Mostly about how I want to be Tolkien

Someone asked me recently what I was doing artistically lately. I dislike update posts, partly because I think, "it's none of your business, Mr. Internet." Also, I find writing update posts to be rather depressing for me. I suppose I'm afraid of being judged. I don't often measure up to cultural ideas of happiness or success. This is my life right now. I don't mind it, but it might look different from the outside.

However, the question reminded me that I do want to write about what I am up to artistically. But I have to find a balance between shameless self promotion, and the more reclusive and secretive impulses of my introvert personality.

I haven't expounded upon the glories of Tolkien on this blog nearly as often as I should. I shall take this opportunity.

I think one of the reasons I love Tolkien's work is that he has captured and explored, in some of his works, a particular creative experience with which I identify. Lord of the Rings is his most celebrated work, but to me, The Silmarillion is Tolkien's richest and most personal work. Having read The Sil a few times, I feel like I know where Tolkien himself is peering out of his creations. There is a part of him that I can understand like a good friend.

Detail of a painting of Aule by Ted Nasmith.

There is this wonderful little story about a powerful artist, named Aule, who is inspired to attempt a creative act far beyond his power. He has a burning impatience, and an abundance of love and knowledge that he wants to communicate, somehow, to someone. His timing is bad, and he is less than competent to achieve his goal. In pursuit of his goal, he must submit his creations to a higher creative power, whom he is imitating. Realizing that his imitations are unworthy, and that imitation might be presumptuous of him, Aule tries to destroy his work, though he weeps as he does it. But the higher power steps in to save Aule's work, imperfect as it is, and completes it, filling in for the artist's incompetence.

I write, and sing, and draw, and make ceramics* because of a sort of pressure. I have all this energy which comes from beauty that I see, and people I love, and truth that is earth shaking, and from the painful joy and sorrow of just being alive. I am hopelessly incompetent to express or otherwise relieve this pressure. I can't wait until I am skilled enough to realize my vision. I'm not even patient enough to get a firm idea of what my vision is, or think it through. I suppose I will spend a large part of my life trying to develop patience and discipline. In my pride, I imagine that someone really needs a mug that I am making, or that my story will change the world. At some point, however, I become keenly aware that all my creative efforts will mean nothing if I do not offer them to God. I am jealous and somewhat in love with what I make. But the truth is, no one needs to hear ZitaLouise sing, unless it can help them seek the face of God. All my inspiration has its meaning in God; the art must also. But of course, when I adjust my intentions to God's glory, I find that nothing I have ever made with hand, or voice, or mind can ever be worthy, or capable, for that matter, of playing even a small part in this story. On the other hand, my incompetence is no excuse for withholding my poor attempts. Some grace must fill in the rest. I make my pitiful offering and then it isn't mine anymore.

I can't help but think that Tolkien identified with Aule at least as much as I do. Tolkien articulates what I could not, but perhaps the two of us felt the same. Perhaps there are lots of people who have this rather maddening relationship with God and their creations. Perhaps I can connect with them by making something that also echos that story.

So, lately I have had limited space in my house for painting or drawing. But I have had studio time at the local potters guild. So I have been making mugs. It is a slow start, but it is a se

ed that I think can grow. One has to start somewhere.

In search of a stable source of inspiration to focus and motivate my work, I am making mugs inspired by Tolkien. Tolkien's world is rich with cultures and characters and when I read it, I feel as though it were a real place that exists, somehow. I would like to go there and bring back a souvenir. I am trying to make mugs that either look as though they might belong to someone, or reflect and represent a person or place in Tolkien's world.

Artistically, it is a great design problem. How do I convey humility in a mug? Can I make this mug look brave and friendly at the same time? How do I express wildness and danger without sacrificing the functionality of this mug?

As a work of fan devotion, it is a lot of fun. What kind of mug would Gandalf drink out of? What would Gandalf look like if he were a mug? It makes me feel like I'm somehow part of that world. If not adding to it's imaginary existence, at least making the magic last a little longer after I close the book.

