday’s shows went beautifully, and as actors, we were thrilled to have the chance to experience a new life in these old lines we knew so well.  The discovery of new nuances, the happy realization that the production could indeed translate the experience well in a completely different venue, and the deeply satisfying confirmation of the support and love Taproot Theatre enjoys among its patrons and the larger Seattle theatre community all made for a rich and satisfying–and memorable–closing day.

Looking back on the experience from a bleary Monday morning, knowing that the Taproot staff is meeting even now to make huge decisions about what the immediate future holds, I count myself so fortunate and blessed to know these good people, and to be a part of this larger community.  In an age of technology, the live actor on a stage in front of the live audience can still deliver an experience that is unmatched and unparalleled by the best of films, the best of TV shows.  I know, it’s just different, but…

Film and TV I enjoy.

Theatre moves me, calls to me…

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October 23, 2009

The Near-Taproot Fire

So I’m sitting at the coffee shop at 6:10, when a prayer request from one of the women at church comes across my desktop.  Something about a 3-alarm fire near 85th and Greenwood, and that my good friend Scott Nolte is being interviewed.   It takes a minute to register.  I go to KING 5 News’ website, and there’s a notice about the fire, along with a picture.

I called Anjie, and headed out.

Taproot is a kind of home to me, a place, an ensemble that has given me more opportunities to work than I deserve, and I have such great respect for their longevity, their resilience, and their mission.  Artistic Director Scott Nolte and I get burgers regularly, I go to church with Associate Artistic Director Karen Lund, her Taproot Scenic Designer/Tech Director husband Mark Lund, Costume Designer Sarah Gordon, and others that work there.   I’m just an actor, but I wanted to be there with and for them.

There were fire trucks everywhere, and the first thing I noticed as I approached the neighborhood was the smell of smoke.  I pulled into the Fred Meyer parking lot, called Scott, found out he was in the Gorditos parking lot across from the theatre, stepped over a couple of yellow-tape barriers, and found Scott, his wife Pam, and their actor-son Peter all standing there looking across at the space.

Pho Tic Tac, the Green Bean, and the other two restaurants to the east of Taproot were gutted, black holes in the side of the old brick building.  A water cannon high above 85th was pouring cascades of water onto the roofs, concentrating on an area close to Taproot.   Soon water could be seen dripping from the ceiling in the lower lobby, and we watched at one point as a firefighter took an axe to one of the walls in the upper lobby.   Insulation from the ceiling soon started appearing on the stairs and pretty soon it looked as if it had snowed in a couple of places.

The only flames I saw erupted at the eastern edge of the building, down near the Teriyaki place, a place where I’ve eaten countless times.   The firefighters’ response to those flames was calm and even, which made sense to me given the amount of water they were pouring onto the place.

Our quiet conversation touched on the small business owners whose livelihood had literally gone up in flames.   It’s a testament to the heart of Taproot that this seemed to be the major concern.   Another topic was where to perform three sold-out performances of Enchanted April.   It looked as if it was pretty certain that while the theatre itself had escaped the fire, there was sufficient damage to keep the play from happening in that space tonight and tomorrow.  (No official word has come at this hour, so if you’re reading this, and you have tickets, stay tuned.)   Concerns of next steps, figuring out logistics for a touring company performance for a school scheduled for the afternoon (all the props and costumes were in the basement, status unknown), memories of other crises that have been a part of the Taproot Theatre tapestry over the years…the talk was quiet, thoughtful, hopeful.   Perhaps Pam Nolte said it best as she talked to a friend.  Citing her usual realist approach to things, she said “In crisis, I’m an optimist.”

And there was prayer.  A prayer request is how I found out about the situation, and I would bet nearly as many people found out through prayer request channels as did through news channels.   God has been extremely faithful to this band of people over the 30 years of their existence, and their faith (and mine) is that He will continue to do so.

There was nothing to do, really, at that time of day, but stand and watch.  Eventually, gray light replaced the dark, and the gathered Taproot staff left the Bartell’s parking lot and headed to the Administrative offices down the street to come up with a game plan.  I had a sermon to finish up (I’m preaching Sunday–the new guy is out of town), so I headed to the car.  That’s when the rain started in earnest.

