sacro speco

There is a wet chill on the deck this morning so I grab a jacket from the hall closet. I am in sweat pants, a t-shirt and a tweed jacket. A spectacle for none to see. In the near distance a woodpecker is searching for breakfast. This is my 'alone-time' with God, my sacro speco. Him, me, coffee and Harry. Harriet is her name but we call her Harry.


Harry came to us, or as my wife says, "was brought to us". It happened in Memphis, Tennessee. One day there were two cats on our deck. One was small, the other 'looked rough', battle weary. Memphis can be hard on a cat. "He looks like an Ozzie," my wife said (alluding to a rock star of that name). "How about Ozzie and Harriet?" Perfect. Ozzie stayed for a day or two. My wife said that Ozzie was making sure Harry had a good home. 

Pine Cones in a Sycamore Tree

Sixteen Candles

Photo by

Teresa West Carter

My youngest child is sixteen. Sixteen years of yesterdays.

Where did they go?

Hanging over our deck are the branches of a Sycamore tree. Zaccheus would have difficulty climbing this one. A Muscadine vine has taken residence in the branches, dropping grapes onto the deck for Harry the cat's entertainment. There is something else in the branches, something odd; pine cones. I first noticed them a few months ago. Pine cones in a Sycamore tree. As I pondered this anomaly, I looked higher and discovered that a Pine tree towers above the Sycamore. So I wonder, am I the Sycamore, the pine cones or the muscadine?

Sometimes I have odd thoughts. 

I suppose. And yet, into this life some pine cones must fall.

Happy Birthday, Emma.

Watch out for the pine cones.

Machines for Selling | Comment Magazine | Cardus

Machines for Selling | Comment Magazine | Cardus

I grew up in a town with the 'family market'- Lee's grocery. Our family had an account (a small notepad behind the counter, on which the clerk would write the date and amount). In the back was the meat counter where you could order a bologna sandwich. Everyone in the store knew our family, by name. I miss Lee's.

Joy In The Journey

"The nature of God is a circle

of which the center is everywhere

and the circumference is nowhere."

Empedocles, 490-430 BC


The smell of coffee brewing and bacon sizzling reminds me that the journey can be as wonder-filled as the destination. Fellow artists- enjoy the journey! And remember, with art we are all students.

My love for math ended in the Third grade. Standing at the blackboard with chalk in hand, I stared at the problem before me while my teacher and peers looked on. Before that moment, math was my favorite subject, but with the introduction of long division, there occasionally came something previously unseen in my mathematical career- a remainder. Heretofore, problems worked out neatly. Two plus two equaled four. Seven minus one equaled six. There was closure that, for me, was satisfying. With division, there was the possibility of leftover numbers. I didn't like that. So my division always worked out even. No remainders. Ever. To correct this, my teacher called me to the board one day. I began the problem and as I neared the end I realized it wasn't going to work out even. So I drew a line under the last number and wrote 'zero'. A few people laughed while the teacher sighed. She explained the problem. I understood the problem. But, I didn't like it.

It was years before I understood why.


As I consider the notion of teaching art, a thought continues to surface- from caves to chapels, art is about choices.

As Dorothy Sayers eloquently says, art begins in the mind of the maker. And then, let the choices begin. Color, size, material...

I have been working (trudging slowly) through the process of illustrating a children's book. Every artist's process is personal. Mine involves trial-and-error. A lot of error. I begin with thumbnails. Like these:

Eventually, an image evolves.

Final Version

For this series, I arrived at producing pieces on a variety of materials, from papyrus to wood. This piece is on cardboard from a Zao water box-

Exodus 17:6


A matter of choice brings me back to my third grade blackboard. Standing there, staring at the problem (gently corrected by my teacher), this thought began to form-


Why is there only one correct answer?

I understand, and take comfort in the fact that, in this life, there are singular absolutes. I also revel in the wonder of this thing we call art, because with art we have as many correct answers as we have artists. And, as Michael Card says, "there is a joy in the journey."

A new video from my son, Samuel:

A Poem From Estonia

 Yesterday I ran out of coffee. Not a single bean in the house. Those of you who know me recognize the gravity of the situation. This morning I drank hot tea. There is a place in the Kingdom for a steaming cup of black tea, but it will never replace a cup of of well-roasted Sumatra. But sometimes it's good to change routine. 

 Last week a few friends came for fish tacos- Andrew, Janell, Spencer, Libby and Hanna. Good food, good conversation, laughter. Hanna, a ministry school student, made two significant contributions to the evening:

1. a cake

2. a poem

in Estonian

Both were amazing.

Here is Hanna's poem, in English and Estonian-

The Marks of Shadows

Hanna-Liisa Reinpuu

When you are walking on the road

you can't see behind yourself.

When you turn around

you roll up the past

Afraid to knock, afraid to open,

afraid to share your dreams.

Why don't you continue the road

that you started when you were born?

Why are you shaken by somebody

who doesn't care about your dreams?

His flattery tangles you in the trap

you don't know how to let go from his firm grip.

..and by slow degrees all beauty will fade to oblivion.

You are running on fire

feet in the air.