I'm hoping that somewhere out there, there are other human beings who would like to continue the Tolkien magic by drinking out of a hobbit mug. I am selling my Tolkien mugs on Etsy. You can see my shop here, if you want. My big impractical dream is to make lots and lots of Tolkien inspired ceramics, jewelry, drawings and other art. For now, all I've got is a few mugs. In all honesty, most of what is up there are drafts and essays of the designs I want to make. Perhaps someday I will get there. The part where these simple, imperfect mugs somehow lift hearts and minds to God is out of my hands. I pray that somehow it works out that way.

*I need a better layman's verb for the act of making ceramic art. I'd just say "I throw pots," but that is both limiting, since I rarely make "pots," and too violent when taken literally. Anyone know a better word?

Loves me, loves me not.

A friend recommended this book because it is written by a professor who has a vocation to the single life. The book, ironically, is about romantic relationships. I think I am done reading books on this topic for the next few months.

Loves Me, Loves Me Not.
The Ethics of unrequited love.
by Laura A. Smit

This book seeks to answer the questions surrounding the experience of unrequited love in the context of the Christian life. The author looks at the process and trajectory of relationships that end in rejection from the point of view of both the reject-er and the rejected party and asks what purpose this experience has in a Christian's life. Is it just a sad consequence of sin? Does loving someone who doesn't love you back mean that you didn't really love them? That God didn't want you to love them? When you reject someone, are you displeasing God?

Author Larua A. Smit starts by defining love, God's plan for love, and the effects of sin on that plan. She writes about what a virtuous love, mutual or otherwise looks like, vrs. a love that is tainted or crippled with vice. She goes on to examine the influences of American culture on our romantic imaginations; on the script, as it were; the story that the culture tells us that we try to conform our lives to.
Finally, she analysis different responses and ways of dealing with the role of reject-er and rejected, trying to find the most godly one.

I think that her conclusion is that holy love, the kind that mirrors God's love, is always good, even when it is not returned. The experience of being in love, and seeing beauty in the beloved is a glimpse of the glory that will be revealed in all of us in heaven, which comes from the image of God in all of us. Christians should work, and pray to conform their love to God's love, which loves regardless of whether we love him in return or not. Love that is rejected especially can be turned to a longing and desire for the beauty of God that we see in the beloved who does not return our love.

While I was reading, I was constantly thinking of friends that I know who would relate to or appreciate the book in some way. If you are a friend of mine, and we have ever talked about relationships, or friendship and love, I would recommend this book to you. It was a really good read.

Here follows the parts that struck me the most in relation to my own vocation and experience.

Protestant Professor Smit makes some arguments that are probably shocking to her Protestant audience. I expect some cold water in the face whenever I read about romantic relationships. Such reality checks are necessary in this topic. I'm used to reading a very unromantic debunking of the soul mate myth. Smit addresses this, and also tosses a different glass of cold water. She argues that all Christians should assume that they will never marry until proved otherwise. It was kind of interesting to read as a Catholic, because I have grown up with the understanding that celibacy is a healthy and laudable option, and I have seldom heard celibacy defended to a Christian audience that would challenge it as Smit's Protestant audience might. In Catholic circles we hear that celibacy is a special calling (that may be superior in some way to the vocation of marriage, but that is usually down played) for a few, and the rest of us are called to advance the kingdom of God through marriage and family life. Generally the result is that we all assume we have a vocation to marriage, and we are all obligated to honestly check in with God to see if he has something else in mind for us.
So here is a Protestant professor claiming that single life is the default vocation and the burden of proof must now rest with the one who is asking you out.

I am not sure that I agree with her all the way. But I sure liked the idea that I don't have an obligation to try out a relationship with any good upstanding Christian man who asks me out with godly intentions. Instead of the burdensome (in my mind) assumption that every relationships between single adults of opposite sexes has this explosive potential to be a romantic relationship, she offers a community where everyone assumes nothing more than friendship is ever intended. That sounds like a great idea to me. But it is, of course, a rather far off hypothetical ideal. In that ideal world, I bet people who spend less time writing about romance and more time writing about friendship, which is, in my not so humble opinion, the lost art of our culture.