Say a prayer for the whole block.  Some have lost their livlihoods, and the Green Bean, a non-profit ministry/outreach, has lost its opportunity to provide a third-place for so many Greenwood patrons.   Greenwood has a lot going for it, and this now-gutted building was a part of it.

For a report from an earlier perspective, along with some video from the fire, see PhinneyWood.com.

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October 1, 2009

Seeing a Master – Andrew Wyeth’s Helga

Braids

So we’re taking one day a month for spiritual retreat and renewal, and I hadn’t gotten to mine yet, so yesterday, I took half a day.  I spent the early morning reading from the prophet Isaiah and from Matthew’s gospel, then went on to Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton, and then to poetry by Rilke.  Then some extended time of prayer, meditating mostly on the nature of God, His immeasurable -ness and the seeming absurdity of our own smallness.   To Him Who Stands Outside of Time as I try to figure out my next paltry move, be all the Glory.

I love going downtown.  I parked on 2nd just outside of Benaroya Hall, and stepped out of the van to confront the long wall memorializing the war dead from WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan.  These names, so precious to their loved ones, yet so small in the great hoards of people streaming through the city.  Again, reflecting on the smallness of our -ness next to God’s.   I wandered past SAM (Seattle Art Museum), and realized the Andrew Wyeth exhibit featuring the Helga series was still on.   A huge Wyeth fan, I’d wanted to see the exhibit–I just figured I wouldn’t get the time.   It didn’t open until 10:00, so I wandered up 1st toward the market, heading for a favorite thinking spot I rarely get to anymore.   The Crumpet Shop at Pike Place Market holds many great memories for Anjie and I and the early days of being in Seattle back in the mid-80’s and then later with our kids in the mid-90’s.   A small counter looking out at the sidewalk, a freshly baked crumpet with raspberry and butter and coffee alongside a journal, and you have what I consider some prime thinking real estate.   (It would help if they would move the strip joint directly across the street.)   I jotted a few thoughts about presence and purpose, the blinding nature of sensation, and how Beauty calls to a Christ-essence inside us, even as we realize all is dust and smoke, the “hevel” (smoke) of Ecclesiastes.

Then it was 10:00 a.m., I was headed up the escalator at SAM.  I asked the first person I met to point me to the Wyeth exhibit.  It was down the hall, past the gray room, on the left.

I turned the corner.

These paintings will be marveled over for a thousand years.

Maybe that’s overstating it, but that’s what I kept thinking as I looked at Wyeth’s mastery.  There are 5 paintings from the Helga suite and two others from his other work.  I am no art critic, but I recognize power and mastery when I see it.   I say “power”…what power is there in a canvas covered in watercolor paints?  Or a piece of wood covered in tempera paint?  It doesn’t change the world, really.  It doesn’t remap the health-care system, and no children will be fed by it.  But there it is.  Oddly, civilizations will pass, and these paintings will continue to call to people, coaxing them to reflect on meaning, beauty, humanity, nature, and in my view, even God.   Yes, we can wonder, even lament and complain, over the relationship Wyeth had with Helga, his subject of over 15 years, and those of more conservative bent will cry foul over Helga’s state of undress in some of the paintings, but yesterday, as I looked at Wyeth’s work, I couldn’t help but think “how amazing.”  The painstaking labor of stroking enough lines to create the fine nature of human hair in Helga’s famous braids, the insight and control of material such that light spills across the canvas in such glorious value and contrasts, the capturing of the distinctively American landscape near Chadd’s Ford, Pennsylvania.  There is deep love in these paintings, and Wyeth’s technical skill serves that love well.  No wonder he is one of the masters of our time.

I left thinking of the work still to be done in my own life.  Knowing that every breath is a gift, every day another bit of grace directly from God’s hand, surrounded always by both brokenness and beauty, I wondered how best to spend my days.  The work of making…I’m sure of that.  Making life, making relationship, making moments, making art.  In the heart of God, may we strive to make moments of work and play as masterful as Wyeth’s art.

