Hello there. I didn't realize it had been so long since I posted until a friend of mine asked me to start up again. (Thanks, Melissa!) It wasn't an intentional omission. My focus has been on the CS Lewis Fellows program (www.cslewisinstitute.org) and other areas of writing and, well, living.
I have another friend who is very ill right now. She, like Melissa and I, adores beauty. All winter long, Nancy deals with bitter cold and snow and long, dark days. She looks forward to spring and to the first hint of lilacs blooming. When she emails that she saw and smelled her first lilac blossom of the season, I can hear the joy and relief in her words.
Inside her cozy home, she creates beautiful art books with intricate folds, gorgeous papers, a well-chosen word here, a little detail there. When she's done, she sometimes gives these beauties of heart and hand to friends who treasure them as well as the person who made them.
When she felt better, she wrote thoughtful, reflective posts for her blog. Her writing required her readers to think about the deeper things of life.
Last June, I met some friends from my writers' group at a fellow member's home in Alaska. Even though Nancy was ill then, she was able to enjoy the trip to the fullest. Like the rest of us, she drank in the beauty of that wild land and took countless photos of the landscape. I remember one time on a cold, drizzly day, she stood looking at the water below and the mountains behind it while the rest of us huddled inside the car. Later that afternoon, she and I stood together under my umbrella and marvelled at a glacier on the side of the road. Another friend took a photo of us, me looking at the glacier, Nancy smiling at the camera.
Earlier last year, she and I went to a famous art museum in her city. We meandered through many of the galleries, lingering with the Impressionists. We chose our favorite paintings and discussed why we liked them so much. At lunch in the noisy, crowded cafe, we talked about art and beauty and writing. It was a short visit, but one I'm glad I made.
Now that she's so sick, she's not able to keep in touch by email or even talk on the phone much. I miss her. I miss her love for beauty and creativity, her emails, and her smile. I wish we could sit around the table with our other friends and share our stories, our writing, our lives. And of course our chocolate. She's never far from my thoughts and prayers. Even though I can't be, I know that the God of beauty--our Lord and Savior--is with her, comforting her and reminding her how very much she is loved.
God bless you, my dear friend.
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A Few Quotations about Art
As you probably know, I love quotations, and I post them often on this blog and my Christians in the Arts blog. Today I'm thinking about beauty in art and wanted to share these thoughts with you:
Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.
--Andre Gide
We can't take any credit for our talents. It's how we use them that counts.
--Madeleine L'Engle
All writing is a form of prayer.
--John Keats
A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.
--W.H. Auden
I write with intensity, discipline and constancy, because this is the work that calls me, the vocation of my heart.
--bell hooks
Personal essayists converse with the reader because they're already having dialogues and disputes with themselves.
--Phillip Lopate
Never lose a holy curiosity.
--Albert Einstein
Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does the better.
--Andre Gide
We can't take any credit for our talents. It's how we use them that counts.
--Madeleine L'Engle
All writing is a form of prayer.
--John Keats
A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.
--W.H. Auden
I write with intensity, discipline and constancy, because this is the work that calls me, the vocation of my heart.
--bell hooks
Personal essayists converse with the reader because they're already having dialogues and disputes with themselves.
--Phillip Lopate
Never lose a holy curiosity.
--Albert Einstein
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Beauty Sleep
I wrote this last night and then forgot to post it. Proof of how tired I was...
It's late. It's been a long day. My dog is snoozing at my feet and she looks so comfortable. Tomorrow will be a busy day; I'm preparing to speak at a ladies' retreat on Saturday. The topic? The beauty around us.
As I sit here thinking through so many moments of beauty I've experienced and written about, I don't know if I've ever written about nighttime. Moonlight, yes, but darkness? No. The truth is, I don't often walk outside at night. We have coyotes in our neighborhood and, now that the weather is warming up, the snakes will be out as well. While it's true that coyotes and snakes have a certain beauty, I have no desire to meet either one in the dark (or even in the noonday sun).
But there are so many things I like about nighttime:
1. quiet
2. rest and rejuvenation
3. relief
4. reading (a ritual before "lights out")
5. pajamas
6. cool sheets in the summer, thick comforter in the winter
7. the gentle whirr of the ceiling fan
8. the end of the day
9. checking on my daughter while she's asleep
10. the art in our bedroom (the mixed media pieces over the dresser and the bed, the pencil drawing of my ballerina done by a friend, the metal cross sculpture)
11. the vintage furniture (Grandmother's chair and chiffarobe, a cedar chest, a lady's writing desk, an armchair I rescued and refurbished)
12. and last but not least by any means--my husband
But maybe the thing that's the most important is knowing that tomorrow is a new day. I'm not quoting Scarlett here but paraphrasing the Bible, Lamentations 3:23 to be exact: "God's compassions [mercies] are new every morning." Knowing that I can start over with Him every day--now that gives me sweet dreams, and, I guess you could say, true beauty sleep.