Sometimes I feel a little inhuman because the parts of the book that are about romance, building relationships, relationship advice, interest me in the way that hearing about Buddhism interests me: it's very fascinating in the abstract, but I really have no desire to try it, and can't actually relate much, accept from situations I have been outside of, watching. It's like I'm the wrong kind of being to get into that. Most of the book is about people who want to be in relationships and cause themselves and other a lot of pain. My self centered, smug, and cynical voice says "or you could just be friends and avoid all this nonsense." So I have to admit that I am completely ignorant when it comes to the desire to be married, or even just in a committed relationship that may lead to marriage.

The part of the book that reminded me of myself and my attractions to people in the past was near the end when she was talking about the after effects of a rejection. What do you do with the love that you feel for someone who won't love you back? The answer is complicated, but gratitude is the eventual end point. God leads the rejected love to gratitude for the glimpse of the image of God that has been seen, gratitude for the love that can continue to transform the lover for the better.
That has always been my experience of having a crush. I have never felt more than a faint desire to admit my affection to the object thereof. Mostly I have longed to spend time with the person as a friend. I distinctly remember getting up in the morning and sincerely thanking God that the man I was attracted to existed in the world and that I got to exist in the same place once in a while and bask in the light of God reflected off him. (This is the part where all my friends laugh and shake their heads at the idea of Zita Lousie that far gone. Some of you remember.) I had it pretty bad. But I really didn't want anything but friendship. Can you have a friend crush? By that I don't mean a crush on a friend, but a crush that longs for Philia instead of Eros. Anyway, it was a completely pleasant experience, until it was clear we couldn't even be friends because I was no longer going to be in the same place as him. I seem to have missed out on all the pain and soul searching that was supposed to make me a better person. I don't know whether to feel cheated or blessed.

At the end of the book, Smit called out the Protestant community for disparaging the single life, in their attempt to honor marriage. I appreciated that little afterward. The Catholic community could hear that one also, in so far as we have as much trouble as our Protestant brothers and sisters when it comes to integrating single people into the community outside of religious life. I have been surprised at how uncomfortable people tend to be when I tell them I don't intend to marry, or join an order. They do tend to think I will grow out of it, that I'm just not ready yet. I suppose that may be the case. But I'm not going to wait around for it, and neither should my Christian community.

Are we mice or are we men?

The very things that hold you down are going to lift you up.

There are sixteen animated movies on my time line that feature a significant character who is a mouse or a rat. That's not a particularly high number. Even if I threw in some children's live action movies like Stewart Little, I don't think the numbers would compare to the number of musicals, or movies featuring orphans. I think they beat the number of princess movies, however, and their prominence is at least as persistent. Mickey Mouse, of course, showed up in short films pretty early on. Dumbo (1941) might have the first major mouse character in full length animated movie history. They are sprinkled rather spottily throughout the time line: a trend that keeps coming back. The latest rebirth of this theme was in 2008.

When an animator personifies an animal, they are either using the animal as a metaphor for some aspect of human experience, or a kind of journey that a human person can be on. Some animals are such symbols in our cultural imagination that they reappear over and over in stories that resonate with certain parts of the human experience. Mice and Rats are two such animals. They are more than just a fun idea for an animator to play with, they are archetypes.

In the movies we watched, and in others with which I am familiar, mice are often a symbol of the human experience of fear; smallness. Individuals feel inconsequential or helpless in a world too large and dangerous for them. But the stories that we tell about mice are ones in which the mice characters use great resourcefulness and courage to overcome a problem larger than themselves. They tent to be David and Goliath stories.

Rats, on the other hand, seem to have a nurture vs. nature complex, or a nature vs. grace story to tell. They are naturally scavengers, or thieves if you want to characterize it morally as they do in Ratatouille, and represent dishonesty, disease and evil in the human imagination. Their stories often center around this conflict of being who they are naturally, or rising above nature to live a more honorable life.
Generally, when there are mice and rats in the story together (like, say, The Great Mouse Detective), the mice are a more noble, less violent version of a rat. This is sort of an unquestioned fact of nature... or it might be racism.