Then I did two peformances of “Enchanted April”…

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September 25, 2009

Opening Enchanted April

Another opening night tonight.  Enchanted April, at Taproot Theatre, opens tonight at 8:00 p.m.

It’s been a good process, a nice re-entry back into the world of acting after a two year hiatus.  My role is small, but has enough in it to make it challenging, and I’m pretty sure I’m not really hitting the mark yet, at least not like I’d like.  That being said, the experience of being on stage with long-time friends has been a God-send.   The process of preparing a role is a much different process than preparing a sermon, and it’s nice to know that the message of the play is not up to me, though my role in it contributes to an audience’s overall understanding.   Letting go of the final result, I can concentrate on the moments of contact with my acting partners, concerning myself with the moment-to-moment interchange that builds a single scene.  There is a concentration in it that seems so familiar, a level of focus that I find exciting and freeing.  So often I am grappling internally with the ongoing profundity of things, but in these moments, it’s just about the other, the emotional exchange, the physicality, and the lines.  No need to save the world; just get to the next moment, responding to what it’s front of me.

Of course, all of this is predicated on getting cast in the play in the first place.   And then there was the choice to move and live in the world of theatre and art, and before that, there was the training that begin leading in that direction.  In other words, the freedom of the living in the moment is built on a series of decisions that are based on whatever I think it means to “save the world” from the context of who God has made me and what I think He is calling me to.

My point is simple:  the moments of the day in regular, walk-about living are no different than my moments on stage, really.  Letting go of results (leaving them to God), my role is respond to the demands and the needs in front of me, as God reveals them.  Whether they are with family, friends, or strangers living in a poverty-stricken land half a world away, the moments present themselves one at a time, and as I have been prepared, I meet them.  My trust in the director is paramount.  In Enchanted April, I trust Karen Lund, the director, to lead me where she wants me to go.  I also trust that I cannot see the whole play, therefore it is up to her to direct me and give me feedback that will help me stay within the world of the play.   And while there are moments when I might disagree with a certain note she will give me, it is not my job is not to do punch holes in what she’s trying to do.  My job is to bring the play to life according to her vision.   However, I am no slave.  There is collaboration.   Karen depends on her actors’ nuance and creativity and discovery to contribute in ways that she cannot always predict.   Her faith is in us as ours is in her.

I don’t know how far the analogy holds, but I know that as I go through my day today, I am not the director.   And my notes from God might be somewhat different than my notes from Karen, but my trust is that they’re there.  And as hard as I work to deliver on what Karen gives me to do, that effort should probably pale in comparison to the work I put in making sure the notes of God are put into play with the nuance and directions He tells me.

What I like about acting is that I don’t have to be in control.   It is so clear that I am not.   Life isn’t much different.

Just playing my part…

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September 23, 2009

A Reputation for a “Yes Face”

This was a question we asked at church on Sunday.  It’s a different way to phrase the old question of legacy: what do you want to be remembered for?  What heritage do you want to leave your kids?  After all is said and done, what will your legacy be?

One man had a fascinating answer in that he said he wanted to be known as a man who had a “Yes Face.”

A yes-face.

I knew immediately what he meant.   He was referring to that moment when someone in need asks you for help, and you’re caught in that dilemma of responding or not.   He wanted to have a face that always said, “Yes.”

The reason I knew what he meant was that too often I have a “No Face”.  And it’s interesting to think of a “No Face” being no face at all, in that the selfish human loses something of themselves and eventually disappears.   Do we find more and more of our true face as we open it with yeses for those around us?  And do we move toward having less face, less identity, less true self, when we present those who need us with a “No Face?”

What kind of face will we bring today?

I said I wanted to be known as someone who knew how to love…

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September 22, 2009

Notes from a September Week

So I took a week off from blogging.  It was full week, as they all are.   Rehearsals for Enchanted April (Taproot Theatre, opening this Friday) continue to go well.   I will, of course, be terrified as we move through opening weekend…I always am the first few times around with an audience.  But that will pass, and the fun of the run will settle in.   I’ve been reminded several times in the past week how much I enjoy this strange game called acting.

