Craftsmanship + Beauty

These two chapters have possibly been the most difficult for me to read so far. . .  Not because of the language or ideas, but because something about them just feels stingy to me. After reading this chunk, I felt like I'd just heard a really cheesy sermon from an ultra conservative pastor.

However, there are some key points that I did appreciate and agree with:

• "Before the Fall a standard was set for the skilled mastering of the. . .'stuff' of creation'" (125). 

When God made the world, he made it WELL. He didn't skimp out on anything, not even us. There was beauty all around, and that was good. When I think about this, I'm so captivated by the image of our untainted earth -- but also of the remnants leftover which sing with evidence of God's reality (ex. things like the way light shines through leaves, and the ways the human body operates). Because of this, I realize that as a Christian artist there are high standards set for the work I do. It's not that what I make must be perfect, but that as I create I should hold myself to a standard which seeks perfection (if I am seeking to be like God). I believe I am called to interact respectfully with the materials I have access to. Page 139 says, "With every gift comes the requirement to use it well." 

• ". . .the Bible only speaks of God creating, never people" (128). 

I have to wonder, can we actually create something -- or are we simply rearranging creation? Everything on this earth (manmade or natural) is a product of whatever God first left for us. 

Therefore, when I create something I believe I'm simply imitating the act of creation which God first invented. I have to remind myself that whatever spark of creativity or original idea I have is something to praise God for, because he is the reason that part of my life can exist. I owe him all my thanks because he allows me to create with that which he first created, by shaping and combining substances in various ways. McCleary says, that if we wish to mimic God, we must do things well and that, ". . .we might find guidance for our own 'creations' by looking at aspects of His'" (129).

Mudshark Studios, making art out of natural materials from the earth (clay)

• "Your work will only be as good as the art you have seen over and over" (136).

An image by Ansel Adams, a great photographer I admire.

This point struck me pretty hard. During my time at Fox, I've experienced repeatedly the push to be following + connecting with other artists as consistently as possible. At first, it just seemed like a hassel. However, as I got through various art history classes and started forming a list (a very long list now) of artists I admire from prehistoric through contemporary eras, I have realized that my ability to see and create art well has drastically improved. I am constantly inspired by the work of others, and I have learned so much through my observations (as well as practice, of course). I think that it's crucial to be engaging with other work. 

An image by Vivian Meier, a photographer whose work I consistently study

Finally, to avoid getting too lengthy in this post, I'll just list one of the reasons I felt this bit of reading was contrived. After all the advice within these chapters, I still found myself asking: What is beautiful? What is magnificent? I felt that the book has a narrow view of beauty, claiming that Christian art has a standard someone detached from reality. However, I don't think beauty is as simple as the authors explain it.

This may seem strange, but this place (pictured below) is what revives me most.

Vaughn Bay, feat. the dock at my childhood home. Photo taken by me, summer 2015. 

It looks lovely in this photo, but this dock is actually real rickety (to the point where it may not actually be safe to walk on), often covered in seagull poo, and sprouting with splinters. The water is muggy and swirls with boat oil in the mornings, and its construction was paid for with stolen money. However, it's my symbol. More than anything else, this dock embodies by greatest insecurity, truest joy, deepest regret, and strongest sense of identity. It's tainted with my extended family's strange history, but I absolutely adore it.

The thing is, it wasn't constructed well. It wasn't created by Christians, and I'm one of the few Christians who truly admires it. According to the book, I don't feel like the authors would be able to call it beautiful. But if I had to label one object on earth as beautiful, this might be it. So I guess I just feel a little unsettled, like I've been shut down by a close-minded evangelical or something.