In the eighties and early nineties one of a few big non-Disney names in animation was Don Bluth. 

Mr. Bluth is an interesting character. He also makes some very interesting films. Two significant ones feature mice and rats.

We watched Bluth's The Secret of NIMH (1982) and An American Tail (1986) (and also Anastasia as a non-Disney Princess).

The third film we watched was The Tale of Despereaux (2008).

NIMH and Despereaux both featured a side by side comparison of rats and mice and everything they symbolize.

In NIMH, the rats in the story have been altered in a laboratory to have human intelligence. They express it in terms of being able to read and use electricity, but the implication is that they now have moral agency. They have eaten the forbidden fruit and can know good and evil. Yeah. As plot premises go, this is big stuff. Their community is at a turning point. They must decide to act morally, at great sacrifice, or act on their unaltered rat nature and continue to steal and act violently.

The mouse protagonist, Mrs. Brisby, we must presume is not genetically altered, though we learn that her husband was. In which case we must assume that her moral responsibility is a part of her unaltered mouse nature. They acts with great courage, facing several larger animal who are directly threatening to her. I think the Owl is the scariest. On a side note, Mrs. Brisby is one of very few, if not the only animated protagonist who is a mother of several children. She is motivated to these feats of courage, determination and resourcefulness by love for her youngest child, who is sick, and the memory of her late husband. She is clearly terrified for most of the movie. But she pushes on. She ultimately inspires the rat community to chose the path of honesty and compassion.

The Tale of Despereaux features a mouse and a rat who are anomalies in their communities if not their whole species. Despereaux is a mouse who somehow never developed the natural tendency to be afraid of everything. Instead, he is enamored of a knightly nobility and honorable lifestyle. Roscuro is rat who is not naturally malicious or dishonest, but ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time and sets off a chain of events that makes a lot of people miserable.

Despereaux is banished for his oddness. Roscuro is adopted by a rat community who is determined to teach him to be cruel.

Roscuro eventually succumbs and decides to live according to his society's less than noble expectations for him as a rat. Honest mistakes lead to malicious revenges and more misunderstandings.

Despereaux is the chink in the pattern that lets grace into the story. The screen writers express this grace as forgiveness. The chain of hurt and malice is broken because one mouse inspires the people around him to rise above their natures or the stereotypes by which they judge each other, and forgive each other.

An American Tail was among my favorite movies when I was little. Right up there with The Little Mermaid. And both these movies held my attention mostly because of the music. I was pleased to find that An American Tail stands up to an adult viewing very well. I still like the score a lot. But I digress.

The protagonist of American Tail, Fievel, is similar to Despereaux in that he seems to defy his nature by being virtually fearless. Well, Fievel shows more fear than Despereaux who really seems to have been born without a fear gene, but Fievel's main attribute is clearly curiosity and resourcefulness. He needs a shot of courage also in order to get through the journey he is on in the story, but mostly, he gets by in a kind of clever oblivion to the danger he is in. My explanation for his unquenchable spirit was that he can't be much older than six.

This story is more explicitly a metaphor or allegory of human experience. Specifically, it shows, amazingly for one movie, a wide rang of early twentieth century American immigrant experience. From high and unrealistic hopes of America as a promise land in which there are not cats, to name changes in Ellis Island. Some of the themes explored, or at least nodded at are discrimination, separation, wide ethnic and social diversity, exploitation, and even the emotional distance families attempted to maintain while they grieve for a lost loved one, the loss of their old way of life, and dashed hopes. It's really pretty heavily packed with history and images of the American experience. And the characters that must collaborate to assert their freedom in America are mice. It is really a celebration of the human spirit that can rise up even under the immense oppression of being a stranger in a strange land. 

We keep coming back to mice and rats because they remind us that we are capable of making a difference, rising above our flawed nature, and facing challenges far greater than we think we can overcome. They might be a southern symbol of Northern Courage. Mice tell us that courage is possible. Rats tell us that redemption is possible.