I missed a lot of sleep last week as seasonal allergies kicked in,  and was pretty fatigued by the time I got to Saturday, but then, wonder of wonders, I got two 8-hours-of-sleep nights in a row.  Amazing how much difference that makes.   Didn’t get that much last night–got home late from rehearsal, then got up early to work out, but still feel more energized than usual.

Spent a couple of hours yesterday getting new headshots.  (My current ones are embarrassingly old.  I’ve aged a bit since the one in the Enchanted April program was shot.  But it will be the last time it gets used.)  Wayne Rutledge is a fine photographer and we had fun both in the studio and wandering around the Greenwood neighborhood looking for good light and interesting backgrounds.   I’ll post a few when I get them (maybe), and we’ll see.  The whole process of looking into a camera trying to communicate “quiet strength” or some other such direction is a little odd, hard to put my finger on.  And there are the people wandering by who get a kick out of seeing this whole process happen.  Pretty strange.

Let’s see, what else…had a rock-your-world conversation with a friend I haven’t sat down with in a couple of years.  A man of deep compassion and activist heart, he has left the church in what approaches disgust over many things, some theological, some textual, some practical.   He gave me some help on the health insurance issue that clarified some things, and I left admiring his courage, his mind, and his means of practical living.  He may well be closer to God than many of the church folk I know.  Certainly reminded me of Jesus in some ways.

And there was the worship practice rehearsal Saturday morning which I began mad as a hornet.  Well, maybe not that mad, but I was annoyed at a mistake I’d made even though I had worked pretty hard to be ready for what was about to happen.  But I simply told the band I was pretty angry, that I would get over myself in a few minutes, and we ended up having a great morning rehearsing.  Music often seems sort of over my head, but I keep plugging away, and I’m amazed at the fun there is in it.

And finally, two others things: there was the story of the “Yes Face” (I’ll come back to and do a blog post about that) as well as the ongoing research on Robert E. Lee.   The Civil War is coming more into my consciousness as I try to piece Lee’s imaginative life together.   All I can think is “what lives these people lived.” Giant lives, full of wonder and terror, filled with suffering I cannot even imagine.   More posts on that to come, I’m sure.

This week, worship planning, the Puyallup Fair, Enchanted April, and time with Anjie somewhere along the way, all during my favorite time of year.

Loving the air of fall…

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September 15, 2009

Reluctantly Asking the Health-Care Questions

Here’s a question: what does Beauty have to do with the health-care debate?

I’m not much of a political animal.  Whether that’s a badge of honor or shame depends on who you talk to, but it’s getting harder to avoid getting drawn into the “debates” (read mud-slinging) about health-care, economics, race, and other areas of social concern and justice.  My reticence about entering these discussions is two-fold: 1) Too often, such “discussion” descends into language and tone that is neither informative or anything close to beautiful.   Anger–make that fury–seems to be the prevailing stance, with people talking over each other in embarrassingly rancorous behavior.  2) I just don’t know enough to contribute to the discussion meaningfully, though why that stops me is unclear…ignorance doesn’t seem to stop anyone else.  And in saying that, I recoil–here I am throwing my own mud less than a half-dozen sentences in.   “Ignorance” is a tacky, mocking word in the above sentence, and I used to make me feel better about my own position.  I may not know much, but at least I’m willing to admit it.

That’s called being proud of your humility.

See, I hate these discussions.

