Ineluctable-
\ˌi-ni-ˈlək-tə-bəl\ impossible to avoid or evade.

“On the human imagination events produce the effects of time.”
James Fenimore Cooper, The Deerslayer, opening line

“We are so little reconciled to time that we are even astonished at it. “How he’s grown!” we exclaim, “How time flies!” as though the universal form of our experience were again and again a novelty. It is as strange as if a fish were repeatedly surprised at the wetness of water.”

C.S. Lewis, Second Meanings in the Psalms

I just received a book in the mail from someone I have not seen in years- a beautiful copy of The Deerslayer, illustrated by N.C. Wyeth. Immediately, I could see the giver’s face in my mind and hear bits of the last conversation we had. Time is strange business. I can return to a day from my childhood without leaving my chair. I can ‘foresee’ today, before it unfolds, spending time in planning and preparation. We explain time with expressions and ‘isms, like- “Time is money!” or, “I can’t afford to spend any more time on that!” (especially valid if you’ve ever ‘spent’ time in a court of law and decided to argue with the Judge). How about- “Time flies when you’re having fun!” or, the opposite, “I spent a week in that town one night!” There is time’s elusive nature- “I can never find time to do that!” And yet, for humans, time is ineluctable. Job cried, “Since his (man’s) days are determined, the number of his months is with Thee, and his limits Thou hast set so that he cannot pass.”

Being unemployed for an extended period gives a fellow opportunities to reflect; time to think about where time is being allotted. Jesus said, “for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” When I was younger I believed that time was an enemy- a deadly foe who would one day overtake me. Having passed the half-century mark, I see time as a gift- a gift I want to be a better steward of. Of course, as an artist, I continue to struggle with priority and validity- ‘Shouldn’t I be doing something worthwhile?’ (i.e., something that puts bread on the table), and the wrestling match between guilt and excuses begins another round. The making of art, in some respects, is as great a mystery to me as the making of humans by an all-sufficient, all-knowing God. Why bother? I can’t fully explain it. In fact, I remember something James Thurber said, and smile. He said, “It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers.” And so, as a struggling artist, here are a few of the questions I ponder-

“Who is my audience?”
“What are my goals?”
“How much do I charge? Should I always charge?”
“Where do I see the art landing?”

(Is the final destination the wall of a home or museum, a book or the internet, or, should I cast the art on the surface of the waters, as Solomon suggests?)

This morning I read- “Sow with a view to righteousness, reap in accordance with kindness; break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek the Lord until He comes to rain righteousness on you.” Hosea 10:12

Considering Emily

Lake George, New York

as seen from Black Mountain Summit

integrity \in-ˈte-grə-tē\
from Latin integritat-, integritas, from integr-, integer entire 1 : firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values 2 : an unimpaired condition 3 : the quality or state of being complete or undivided

“There was never a good knife made of bad steel.”

Benjamin Franklin

“Many human desires are coterminous with their object. A person desires a good meal and- as though by magic- the person’s desire for a good meal seems to end at just about the time the good meal ends. But our desire for beauty is likely to outlast its object because, as Kant once observed, unlike all other pleasures, the pleasure we take in beauty is inexhaustible. No matter how long beautiful things endure, they cannot outlast our longing for them.”

Elaine Scarry, On Beauty and Being Just

Emily Dickinson was born on December 10, 1830. When she died, nearly fifty-six years later, Emily's sister discovered 40 hand bound volumes in a locked trunk. They contained almost 1800 poems in Emily's handwriting. That is 32 poems a year for 56 years. Emily's ability to articulate emotions astounds me. And then, she makes this statement- "I have found the words to every thought I ever had-but One-". And throughout her words is seen the enigmatic 'dash'. Deirdre Fagan said, "The dashes become a thread between the sayable and the unsayable, a caesura between life and death, a pause, a gasp, sometimes a chasm over which one must make a leap of understanding, all of which critics have pointed out."

Artists live in a world of dots and dashes (for, after all, a dash is just an impatient dot that kept going). I wonder- in the mind of an artist is the dash between needs and desires removed? Or, like a bridal veil, is the dash less rigid- more breathable- allowing reason and emotion to brush shoulders? Why write 1800 poems, without recognition or pay (published, of course, posthumously)? When I consider this I remember a Dutch painter who completed nearly 900 paintings in the last 10 years of his life, signed Vincent, and sold only one.

Integrity

According to Ezra Pound, the Chinese word for integrity is xin, a set of calligraphic 'dashes' that combine two thoughts- man and words- taken literally, a man standing by his words. Perhaps this issue is one of integrity- a knowing of purpose and staying the course. Perhaps the mystery of the creative nature is summed up in Emily's dash.

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies-

The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king.