Conventions of the Disney Princess movie

This last spring break my dear friend Heidi and I had a long phone conversation about movies (as often happens when Heidi and I have long conversations). We discussed children's animated movies, specifically; comparing the movies we hated or loved as children compared to the ones we love or hate now. We talked about how surprisingly dark some of them get, how there were a lot of super heros and villains recently, and how talking mice keep showing up in all sorts of decades. Wouldn't it be interesting to plot them all out and trace the trends. And we need to watch some of these together.

Because we are complete dorks, (and because I enjoy taking light things very seriously) we spend the next few weeks e-mailing each other lists of movies produced by all sorts of animation studios. When I got home, we started making a time line with tiny movie posters of some highlights of America's (and other countries) full length animated movies for children.

These last few weeks, leading up to the opening of Pixar's Brave in theaters, we have been watching Princess Movies. This is the oldest and most iconic sub-genre of animated movies for children. Snow White, after all, is the first in many categories besides being the first Disney princess. It is a grand tradition not so much because there are a lot of them, or because they are consistently spread throughout the history of animated children's movies. (According to my very geeky time line, there is a gap of thirty years between Sleeping Beauty and The Little Mermaid.) Princess are a grand tradition because they have usually been memorable. Whether you love them or hate them, these animated women have had an impact of our culture, especially on girls, since Snow White first sang into a wishing well.

Merrida has joined this glittering company. I have to wonder, does she fit in?

We put together a list of characteristics of the genre, after watching some of the most iconic films. Let's see how Brave measures up.

1) Talking to animals: I have yet to meet a Disney Princess who does not have a special relationship with animals. Birds, horses, crabs, rabbits, dogs and mice have been their companions, to name just a few. In the early Disney Princess movies, this seemed to be some symbol of goodness. Animals, especially small cute ones, sense the innocence or kindness of the princess and flock to her, trusting her. Later it is not so much that the animals reaction to her is a sign of her goodness, but her treatment of animals is indicative of her virtue. 

Merida has a horse as a companion (and also a special relationship with some other creatures -wink-). In this case, the horse actually seems to symbolize her spirit of adventure rather than her kindness. But they clearly have a trusting relationship as is evident when Angus (the horse) follows her down a dark and scary path which he would rather have avoided.

2) Singing: Every princess movie I have ever seen includes at least one song in the princess's voice. A few princess movies highlight the voice of a princess as one of her charms. If we were to make a list of important characteristics of female characters in Disney for the first fifty or even sixty years of the studio's existence, we could mark down a lovely singing voice as a key one. This characteristic can be grouped with lovely hair* and pretty dresses. They are the superficial packaging that makes a Disney princess marketable. Sometimes watching a princess movie, I sense that the designer gave a lot of thought to how the ball gown was going to be eye candy and distinctive and marketable to lots of little girls in Disneyland. 

Pixar plays with these conventions. Brave isn't a musical. Merida sings in a flashback with her mother, which is a sweet and touching scene, and perhaps a nod at this convention. But maybe not. Merida has her own special take on the hair and clothing convention also. Similarly, it feels like she might not be doing it on purpose.
 If Disney Princesses gave you unrealistic expectations for hair, Merida is either a proud promoter of this tradition, or a very real picture of what it would be like to have hair like a Disney Princess. Her hair is wild and tangled and impossibly bright red. It's very pretty. But it's a mess.
Merida doesn't wear men's clothing to have an adventure (like Mulan does). Nor does she get a glorious presentation moment when we see her in a pretty dress from a man's point of view (which is common in the other princess movies). Her beauty is never explicitly pointed out that way. Her mother dresses her up by covering her hair, practically tying her up to meet some standard of beauty. This fails because it sacrifices too much of who Merida is. That dress gets literally torn up. Then she spends the rest of the movie in a dress that she is comfortable adventuring in.
Merida makes no effort to fit in with her glittering, tiara wearing sisters. But she pulls it off by being herself. I really appreciate this about her.