But someone very close to me is now being impacted by this whole health-care thing, and as they say, all politics is personal.  (Does anybody say that, or did I make that up?)  So I find that I’m going to have to marshal my personal resources to do some learning.  The questions about health-care are daunting: is access to medical care a basic human right?  Who is a society responsible for, and how far does that responsibility reach?  What is the moral imperative of a statistic like “24.9% of the people of Texas are uninsured?”  What role does individual responsibility play in the long-term outcomes of life?  (This is the “it’s your own fault” argument, implying that when someone lands in the ditch by their own machinations [taking who knows how many other people right into the ditch with them], their own machinations have to get them out, thereby allowing me to keep my machinations for myself.)  What is “stupid” poverty, especially in America?  (It’s easier to identify in developing nations.  [Or is that statement an indication of some kind of hidden upper-class bias?  Aaackk!  There's no escaping it...])  What are the national values that are reflected in the answers to the above?  (See Newsweek’s article–No Country for Sick Men–about how the decisions nations make on who gets health insurance coverage reveal their national value and character.)  How best are Christ’s values lived out in the midst of these questions?   And questions like “Who would Jesus Insure?” [and here, and here, and here, and here] seem near silly, especially if you believe that the Kingdom of God is somehow diminished by the uneasy mix of faith and politics we’ve seen so often in recent years, on both right and left.

But here’s the thing, in my view: life–the human experience–is one.  What I mean is that our values, what we cherish, what we believe (or don’t believe), what we hold to be good, true, and beautiful–all this, as they say, will out.   The philosophical debates, the ideas that stand behind these dramatically practical issues (real people with real names with real families that watch them suffer die over these things) will inform every category of our lives.  Even if we are divided (“Life is NOT one”, someone retorts.  “Don’t you realize we live in a time of deeply fractured experience?  Don’t you realize we live on the other side of the fall?  Life is NOT one…we are broken.”), that very dividedness will permeate each category of life.   Religion (or call it “faith” if you don’t like the word “religion”), politics, entertainment, relationships, morality, sexuality–all of it flows from what’s inside our totality, our combined heart, mind, soul, and strength.

This whole thing is challenging me to rethink some very basic values.  And though I called it near silly above, I can’t think of a better person to ask about all of this that the Christ.  So I’ll be working on that in the next few days, because I’ve got some decisions to make about the best ways to help those I love–some of whom I know, some of whom I don’t.

So now, I’m out of room in this post, so the first question I asked–what does Beauty have to say about all this–will have to wait.  But I ask in the spirit of knowing that Truth, Goodness, and Beauty have always stood together.  And no doubt Truth and Goodness are at the heart of the debate, so Beauty has to be lurking, wanting to have its say, bringing its own insight.   And I don’t hear anyone else talking about it in those terms, so…

…another day…

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September 14, 2009

Watching My Friends Work

The Artist at Work

The Artist at Work

Last Friday night, Greenwood held it’s monthly 2nd Friday artwalk.  As part of that event, Taproot Theatre staged its own entry: the making of a portrait.  The artist was my good friend Sam Vance, and his subject was another good friend, Nikki Visel.  The impetus for this was a scene from Taproot Theatre’s next offering, Enchanted April (opening a week from Friday.)  The scene calls for an artist, a specialist in portraiture, to sketch a study of a fascinating new acquaintance (Nikki’s character).  The artist is drawn to this woman not only because of her beauty; she reminds him of his recently deceased mother.   Obviously, to stage the scene in the play, an actual portrait is needed.   So Sam and Nikki set up shop in the small, but cozy lobby of Taproot.   There was the easel, the chaise lounge, a few of Sam’s other paintings (water-lilies and landscapes…he does great work), and usually, a couple of people standing by, interested in varying degrees by what they were witnessing.

Sam Vance

Sam Vance

We all know the strange fascination that comes when watching an artist bring something into our experience that is unexpected and far beyond our own ability to make.  Aristotle said this delight in imitation is in our nature, and it’s plain to see when observing an artist working, and observing the observers.  It’s as if we were rooting for Sam as he stood there, barefoot and engaged, his body as physically involved as his hand, occasionally lifting one foot as he spread charcoal onto the paper.  (Painting as subtle sport, I thought at one point.)  I stood off to the side, brandishing a camera, snapping away, worrying that I was being obnoxious and distracting, but I didn’t care.  I was hoping to get in on the magic-making.  That’s what I was rooting for after all, for something magical to leap onto the canvas, some captured beauty, some effervescent something (as the character in Enchanted April says)…caught.   For three and a half hours this went on, page after page of studies, Sam finding his way toward what would eventually be the finished work (which I haven’t seen yet).