You think you can leave without leaving a mark.

Estonian Version

Varjude jäljed

Hanna-Liisa Reinpuu

Kui mööda teed Sa kõnnid

ci näe Sa enda taha

Ümber pöõrates Sa rullid

lahti mineviku paha.

Kardad koputada, kardad avada,

kardad oma unistusi jagada.

Miks ei jãtka sa teckonda,

mida alustasid sündides?

Miks kõigutab sind keegi,

kes su unistustest ei hooli?

Ta meelitavad sõnad mässivad sind püùnisesse,

ei oska sa lahti öelda ta hoardest.

...ja vaikselt kòik ilus vajub unustusse.

Sa jooksed kui tulel

jalgu maha panemata

Arvad, et vòid laukuda jälgi jätmata.

 Hanna's Cake


For more Estonian poetry, Hanna suggests reading the work of Juhan Liiv, one of Estonia's favorite poets.

Re-Purposing and Kingdom Ethics

Camp Stephen Mural Backdrop

Acrylic on canvas

12' x 5'

Teresa Carter

"The passing years and the artistic life have taught me that past, present and future are realities only so long as I dwell on this globe that whirls around a star."

Vinita Hampton Wright

"There are two things you should know: first, what you are; second, that you are not what you are by your own power."

Bernard of Clairvaux

1090-1153 

Youth camp ended Friday, at noon. Samuel and Emma experienced the week as campers, Teresa as a teacher, leading a group in art projects, and me as a kitchen volunteer. There is much time for reflection while chopping and cooking and mopping and dish-washing (my hi-lite was learning, thanks to Aaron Hershberger, to toss a pizza!). My respect for all who serve in the kitchen is now one of admiration.

While trimming the fat from a case of chicken, I meditated on the notion of creativity, specifically, where and how ideas occur for these creatures known as 'artists'. I am grateful for a memorial designer named Eugene H. Faehnle. He led a design workshop I attended in Elberton, Ga., almost twenty five years ago. On day one, he said, "It occurred to me one day that many of the designs in my industry have not changed in more than half a century. The traditional 20th Century memorial is, what I call, a P2 SerpBurp with corner clutter and band aids (see below for 'tombstone terminology'). I began to take note of contemporary design, as it relates to other fields. I realized something. Companies spend millions on good design. So, I drove to the local drug store and walked the aisles, noting product shapes and dimensions." 

Eugene H. Faehnle revolutionized American memorial design by re-purposing good design. He passed away several years ago but his memory is honored by the American Institute of Commemorative Art's Annual Design Contest. 

 P2 SerpBurp w/Corner Clutter & Band Aids

I owe Eugene Faehnle a great debt. He stands in line with those who have helped shape the way I see. He reminds me that we, along with our 'ideas', are not our own; we are a part of a collaborative collective, stewards of creative moments meant to enhance, encourage and educate others. I have a list of concepts I keep tucked away, a group of pieces I plan to realize one day. While trimming chicken fat in a church kitchen, I had this thought- what if God, in His infinite generosity, gives me more ideas than I can generate so that I might give them to other artists/students? What if I posted a project concept on an international bulletin board and an artist in Tokyo had the means and time to realize it in a way I never imagined? After all, we who claim the name of Christ, are not owners but stewards, even over 'intellectual property rights'. It's Kingdom Ethics fleshed out. 

I have compiled a list of a few concepts I have tucked away and I am making them available to anyone interested. You can click here for a PDF link, or, if you email, I will send a hand-written list from one of my yellow legal pads- old fashioned, USPS snail mail. Everybody loves mail. If you see something you decide to produce you don't have to tell anyone you got the concept from a guy in South Carolina (tho' I would be thrilled to hear from an artist in Tokyo). My email address is- shekhinah@juno.com.   

Tombstone Terminology

P2- Polished two sides 

Serp- Serpentine Top

Burp (BRP)- Balance rock pitched

Breath of Life

Arundo donax is listed as a noxious weed in Texas, an exotic plant pest in California, an invasive weed in Hawaii, and as an invasive, exotic pest in Tennessee. Arundo donax, a.k.a., Giant Reed, is also the primary source of clarinet reeds.

My friend Martin Powell is a virtuoso clarinetist and I have been blessed to hear him perform twice in the past week. Both times he played the Adagio Movement from Mozart's Clarinet Concerto. The first time was evening in the Grand Cafe of Heritage International, the second time was morning on Prayer Mountain in Moravian Falls, NC. Whether morning or evening, large group or small, Martin was one with the instrument- the picture of discipline and devotion; public evidence of years spent in solitude. The sound produced by Martin's breath passing over a reed defies my intellect and inspires my imagination. To watch an instrument submit to a musician, as the clarinet does to Martin, confirms for me the power attainable when the created works with the creator. Teresa of Avila puts it thus, "...Martha and Mary walking together." 


 

 

View from Prayer Mountain

Genesis 2:7 reads, 'Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.' The word translated 'being' is, in the Hebrew, neh-fesh; literally- 'one who breathes'.

When Martin Powell plays Mozart's Clarinet Concerto all of creation hears the breath of life.

Martin Powell