3) House hold chores:  Heidi pointed out that along with unrealistic hair, Disney Princesses movies also often depict a routine of household chores set to music. Dancing with a broom, or, famously, getting the woodland creatures to help you tiny up the house, is a lovely idea, but it is somewhat deceiving compared to the actual experience of cleaning house (never mind getting anyone, human or otherwise, to help you). Feminists complain, with some grounds, that this propagates the patriarchal idea that a woman belongs in the house only. I don't really hold with that. I try to work on a movie by movie base. I think done properly, it can celebrate the kind of work that many women do, whether or not it is the only work they can, or should do. The fact that so many of these women are princesses gives a kind of dignity to house work, even when the princess is forced to do it by evil powers that be, such as wicked step mothers. 

Pixar even nodded to this tradition, twice. First in a montage where we see all the activities and lessons in which Merida is forced to participate against her will. They are not all house hold cleaning type chores, but they are women's work. In this case Merida finds them boring and odious. Later in the movie, however, she makes breakfast for her mother. This might have been my favorite sequence in the movie. She essentially teaches her mother how to make a meal in the wilderness, a domestic skill which her mother has somehow failed to master. Classic.

4) The romantic interest: For every princess, there is a prince. This is the rule of princess movies. Even if the lovers are not going to be together forever at the end of the movie, he is a major part of the story. 

And then there is Merida. Pixar nodded at this convention by including an arranged marriage conflict. But, unlike most other arranged marriage centered princess stories, they offer no "Mr. Right" as alternatives to the sadly lacking suitors Queen Eleanor invites to compete for Merida's hand. Merida remains happily single and the boys have some growing up to do before they can win her heart. This makes the feminist in me very happy.

So, Brave did what I hoped it would do in relation to the Princess movie tradition. Merida is a believable teen age girl. She is interesting and beautiful and fiercely her own person. She fits in, and stands out, just as she should.


We had some interesting discussions and observations about all sorts of things as we watched Princess movies. Perhaps I will find a way to write about some of it. But this will be all for now.

This week, we will start watching movies about mice.

When Pixar shoots wide.

Here follows my thoughts Pixar's Brave, which came out yesterday. I've tried to avoid spoilers, but they may have slipped in. If you don't read any further to avoid knowing too much too soon; the movie is worth seeing. All Pixar movies tend to be worth the ticket price for the visuals alone. This year's short film was Pixar at its best. And now to the main attraction.

Brave is about two women learning to be fully human. Merida learns to respect and live the kind of feminine grace and diplomacy that her mother displays. Queen Eleanor learns to respect her daughter's resourcefulness, courage and spirit of adventure. There were some great moments. The details of the world and the way the story was told were lovely and wonderful as usual.

Image from the Brave Facebook page

However, taking a step back and looking at the structure of the story, this one was far from the well crafted, water tight piece of art that Pixar has given us with movies like Up. They were just off their mark. I have a few theories for what went wrong.

First of all, the central point of conflict is a very old trope. Everyone in the audience knows that by the end of the movie, Queen Eleanor is not going to make her daughter go through with her traditional arranged marriage. The problem is, when the moment comes, we are not exactly sure how that change of heart came about. There is no connection between anything that has happened so far, and this moment of complete 180. This is very unlike Pixar. When a character has such a huge change of heart, it is usually very clear where it comes from. The words she actually uses to break off the engagement sound strange and cliché.

So, it seems to me that the arranged marriage trope got in their way. If the central conflict had been something more directly relating to the journey that they are both on, completing their imbalanced characters, they might have pulled off a good character arch. There are few things so universally unacceptable in America as an arranged marriage. Perhaps if the Queen had demanded that Merida do something that was a little more ambiguous culturally, the story would have been less predictable and the character arches more believable.

And speaking of imbalanced characters, the other serious problem with this movie is, ironically, the male characters. There was all this hype about Pixar finally doing a movie with female protagonists. I was really happy to see it because they have given us really strong characters of both sexes, but no women in title roles. So, they gave us their usual respect and depth to their two female leads, and all the men in the story were insultingly stereotyped. We have no reason to respect the King except that he is bigger and stronger than all the other men. He is no help to either main character, and he makes things worse most of the time. Merida's journey starts from a point where she appreciates all of her father's traits, and none of her mothers. It is clear that this is a fault in Merida. Her parents are set up as a beauty and beast couple, and Merida only admires the beast.