Nikki Visel

Nikki Visel

And then, of course, there’s the subject.  Nikki sat very still for a long, long time.  Sam went to her occasionally, said a quiet thing, touched her chin, asked a question, listened, and then drew again, as Nikki later said, as if he had a new understanding, that whatever he’d just heard or noticed had made a marked difference.   It was, literally, a study.  A study of a human face, but a study not done intellectually, as in the study of history or mathematics, but a study done with eye and charcoal and strokes of hand to paper.  What understanding results from this study is hard to say.  Perhaps understanding is the wrong word.  Perhaps it’s more of a knowledge, a connection, an intimate realization of the presence of the other.  Or perhaps the long stillness and move from one dimension to another (from lobby to paper) abstracts things, allows for less humanity.  It’s an old debate.   But something is exchanged between artist and subject, the between artist and audience, and at the end of the day, a new thing exists in the world, a creation to delight and call.

Sam Vance and Nikki Visel

Sam Vance and Nikki Visel

A few of Sam's other paintings

A few of Sam's other paintings

Hats off to my friends, in this case, especially Sam.  It was a pleasure to him work, and a still greater pleasure to know that its not really his artist prowess I’m most glad of.    What’s better than watching an accomplished artist do their work is knowing that that accomplished artist is your friend.

To see Nikki’s work, about which I feel the same, you’ll have to come see Enchanted April.

I like artwalks…

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September 11, 2009

Kierkegaard’s Eleventh Hour

Reading Kierkegaard this morning.  Went to bed too late to be up comprehending Kierkegaard, but the great phrase “to will one thing” is on my mind.    So I’m reading the online version of Purity of Heart is to Will One Thing, and am stopped at the 2nd chapter.   Kierkegaard says remorse always comes at the eleventh hour, no matter when it comes.   He speaks of two guides, one that calls us toward God (who is the one thing), and one that calls us back from wandering, calls us back from sin.   This second guide is remorse, and Kierkegaard says when remorse speaks, it is by definition a moment of danger.   Delusion is the danger, and delusion left unchecked becomes perdition.

“…for when remorse calls to a man it is always late.”  Soren Kierkegaard

Purity of heart is on my mind this morning.   Not the purity of heart we’ve come to associate with various lustings after illicit things, especially in matters of sexuality, but the purity of heart that suggests clear sight, a lack of delusion.   Purity of heart that suggests clear intention, uncompromising commitment to the faith of the heart, whatever object that faith may have as its subject.  Purity of heart that suggests that the work of the day will be undertaken in ease, knowing that all is settled, intention and effort aligned.  Purity of heart that is unconcerned with results, knowing that “the one thing” will result in that which it will result in, and little more can be said.   To think we are in control of results is to step into delusion, and purity of heart is lost.

All this is abstraction.

And yet.

As I said, I’m thinking of “willing one thing.”  My remorse is that all too often, I will far more than that.  It’s one of the great temptations, the willing of many things.  It’s easy to do these days.  I sat in a classical FM station’s library yesterday, and there were shelves and shelves of CD cases, all lined up, calmly waiting to be chosen.  I thought of all the music, all the willing, all the life that was contained in those little plastic jackets.  I marveled at the poor guy who had to do the programming, having to choose from the vast array of composers, compositions, arrangements, and renditions.  All these choices crowded into the hours of the day, each of them crying, “Will me, will me, will me!”   Even great projects, artistic and humanitarian, clamor at us, grasping, grabbing, like all those stories of orphan children chasing rich visitors.

And finally, in my coffee conversation with my good friend this morning, we talked of the immersion that comes when the mind is given over to one particular thing in creative contemplation: painting, writing, directing.   My own experience is that the creative mind “willing one thing” drops into a place of deep river running, smooth, uninterrupted, powerful, at peace.  Multi-tasking destroys this; more and more research is beginning to suggest, at a brain level, just why this is true.

Turning around, letting things drop, betting eleventh hour remorse makes for new dawns, as willing the many becomes willing the fewer, maybe someday the one.

Long, concentrated creative contemplation and work.   It’s what I do best, where I find flow, where I sense the One’s greatest pleasure.

Do it more…


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