craving paint

I’m craving paint.  And while, (thankfully!) it has nothing to do with eating, it’s a similarly intense mix of need and desire.  Rather than waxing eloquent about why I love paint so much (which I could easily do, and which is likely only interesting to a select few), let me just say this craving points to a whole lot more in our world at the moment than the tactile qualities of paint and color. 

It’s about making sense out of complex realities in an equally complex way.  Like in poetry or great fiction, or the Bach cello suite I’m listening to, great film or theater, when literal explanations are oversimplifications we need art.  I’m admittedly idealistic – which was much easier to pull-off when I was about 20 and had limited first-hand exposure to how complex life is.  However, it persists in me, thriving on opportunities, possibilities, optimism, great ideas for the future – pretty much anything that has not yet been directly touched by reality. 

Therefore, reality can be a tough competitor for my ideals to contend with.  Honestly, it can crush me with disappointment or more simply exhaust my passion.  My sweet husband in his efforts to protect me from such disappointments attempts to bring reality into the picture for me soon enough to keep my idealistic expectations in check.  I don’t always receive it graciously…

So in this grand struggle between ideals and realities, words, one-liners, quips, the “facts” all seem inadequate to order the experience. In good grad-school psych language, we try to “master and control” what we experience.  Funny thing that’s brought to light in that phrase is the knowledge that we simply cannot master and control our lives.  We live in dependence.  We are the ones Made and not the Maker.

I can’t speak for every painter, but I know what happens for me when I paint.  I work and struggle with colors and space and my brushes and my ideas, but at the same time another work is happening in me as all kinds of people and thoughts and pieces of puzzles in my experience come to mind to consider and pray over.  Somehow working on a painting creates space for the Lord to work on me at the same time.  I am brought into His mastery and control.  This is what I really crave: sanctuary and surrender.

the couch

Three years ago we moved out of our house and in with a friend.  We didn't bring our couch, but instead asked some other friends to "babysit" it for us. (which they did - again big thanks to the Pietzolds!)  We sort of assumed it would be too big to fit in a European apartment and wouldn't be able to come with us to Germany.  However, a European friend advised us differently.  The thing is, when our shipment arrived in December, our stairwell proved too small to fit the couch through.  So, it's been sitting at the Art Factory since December (thank you Holladays!) while we debated how to get it through our window.  Honestly, it wasn't very high on the priority list for a long time.  We finally decided to hire a company to bring this contraption:

an aufzug (lift) to get it through the window.  This is pretty customary in Europe... old buildings and moving aren't the easiest combo.  They came this morning at 7:30 am and set to work. They had to pull the trailer by hand from the nearby street to get to our windows. (That's a church you see in the background). 

 After they extended the lift and lined it up, they unfolded the platform, put our couch on it (it looked awfully wobbly) and started the lift.

 The guy on the inside scared me - he climbed up, stood on the window ledge and started tugging at the couch, eventually standing on the wobbly platform with the couch.  I could imagine either he or the couch falling...

 But all was well, and the couch is now in our living room!!!!!!  Just in case you haven't done the math, that's three years since we've been able to sit on our own couch..... we're a little excited.  It's just a couch.  It doesn't have any kind of eternal value, and we'd be just fine if we could never sit on it again, but it does bring us joy - like a really fun present.  So I've been thanking the Lord for it today, and for all the people that it brings to mind who have had some part in it being here as I rearrange and make our living room "home." (This also means that I will finally post the before and after pictures of our apartment soon.  I know some have wondered what our place is like.)

all done and heading back down

why are we in europe?

John spotted this article with videos (be sure to watch the videos) and it in a few minutes captures what we see here in Europe - and it makes our hearts ache.

Dutch rethink Christianity for a doubtful world

Here are a few key quotes:


"A study by the Free University of Amsterdam found that one-in-six clergy in the PKN [Protestant Church in the Netherlands] and six other smaller denominations was either agnostic or atheist."

Klaas Hendrikse: "You don't have to believe that Jesus was physically resurrected"

"Mr Hendrikse describes the Bible's account of Jesus's life as a mythological story about a man who may never have existed, even if it is a valuable source of wisdom about how to lead a good life."

Spelled out like this by BBC, I can only say that I'm even more compelled to be here in Europe, following a real Jesus, creating opportunities for people to see and know the person that He is.