I really wish that the father had shown the kind of balance in his character that the women in the story are journeying towards.  If her father had actually had some of her mother's traits as well, the contrast would have been less sexed. The movie seems to say, it's alright for her father to be a belching cave man who is good with fighting and eating but pretty hopeless in every other aspect of life. But women ought to be smart and dignified, as well as brave.

I can't imagine why such flaws got past the Pixar story team. It is so unlike them. I wonder if the politics of making a princess movie in a culture where princess movies are at least highly charged, if not politically incorrect put so much pressure on the story tellers that they couldn't be free to work their usual magic. If that is the case, I just hope they can shake it off and get back to writing solid stories with real characters again.

"That's not Art. I could do that!"

I tend to like small bits of my paintings.
This makes me think I should work small

 On my last day of college classes, I dropped Mintos in a pop bottle and watched it spout like a fountain. I listened to a children's book read aloud while glass bottles shattered against a wall behind me. I played toss with a ball of yarn around a tree. I finger painted. I threw paper airplanes around an amphitheater while shouting iconic lines from popular movies.

I'm an art major.

Drawing of John, before I knew him.

Did I think it was fine art? That's actually kind of irrelevant. I don't really care if it was art or not. Did it have a purpose? Yes, we were experimenting with time and space. We were creating an illusion of an experiences the same way a painter can create a visual illusion on a canvas. Do I realize that the previous sentence will sound like nonsense to most people? Yes. Yes it sounds nonsensical. You will have to take my word for the legitimacy of these activities.

Ink Wash!!

I'm not taking much of my art portfolio home with me. Today I gave away all of my paintings to two class mates who will paint over them and use the canvas for their own art. I gave away a bunch of ceramics too. And I got home to find a giant pile of 18x24 sketch books that also won't fit well on a train.

I struggled, these years of studying art, to invest myself in my work while remaining open enough to learn and make valuable mistakes. I erred on the side of not caring. I also struggled with why I was majoring in art. Thought I never wished for a moment that I was majoring in something else, I still feel like I am not quite an artist. I am not really part of the In crowd. I never managed to have a conversations with my some of my art teachers in which we both understood the question and the answer. Perhaps I kept the outsider attitude about art majors, even while I was one. I never took my own art very seriously. I am very serious about the craft part of it. But I never had any illusions about my work being "fine art." Perhaps I'm what my painting teacher called (with some condecension, bordering on scorn) a "paint-on-Sundays" artist. Not a "fine artist" at all. I think I'm okay with that, for now.

Slightly Splotched Victory
Over Pen and Ink

Whenever I was given a choice, I picked media that I was the least comfortable with, and subjects that were challenging. I repeated projects until I got closer to what I wanted to accomplish. I think I worked pretty hard. I know that I only scratched the surface and that I will have to keep working for many more years before I am a master of any of these skills.

A sheet nailed to a cork board.
Definition of "a study"

My violin teacher once told me that as I continued to play my instrument, I would slowly become aware of smaller and smaller movements of the muscles in my fingers; the tension and release of smaller and smaller muscles. At first I am concerned that I put my fingers down in the right place. Later on, I am aware that I should only let the tip of my finger hit the fingerboard. Then, I find that I can do that better if my wrist is pulled back at a particular angle. The subtlety goes on forever. But even after all that, it's not art unless I can simultaneously engage something much bigger than myself. An idea must be expressed through all this fine subtlety. To be an artist, you have to have something more than skill. Drive to keep working is what I usually call that other component. Talent might be a third part. But I don't know how that works at all, so I am not going to worry about it. Similarly, "art" is more than a drawing (or object) that is well executed.

Another small part of a "study" in color.