Emily Dickinson
1830-1886

From Cave Art to Moon Art

Identity \ī-den-tə-tē, ə-
probably from Latin identidem repeatedly, contraction of idem et idem, literally, same and same
1 a: sameness of essential or generic character in different instances b: sameness in all that constitutes the objective reality of a thing
Merriam-Webster

To paraphrase John and Paul, "It was 40 years ago today..." I was curled up on the floor of my cousin's house in Illinois (from his front yard you could see the Gateway Arch, St. Louis), watching history in the making- a man walking on the moon. Every sci-fi book I had ever read was reality before my very eyes. Years later, my great-uncle A.W. (Ambrose Wood) met Neil Armstrong and asked for his autograph (for me). To Michael, he signed.

If you haven't read David Taylor's recent post, 3 Reasons Human (should) Make Art (click here), stop reading this and do so now.

Humans, throughout time, leave evidence behind. We are the creatures who (seemingly) find joy in the expression, "I was here." From the hand print on a cave wall to the footprint on the moon's surface, the conversation of the ages continues.

1God's glory is on tour in the skies, God--craft on exhibit across the horizon.
2Madame Day holds classes every morning,Professor Night lectures each evening.
3Their words aren't heard,their voices aren't recorded,
4But their silence fills the earth:unspoken truth is spoken everywhere.

Psalm 19:1-4 The Message

13/13

“Accept the way God does things, for who can straighten what He has made crooked? Enjoy prosperity while you can, but when hard times strike, realize that both come from God.”

Ecclesiastes 7:13,14

“Anything large enough for a wish to light upon, is large enough to hang a prayer upon: the thought of Him to whom that prayer goes will purify and correct the desire.”

George MacDonald

Today marks 13 months and 13 days of unemployment. Prior to this benchmark, my titles have included:
Grocery bagger, construction laborer, car wash manager, gas station attendant, firefighter (volunteer), photo lab technician, wedding photographer, sales clerk, stone setter, sandblaster, designer, shop foreman, diner waiter, hotel bellhop, headmaster, teacher, artist, songwriter, grand jury foreman (federal), adjunct, and unemployed.

I have made tombstones and baptistery sculpture, led small study groups in back rooms and performed for large groups on an island in the Amazon. These are the things I have pondered over this 13/13 period as I have pursued employment. I have applied for jobs that range from Toilet Cleaner to University Lecturer*, to no avail. Then, one day, the Lord said to me, “Apart from Me, you can do No thing.” Nothing.

There are vines growing in the trees beside our deck, Muscadine, I think. Vine branches are clingy. They are not particular. These branches have attached themselves to a Dogwood, Sycamore, Poplar. Wild, uncultivated vines. We are like those vine branches, making attachments to things, people, places, ideas. Terri keeps reminding me, “God has amputated us from the world.”
Pruning can be painful.

Jesus said, “I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in me, and I in him, he bears much fruit; for apart from Me you can do nothing.”

*There are interesting correlations between these two positions.

Shall the thing made say to the Maker,

"Why did you make me this way?"

Romans 9:20

"It is true that all men are created in the image of God, but Christians are supposed to be conscious of that fact, and being conscious of it should recognize the importance of living artistically, aesthetically, and creatively as creative creatures of the Creator. If we have been created in the image of an Artist, then we should look for expressions of artistry, and be sensitive to beauty, responsive to what has been created for our appreciation." Edith Schaeffer, Hidden Art

A large portion of my life has been in pursuit of all that I am not, but wish to be. One day it occurred to me, what if I pursued, and wrestled with, an understanding of what I am? What would a 100% Michael Carter look like? A creative God made me in a particular way because He had specific plans and purposes for me.

We just returned from upstate New York. For ten days we were surrounded by the glory of God known as the Adirondacks, a trip made possible by two families- the Hopkins and the Knechts. These families are starting a school, Augustine Classical Academy, and invited us to pray about becoming a part of the school faculty and family. After much prayer, conversation, more prayer, and walking the ground in a new place it has become evident that God has different plans for my family and me. But, the trip was a blessing, a gift from the Hopkins, the Knechts, and the Lord.

Former home of Kurt Vonnegut

Alplaus, NY

While there, we saw Kurt Vonnegut's former home, we explored downtown Saratoga Springs, home to Caffe Lena, America's oldest coffeehouse (where Bob Dylan was a regular and Don McLean played American Pie for the first time in public). We experienced Lake George, where we hiked Black Mountain and canoed to a few of the islands. We even spent a day in Vermont. Even now, back in South Carolina, memories flood and I thank God for allowing our lives to cross paths.

Now another chapter begins.

Benchmark

Black Mountain summit






Emma and me atop Black Mountain
Lake George, NY

Sam

Caffe Lena, Saratoga Springs, NY


'Therefore encourage one another and build up one another, just as you also are doing.'

I Thessalonians 5:11