If you have time, these podcasts by Timothy Keller offer beautifully articulated responses to just this kind of worldview.

How to Find the Way

Absolutism: don't we all have to find truth for ourselves?

language milestones

Learning German.... I don't know quite how to describe what it has been like.  Some combination of surreal, exhausting, exciting, facinating, tedious and overwhelming.  I still feel like I'm talking and listening from underwater when I'm speaking to a German person in German; I still have so many more words to learn before some of the haze of it all clears.  In the same breath, I've learned so much!  It's pretty remarkable, actually, what a person can learn in 9 months. What God did in creating our minds always dazzles me.  

So, I took my big government B1 language level certificate test on Friday (though I've actually studies to nearly the B2 level).  It marked the end of my planned time for formal German instruction.  The test seemed to go well, and the process of taking the test pointed out how much more I've learned in the past few months beyond B1.  So encouraging!

But I had reached another personal milestone in German language on Sunday that absolutely delighted me.  I drew during the German sermon!

 

I've been drawing my sermon "notes" in church for years.  When I started, it was a "why didn't I do this earlier?" kind of moment.  Years of struggling to keep my wandering thoughts focused while listening in church were so easily solved by simply drawing as I listened.  I have some rules for myself: draw 1) something I am directly observing in the moment 2) something related to the content of the teaching 3) if neither of those fit, draw designs that don't require me to generate ideas (that kind of thinking distracts me).

So far in Germany we've attended church primarily in German.  It takes so much concentration to understand anything, that I have been unable to draw while trying to decode German.  But this Sunday was different.  The man teaching had beautifully clear German; I could understand, and since I could also draw, I could stay engaged the whole time.  Such pleasure.  I've missed drawing in church - my own personal process with the Lord of taking in and understanding what He's teaching me.

I have drawn a couple of times at English services this year, so I included photos of those just for fun.

 

two months

um... no excuse for such a long pause!

And I know it would be ridiculous to try to "catch up" so I'm posting a fairly random collection of photos with explanations.  (and then hopefully simply getting back into the habit of posting... :))

 

We took a walk one Sunday afternoon to a little town just over the hill.  It happened to be the community Fire Department fest that day, so the fire trucks were all parked for viewing - including this old classic.

 

We couldn't help but think of all our firefighter friends...and wonder if any of their departments have Mercedes fire trucks.

 

The freshly shorn llama (or alpaca - I don't know the difference) was just too comical to pass without a photo.

  

We stepped out on the balcony one day to see this little bird just sitting there.  I took several photos as he just stared at me.  We guessed he was stunned from hitting the window or something.  Then he suddenly whizzed past my head and took off.  I was glad.  I don't think I would have had the heart to contend with it if he had been wounded and dying.

 

Friends were in town recently for a visit.  We drove a little ways across the border into France, where John got some great shots.  But that's not why I included this one of the cobblestones.  I put it in because we walk on them so often around here (not usually ones quite as old as in this particular photo), that they have already claimed the lives of TWO pairs of new shoes John arrived in Germany with.  Those nice cushy soles on American dress shoes were apparently not designed for all the jagged edges of cobble stones.  We are now on the hunt for European replacements...

For our driver's license tests we learned what the traffic signs mean, and in general we've kind of gotten a kick out of the graphics on the ones we see around us.  They have a sort of distinctive style that's appealing.  This one is saying that camping trailers aren't allowed....don't you love all those rounded shapes on the trailer?

 

This is on an old church - 1400's maybe?  The wood is obviously hand carved, and we were wondering just how old it is. Beautiful.

 

There are ways that although the landscape doesn't change dramatically, we can quickly tell we've crossed the border into France.  One thing I noticed in the small villages we drove through is that they aren't quite so "tidied up" as the German ones.  The buildings have been left as they are, and so in the old villages you are less likely to find renovated, brightly colored, modernized old houses in the mix.  There's something charming to me in these "dirty" French towns -- like maybe I feel a bit more like I stepped back in time.  How many history teachers did I have that said something to the effect of, "History smelled bad," as they tried to help us understand the reality of things like dumping sewage out the windows and the necessity of keeping Parisian trees a certain height for managing the odor?  I like seeing how many years and storms and wars and coal burning stoves and street torch lamps and mud from horse drawn carriages and everything else they've weathered. 