None of my "art" as a student here was more than studies. Most of it wasn't breaking any traditional art conventions, and it still wasn't "art." I was just working on the skill set. A recording of a musician, no matter how talented, playing scales is not particularly exciting, and it isn't quite "music." So I wasn't particularly sad to get rid of my paintings or my pottery. They served their purpose and I take the lessons learned home with me to apply them to other projects.

The rest of this painting was kind of blah.
But I was really excited about that bottle when I got it to look like a bottle.

So, that begs the question, what next, now that I am done being an art major? I think I might be an artist some day. (I don't know about a "Fine Artist." They seem to be a rather pretentious lot.) I think I have a skill set now that I didn't before. I certainly have a better (if incomplete) understanding of art history under my belt, which is really helpful in answering a lot of those "what is art" type questions. Here is where talent and drive really come into the picture. Will I have the drive to apply my skills to some kind of project that might be art? And, will I have the talent to do so successfully? I'm really quite interested to find out.

I have no idea what this is. Charcoal and chalk.

A Question of Identity

Recently my school has been celebrating its 125 anniversary. As part of that celebration, we have been discussing our identity as a Catholic liberal arts school. Somehow (not really sure how this happened) I was chosen to speak about Catholic identity on a panel of student. I attended three other lectures about it throughout this last quad, did a lot of thinking, reading, and a lot of casual discussing with professors and other students about it. I started out with a bunch of conflicting ideas and questions. By the time I had to speak, I had a whole new set of questions bouncing around, but I managed to work a lot of what I had been thinking about into my presentations, which I have posted below. The actual panel discussion went pretty well, although we barely scratched the surface. I hope the conversation continues and goes as well next year.

            I transferred to Aquinas College from a larger community college in one of the most unreligious states in the nation. As soon as I walked on campus here, I was aware and so very grateful to be at a small, Catholic college. It was a relief to be in an environment where faith and reason were not assumed to be at odds. Most importantly, I would have a community here that supported me as a whole person.

            George Weigle talked about how the distinct role of the Catholic college is to study and uphold the meaning and value of the human person. If the school succeeds in that, every student who walks on this campus will feel that respect. There are many places and people on campus who make this work. One good example is a class with Dr. Chesley. He walks into the class and reminds us that we are "Persons of quality." Even if we think it's a joke at first, our level of respect for ourselves and our class mates has been raised.

            However, this challenge of upholding the human person isn't something that we can check off our list as long as people are nice to each other. We have to be in a constant state of evaluation as we engage the world around us. As Weigle pointed out, the dominant culture tends to measure a person's value in utilitarian terms. Even while we study the messier side of humanity; all the things that can go wrong in the human body, mind, heart, and society, we have to preserve a firm belief that each human person has a dignity so deep that nothing can dislodge or diminish it. As a Catholic school, we have to boldly ask, “Do our activities, speakers, policies, and studies celebrate, or degrade the human person?”

            Sister Reid spoke about this kind of evaluation being part of the Dominican charism of study. We must evaluate our world by study and prayer, which become almost inseparable. She described a Dominican balance of personal study and reflection, and bringing the fruits of that to the community to draw from the wisdom, history and teachings of the Church. The Catholic church has all of this experience and history recorded for our education. There are always new challenges, but it would be foolish to ignore this resource.

            There is a lot of talk about what should or should not happen at a Catholic school. These are often really hot button issues. We should have no shame about using Catholic teaching to evaluate these issues. This means listening, (not silencing) understanding, and then comparing the message in question to the one we stand for as a Catholic school. It is very valuable for us students to learn that process, even if we aren't Catholic. We are all going to be faced, in our lives, with choices about what we want to be involved in or support. We need to learn how to discern if something is consonant or dissonant with our most deeply held convictions. I'd call that critical thinking, which is, after all, one of those selling points for the liberal arts education.

            So, a Catholic school is not one where everyone is Catholic and there is no disagreement. A Catholic school is in constant discussion, study and prayer to find truth and love among all the disagreements. That is an environment in which the human person; mind, body, and soul, is respected.

Here are the other three talks I attended and make reference to. Professor Eberle, Sr. Barbara Reid, George Weigel!