It's late. It's been a long day. My dog is snoozing at my feet and she looks so comfortable. Tomorrow will be a busy day; I'm preparing to speak at a ladies' retreat on Saturday. The topic? The beauty around us.
As I sit here thinking through so many moments of beauty I've experienced and written about, I don't know if I've ever written about nighttime. Moonlight, yes, but darkness? No. The truth is, I don't often walk outside at night. We have coyotes in our neighborhood and, now that the weather is warming up, the snakes will be out as well. While it's true that coyotes and snakes have a certain beauty, I have no desire to meet either one in the dark (or even in the noonday sun).
But there are so many things I like about nighttime:
1. quiet
2. rest and rejuvenation
3. relief
4. reading (a ritual before "lights out")
5. pajamas
6. cool sheets in the summer, thick comforter in the winter
7. the gentle whirr of the ceiling fan
8. the end of the day
9. checking on my daughter while she's asleep
10. the art in our bedroom (the mixed media pieces over the dresser and the bed, the pencil drawing of my ballerina done by a friend, the metal cross sculpture)
11. the vintage furniture (Grandmother's chair and chiffarobe, a cedar chest, a lady's writing desk, an armchair I rescued and refurbished)
12. and last but not least by any means--my husband
But maybe the thing that's the most important is knowing that tomorrow is a new day. I'm not quoting Scarlett here but paraphrasing the Bible, Lamentations 3:23 to be exact: "God's compassions [mercies] are new every morning." Knowing that I can start over with Him every day--now that gives me sweet dreams, and, I guess you could say, true beauty sleep.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Glory
Lord, make me see thy glory in every place. Michelangelo
Were there no God, we would be in this glorious world with grateful hearts, and no one to thank. Christina Rossetti
Where are some of your favorite places to see God's glory? Here's a short list for me:
* the symphony
* my back yard
* my daughter's face
* the Swiss Alps
* the Blue Ridge mountains in the fall
* the coast of Oregon
* the redwoods
* cherry trees in spring
* the river near our house
* art museums
What about you?
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Mary Cassatt and Lullabies
Years ago, when my friend found out I was going to have a baby, she gave me a copy of A Child’s Book of Lullabies, with paintings by Mary Cassatt. A tall, thin, pale yellow hardback, the book is filled with some of the artist’s most beloved oils and pastels. In college, I liked Cassatt’s paintings for their subject matter as well as their beauty. Through her work, she brought validity and importance to the role of women in the home by depicting them reading, working, and caring for children.
Long after my college days, as a mother-to-be, I looked at Cassatt’s paintings with new eyes, especially noting the intimacy and tenderness between the mothers and children. Anticipating the joy of holding and feeding my own baby, I could almost see us in those paintings.
The book, an early favorite of my daughter’s, brought about one of her first experiences with art and music. As a toddler, she would pull the book off her shelf, bring it over, and snuggle up with me, either on the floor or in the rocking chair. We would go slowly through the book, page by page. She looked at it carefully and pointed to the music. I sang the songs and talked about what we saw in the paintings.
Now six years later, my daughter still takes the book off her shelf and looks at periodically. She also uses it as a lap desk when she’s drawing pictures of her own, writing stories, or both. I wonder if when she looks at those paintings, she remembers the times in her little yellow room when we gazed and sang and snuggled. Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t forget them.
Long after my college days, as a mother-to-be, I looked at Cassatt’s paintings with new eyes, especially noting the intimacy and tenderness between the mothers and children. Anticipating the joy of holding and feeding my own baby, I could almost see us in those paintings.
The book, an early favorite of my daughter’s, brought about one of her first experiences with art and music. As a toddler, she would pull the book off her shelf, bring it over, and snuggle up with me, either on the floor or in the rocking chair. We would go slowly through the book, page by page. She looked at it carefully and pointed to the music. I sang the songs and talked about what we saw in the paintings.
Now six years later, my daughter still takes the book off her shelf and looks at periodically. She also uses it as a lap desk when she’s drawing pictures of her own, writing stories, or both. I wonder if when she looks at those paintings, she remembers the times in her little yellow room when we gazed and sang and snuggled. Maybe, maybe not. But I won’t forget them.
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