 

And this is just one stage of something I've been playing around with.  We'll see where it goes.

un-orthodox easter and why I think people paint crucifixions (part 2)

Quentin METSYS (Louvain, 1465/1466-Anvers, 1530)
The Moneylender and His Wife 1514

Finally.

So with the time lapse I've lost some of my thoughts, but maybe it will be good. I can give the main points without all the cluttery extra thoughts!

Easter morning found us in the Louvre. Not exactly church, but I went in knowing that I could very easily seek out and find images that would draw me in to both considering great Truth and worshiping God for His love for us - that He generously made us able to produce such beauty!

Samuel van HOOGSTRATEN - Dordrecht, 1626 - Dordrecht, 1678

View of an Interior, or The Slippers

I was at the Louvre one other time more than 10 years ago. That time I had researched online before going to select a few key pieces to see. I love Rembrandt, and so the Dutch Masters had been on my list. However, after spending quite a bit of time (and getting lost) trying to get to the Dutch Masters, I finally realized that whatever day of the week it was that we were there was they day of the week that particular wing is regularly closed. Bummer. Though along the way I had spotted some Near Easter work that caught my attention...

This time, I was determined to get to the Dutch and Flemish wing. So determined, ironically, that I missed the fact that there was a big special exhibit of Rembrandt's images of Christ. Sunday is a particularly busy day at the Louvre, but since we came in as it opened (skipping the line by using the Museum Pass) and bee-lined to the Dutch Masters, we were virtually alone in gallery after gallery. Bliss!

Abraham van DIEPENBEECK (Bois-le-Duc, 1596-Antwerp, 1675)
Christ on the Cross Adored by Eight Saints of the Dominican Order

Keenly aware of it being Easter, I tuned in specifically to the Crucifixion paintings. So interesting. I can think of so many Crucifixion images and so few Resurrection images. There are notable exceptions, and Ascension images aren't uncommon, but Crucifixion images take the lead. Why? Why does an artist chose a particular theme? Why out of all the moments in the Bible is the Crucifixion portrayed?

Lots of reasons and answers. Lots of them I learned in Art history classes that are really quite practical - like considering how many were made for Catholic churches or in monasteries where artists were commissioned to make images for the stations of the cross, or images to place at the altar for people to consider Christ's "body broken for you" as they partook of bread and wine.

Dieric BOUTS Haarlem, c. 1415 – Louvain, 1475
The Lamentation of Christ

As I was looking at the images, I also had this little phrase running through my head I've heard so many times as people have been offended by Crucifixes: "They left Him on the cross!" It's been used to say that somehow the triumph of Christ's resurrection and His grace have been overlooked. But somehow to me, debating over whether it's more "appropriate" to show the cross with Christ on it or empty is about as profitable as debating whether Christ's birth or His death and resurrection are more important. Each piece is critical to the whole story of God's redemptive work.

But back to Easter in the Louvre. It occurred to me that artists have leaned towards pictures of the Crucifixion because fundamentally we understand suffering. We grieve and we struggle. We feel the limits of our flesh and humanity, the frustrations and failures of it. And we watch death happen all around us. Artists have known how to paint pain. It makes me think of Chaim Potok's My Name is Asher Lev, where the key character, a Hassidic Jew, uses a Crucifix in one of his images because he can find no other suitable symbol of ultimate human suffering. This pain is so universal.

Attributed to the Master of the Expulsion of Hagar active in Leiden c. 1510-20

Christ Carrying the Cross

And don't we find such comfort and solace knowing that Christ had flesh like we do, suffered like we do, died like we will? I've definitely seen Crucifixion paintings that look like Hollywood versions - staged, romanticized, executed to achieve a formal goal without any consideration of the meaning. But I think most have been born from identifying with suffering and longing for God who knows us.

On the flip side, the resurrection is so fabulous - and so surreal. We don't really get that part all the way yet. We see and experience new life, triumph, glimpses of redemption - but not yet quite enough to really envision it in all it's profound complexity. Grunewald painted a Resurrection panel in his Isenheim altarpiece. It's a striking contrast to all the other panels - like something out of modern science fiction - clearly drawn from his imagination. How could it be otherwise?
Someday. Someday we'll see that part a bit better.

