I went and saw Tara Leigh Cobble play a show tonight here in Denton. She is, by far, one of the most unique and personable human beings I've ever seen on a stage or met after a show. In addition to her outright kindness and her bold-as-love talent, she is amazingly honest. I mean, as far as I can tell, she is completely genuine. And that is what is most attractive to me in any artist, politician, pastor, florist, engineer or what have you.
On the drive home, I marveled at the sheer humanity that she displayed, with all of her candor, joy and sincerity. Then I began to think about art in general. Then I began to think about honesty in art because it was her honesty that attracted me to her art. When I listen to a string quartet by Shostakovitch or I listen to "This American Life" or I read some Mark Twain, I can always find the beauty in their art. And it's very good. But no matter how beautiful it is to me, it's never completely fulfilling to my soul. It never leaves me feeling absolutely content, with every appetite of my heart sated. It's food for the world inside me, make no mistake. But it always fails to hit just the right spot. There's always an itch I can't scratch and a star I can't wish upon.
I'm racking my brain for the exact quote but (like most quotes in my brain) it's smeared with the sap of minutia and the honey of fantasy. That just means that most quotes get lost in the jumble between my ears. But I think I can grasp the gist of the quote and, just as important, cite the author as Francis Schaeffer. He said that when people create with themselves as the ultimate end all-be all, they start their work from a finite reference point. There is nothing greater outside of themselves and so their beautiful work and creation is finite. Their starting point wasn't transcendent and so their ending point (the art) was very earthbound. However, when you start with an infinite reference point (i.e God), then you're working from a point of view that sees God as greater than yourself, as the Creator of your creative ability. Your art is able to honestly and emphatically transcend mere finitude because the lens you see reality through recognizes an infinite Creator; an infinite Artist to emulate. (I capitalize those titles, in keeping with a dead man's tradition, to let you know that I'm referring to the God of the Bible).
So, theoretically, people who love Jesus and worship Him as God should make the best art. They have the best reason to make excellent art. Plato said that the human experience of living breaks down into three general areas: truth, goodness and beauty. The church has dealt thoroughly with the first two (theology and ethics) but they've never really seemed to figure out what the third one was for. It's like the church abandoned beauty and art and imagination and let the world have them. I'm not going to take pot shots at Thomas Kinkade or the Hallmark quality kitsch that litters our Christian bookstores. I'll save that for later. I just don't understand why beauty and honesty have been neglected for so long by the children of our most beautiful and honest Father.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Ramble Rumble
A blind man can't love a rainbow. He can only love the idea of a rainbow.
A read a lot this past week. I was home in St. Louis for spring break. I took things really slow and savored all the things that probably weren't healthy for me to savor. Things like Dr. Pepper, loss of consciousness and imaginary dinosaur battles in my head. All good things, I guess. But when clung to for a week, they start to go bad. I ended up writing a lot of "poetry". It really was just me rambling incoherently on a blank page for a couple of hours. But it was so cathartic and relaxing that I had that Saturday sofa feeling. You know the one? Where you sit there content, doing nothing, and you kind of just baste in your own inactivity? That's a good way to describe the majority of my break.
I've still been thinking a lot about honesty and how I lack it in all of my various facets. Those gaping defeciencies are probably why I took to writing. Probably why I haven't been able to stop.
"The Christian is the one who's imagination should fly beyond the stars." - Francis Schaeffer.
Then, what in the world is the church doing with the arts these days? I ask you.
A read a lot this past week. I was home in St. Louis for spring break. I took things really slow and savored all the things that probably weren't healthy for me to savor. Things like Dr. Pepper, loss of consciousness and imaginary dinosaur battles in my head. All good things, I guess. But when clung to for a week, they start to go bad. I ended up writing a lot of "poetry". It really was just me rambling incoherently on a blank page for a couple of hours. But it was so cathartic and relaxing that I had that Saturday sofa feeling. You know the one? Where you sit there content, doing nothing, and you kind of just baste in your own inactivity? That's a good way to describe the majority of my break.
I've still been thinking a lot about honesty and how I lack it in all of my various facets. Those gaping defeciencies are probably why I took to writing. Probably why I haven't been able to stop.
"The Christian is the one who's imagination should fly beyond the stars." - Francis Schaeffer.
Then, what in the world is the church doing with the arts these days? I ask you.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Naked Humanity
I couldn't get everything out that I want to say on one blog. Much like I can't fit everything I want to say in one moleskine. So, I've decided to restart this blog for some amateur exposition of life and love and why. Or something like it, anyway.
One of my roommates has gotten me into a public radio show called "This American Life". I've always been a bit suspicious of NPR or anything like it, having heard it been called "communist radio" growing up. However, the show isn't a political platform. It just tells stories of American lives. It's a pretty honest title, right? And it's the honesty that I love.
I'm not talking about telling the truth. I'm not talking about simply not lying. Honesty is much too massive an idea for those correct, but ultimately parochial, assumptions. Honesty is sincerity. Stated negatively, honesty is not pretending to be something else. Honesty is one of the most attractive things in life.
I love it when a person is honest. I love it when a book is honest. I love it when a movie is honest. Honesty is naked humanity and humanity is messed up and creative and capable of wonderful things. It honestly makes me praise God that He made creatures like us. Creatures that are so capable of emotions and actions and thoughts and words that effect each other in such trivial and profound ways.
On the flip side, I hate it so much when I fail to be honest. I hate it a little bit less when other people fail to be honest. I'm mildly disgusted or moved to apathy when I see a piece of art (a movie, a song, a book, a poem, etc.) that fails to be honest. This is just a piece of honesty.
The ritual of asking "How are you?", when we see a friend, has become so trite. It really has lost all its power as a question. It just doesn't perform its function well at all. A question is an interrogative sentence used to gain information in reply. Ideally, the information sought should be true. It should be sincere. But "how are you?" doesn't cut it because nobody ever wants to answer truthfully. So we answer with "fine" or "okay" or "living" or something equally banal. It's just another facet of life that has lost all vestiges of honesty.
I honestly hope that I can do better at my sincerity. Good afternoon.
One of my roommates has gotten me into a public radio show called "This American Life". I've always been a bit suspicious of NPR or anything like it, having heard it been called "communist radio" growing up. However, the show isn't a political platform. It just tells stories of American lives. It's a pretty honest title, right? And it's the honesty that I love.
I'm not talking about telling the truth. I'm not talking about simply not lying. Honesty is much too massive an idea for those correct, but ultimately parochial, assumptions. Honesty is sincerity. Stated negatively, honesty is not pretending to be something else. Honesty is one of the most attractive things in life.
I love it when a person is honest. I love it when a book is honest. I love it when a movie is honest. Honesty is naked humanity and humanity is messed up and creative and capable of wonderful things. It honestly makes me praise God that He made creatures like us. Creatures that are so capable of emotions and actions and thoughts and words that effect each other in such trivial and profound ways.
On the flip side, I hate it so much when I fail to be honest. I hate it a little bit less when other people fail to be honest. I'm mildly disgusted or moved to apathy when I see a piece of art (a movie, a song, a book, a poem, etc.) that fails to be honest. This is just a piece of honesty.
The ritual of asking "How are you?", when we see a friend, has become so trite. It really has lost all its power as a question. It just doesn't perform its function well at all. A question is an interrogative sentence used to gain information in reply. Ideally, the information sought should be true. It should be sincere. But "how are you?" doesn't cut it because nobody ever wants to answer truthfully. So we answer with "fine" or "okay" or "living" or something equally banal. It's just another facet of life that has lost all vestiges of honesty.
I honestly hope that I can do better at my sincerity. Good afternoon.
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