Mathias GRUNEWALD
Resurrection from the Isenheim Altarpiece

We did, by the way, get to see Rembrandts (a whole other stream of thoughts on that one!). A few were down in the special exhibit, but Bathsheba and a fabulous self-portrait were there for us to sit down on a bench and quietly enjoy at length. Just before we walked in to that particular gallery, a gentleman was enthusiastically explaining why this particular self-portrait was "the best" to the museum guard. So fun to watch him enjoy it, and equally fun to consider these museum guards who spend hours in front of these artworks. I wonder what they think?

Rembrandt
Self Portrait at an Easel 1669

un-orthodox easter and why I think people paint crucifixions (part 1)

I love Easter so much...

I love all the traditions that have been attached to it over the years for me (spending about 2/3rds of the day in church, family dinners, Easter clothes).

I love that it's been on my birthday sometimes.

I love the special events I've had attached to it: I was baptized on an Easter Sunday, we were engaged on an Easter weekend, I remember sitting on wooden benches and a dirt floor the first Easter Sunday we used our partially constructed church when I was a kid.

And I REALLY love what it's all about! Christ rising, conquering death, bringing life and hope...the triumph and celebration of it all pretty much consumes me.

So this year was a bit weird for me. We weren't in church on Easter Sunday morning.

We had a 4-day weekend break from language school, and combined with a variety of factors, it provided a good opportunity to take a break for the weekend and travel someplace just to travel (something we haven't done in about 4 years). We headed to Paris. It sounds like a huge destination, but it's really accessible from here. (a couple hours by train, and inexpensive tickets aren't too hard to find)


My first thought for Easter Sunday had been how fascinating it would be to be in Notre Dame on Easter Sunday - but then I read someone else's experience of the CRAZY crowds. We did, however, stop by on Good Friday to catch part of "Organ Auditions". I was thinking it would be like a free concert as the organist prepared for Sunday or something, and anticipated this amazing sound inside this beautiful old space. Not exactly.

We came early, sat down and watched these families all dressed up for a service seated around us, and then noticed a huge procession of people coming as a bell was ringing. The veneration of the crown of thorns. I had noticed something on-line about it, but hadn't imagined a processional. Since the 1200's, this particular relic has resided in Paris and is brought out during Lent and Easter to be venerated by the public. People bowed as it came past. I don't think I've been quite so close to an experience anything like it before.


It stirred lots of thoughts in by brain - thoughts about how easily we worship "the created rather than the Creator", but in the same breath, the Holiness of God and how we physically demonstrate reverence and humility before Him - like Moses having to take his shoes off before the burning bush, or people dying when they touched the Ark of the Covenant. Hmm. That could turn into quite a discussion, but I'll leave it alone at the moment. I will just say this: there's some healthy awareness and reflection that can come from observing people worship in varying traditions.


The organ started to play after the procession. In all honesty, terrifying horrible sounds. Even with the less discordant notes, the organ sounded muffled, and disappointed our hopes of this full, resonant sound. The organist played a few notes; the priest read something in French; the organist played more; the priest read more. Not exactly a concert. I'm guessing it was about Good Friday and Christ's death. More accurately, I'm hoping it was as an explanation for the kinds of sounds coming from the organ. I felt like I suddenly understood things I've read where people describe their really morbid and scary associations with organs. We didn't stay very long.

Before we left altogether, we walked back around past the various places designated for prayer. This nun caught our eye. She seemed to tune all the crowds out, sit for awhile to pray, then exit just as quietly and directly. I just wanted to know her stories.

bunnies

When the first snow fell in November, I discovered that some of my language school classmates were seeing snow for the very first time in their lives. I don't remember what prompted it, but I suggested making paper snowflakes. A couple of them got pretty excited about it, and my teacher gave me a bit of time a few days later to show everybody how to cut snowflakes. My teacher got really excited, asking me to get green and red paper so we could make more for Christmas decorations. I don't generally make red and green snowflakes.... but why not! I've discovered that my classmates from Russia (including my teacher) really like decorations to have some glitz and flash to them. White is simply too plain and not festive enough.

Snowflake cutting session two with red and green was again quite a hit while being a bit comical. Picture a room full of adults with inadequate vocabulary to explain or ask questions, sharing a few pairs of scissors, and fumbling through a new (and for many, rather awkward) activity. We immediately hung them all over the room. Culturally they had no qualms in quickly evaluating the quality of everyone's work out loud.

Fast forward to last week. Somehow the snowflake cutting got linked to origami because a classmate brought a book of origami in to show me afterward. There are distinct themes to the state approved language text books; holidays is one of them. Now on our fourth textbook with the same series of themes, we're all a little less interested in talking about holidays - again. However, my teacher has decided that we need to decorate for Easter and asked me to find some Easter origami patterns we can use.

Easter origami. I chuckle a little bit inside thinking about melding this classic Japanese paper art with a distinctly Christian holiday. However, you can find anything online, right? I've noticed that bunnies and eggs are the primary Easter decor theme in Germany, so I looked up patterns. Bunnies were easy to find. I didn't find origami eggs. Can't say that I'm surprised by that one. Really, who wants to fold a piece of paper into a flat egg shape? Wouldn't it be easier to cut it out? I found this pattern, and brought it along with origami paper to class. After trying it out at home, I knew that as origami goes it's pretty simple, but would take some explaining.

Oh the excitement! My class is down to about 8 people. It's just great to give highly capable intelligent adults something like an origami pattern to contend with - totally outside their element! Origami is tricky to explain verbally in your own language let alone in one you're still learning, so I was quite out of my element as well. It pretty much came down to me running in circles individually showing each step to every person or pair of people. The initial excitement and eagerness by all (particularly endearing to hear these men excited to make a bunny to give to their daughters) shifted a bit to comments about how much patience origami requires. Nevertheless, we all had a good time and enjoyment prevailed.

I wonder how often any of them get to sit down and have the pleasure of making something. I could ramble quite awhile about how we need that pleasure, how it gives us a chance to be who we're designed to be - reflectors of our Maker.

We're supposed to make tulips sometime this week... I heard several ask with hope in their voices, "is the tulip easier?"

BTW if you're interested, here are some of the ideas I found (remember I was thinking quick and easy for my class):






origami tulip diagram

spring!

While we know that most of our friends and family have been suffering through prolonged winter weather the past month or so, it has been simply beautiful here. Evening walks in this little village are awfully picturesque.

And then sometimes it's just plain quirky. For example the side of this house....

Have you figured it out yet? Snails. Stone snails making a line across the house. Lots of things are named after snails around here - like restaurants. Hmm. Not sure about that one.

It's also traditional to decorate your trees for Easter like this:


There are so many song birds! I'm not sure if it's just quiet enough here to hear the birds or if there truly are more song birds in this region, but either way, its pretty incredible. One night we walked past this really plain looking black bird with an orange beak. And then it started to sing - beautiful! They make the most amazing sounds!

Fruit tree blossoms are everywhere. I think this one is a cherry tree. When we ride the bus everyday, we pass fields with woods in the background. All the grass is bright green with fresh green foliage on most of the trees. The cherry trees covered in white blossoms stand alone in the midst of all that green.


Just off our balcony is a Magnolia tree. It's huge though not particularly well shaped. Nevertheless, we watched it bud anticipating how grand it would be when it flowered. We were not disappointed.




The sheer volume of blooms has been quite a spectacle while they've lasted.

And to top off all this spring glory? Allergies. I'm sparing you the sight of my half swollen shut eye and rashy face. That one's not so pretty.

craving satisfied

It's funny what you crave when you move to a new place. Before we came to Germany I didn't really think about what foods I might miss; I just knew some things wouldn't be available and other new fabulous things would be. And what have I craved? Tacos. I can do taco seasoning here, can cook chicken the way we like it, make fresh pico de gallo and guac, and even find hard taco shells. But the missing ingredient has been soft corn tortillas -- a bit of a food staple for us in Oregon. I picked up a package and brought them home from New York. End result: a bit of pure dinner bliss.

a trip to the museum

Self-Portrait, Henri Rousseau

Art teacher blog number 2.

I've often been convinced that if I can get someone in an art museum with me, I can get them hooked on art. That's not to say I'm so amazing, but rather that the real thing + a little bit of demystification is so amazing. Seriously, if you haven't been to a museum, I wish I could explain to you what it's like to actually stand in front of a Van Gogh or Seurat's Sunday Afternoon or to walk all the way around a Rodin sculpture. Or how you can stand in front of a Rothko color field painting and sort of "walk into" it...

There are so many great museums and galleries in NYC, but time and money limitations tend to prevail. I've picked one each time I've visited. I got to see the Met the last time I was there, so this time I picked the MoMA.

Sometimes people assume I could stay in a museum all day. In reality I can only do about an hour or hour and a half. Saturation sets in. Imagine going to a huge buffet and trying to take a full portion (or even a sample size) of every dish offered. All those fabulous dishes get lost to your enjoyment by being stuffed. Similar for me at a museum.

Therefore, I have a game plan. :) I pick up a map, look for key artworks or artists that I know I enjoy (or eras, or something that limits me) and start there first. Any other sections of the museum I get to then become dessert. In each gallery, I generally scan the room and pick something that really grabs my attention for some reason, go in closer and spend some time really looking at it. Some works are pieces or artists I've long anticipated seeing in person, and others are these great surprises.

Someplace like the MoMA has tons of really well-known pieces - the kind that fill up standard art history books, art classroom print sets, art-themed merchandise, advertisements and spin-offs. Sometimes the real things ends up being far greater than you thought, and other times its almost disappointing - the legend is larger than life.

Here's an example: The Persistance of Memory by Salvador Dali


He's fascinating to me - as he is to many - making his images from dreams and memories, influenced by Freudian Psychology and the subconscious. He's a surrealist, and looking at his work gives a person a clear idea of surrealism without further explanation. Sometimes his work makes me shudder a bit. It's usually the ants crawling on things that gets me. (I had my own recurring dream as a child involving ants - definitely hits a strong creepy chord for me!) Having used large prints of this painting in my classrooms, I was surprised to see how small it was. Really surprised. (Much like the reaction most people have to seeing the real Mona Lisa - "That's it?") It's not so creepy to me small and behind glass (sadly really well known works often end up behind glass for safety). Still a great piece - just small.

And then others are everything I hope them to be. The Migration Series by Jacob Lawrence is another series of work I've admired.

In the North the Negro had better educational facilities

And the migrants kept coming

These too were smaller than I realized, but getting to see them hang together was fabulous! The narrative/instructive lines were underneath each panel, and I could experience the story in its complicated reality - ironically because Jacob Lawrence painted each panel simply and used only short lines of text. (to see more panels and read the texts, click here)

My surprise enjoyment piece was this one by Henri Rousseau, Sleeping Gypsy


I've seen prints of it so many times in art education resources (it tends to be really intriguing to young students), but it's never been a standout for me. For some reason when I walked into the gallery where it hung (in this case far larger than I had imagined) it drew me in and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I think the size was a big part of it. Suddenly the lion and the gypsy both took on life and the colors had a sort of ethereal light - kind of like I stepped into the middle of a great story. It really stirs my imagination.

When I came home I did a little research because I really didn't know much about Rousseau or this painting. Turns out he was quite a character. He taught himself to paint and pronounced himself one of the great "realists" of his time. People probably snickered a bit when he made the statement because there's not much about how he paints that closely resembles reality. You know how in the first round of American Idol people who can't carry a tune walk in convinced they sing beautifully? It would have been a little bit like that to the educated art world at the time. He even told Picasso (who, whether one likes his work or not, had a broad and significant influence on the entire world of western art) that they were both the great masters of their time. It was a bold statement, and yet Picasso accepted him as a peer. Rousseau just kept painting and painting, hanging out with the big painters of his time, and some of the pieces captured something that has lingered long after his death.

I don't think the art academies of the day would have imagined that his work would show up as a standard in textbooks. It makes me think about how the world of art works and how artists work. One could say it proves the fickleness of the art establishment that the person most loudly declaring themselves to be an artist who knows the right people is eventually deemed great. But I see in him something a little different that speaks to the individual struggle for an artist. He had a tremendous faith in what he was endeavoring to do, and he was not intimidated by the status of others. I think most artists perpetually wonder if it's in them to make something great, if they're "good enough", if they can call themselves peers with other artists. There's a book I always recommend called Art & Fear that talks about all the fears that keep artists from working. When I look at this painting from now on, I'm going to think about working fearlessly, about having a bit of Rousseau's audacity. I picked up a postcard of it. I think I'll have to pin it on my easel.