Art and Self-Care

My wife was gracious and gave me time to get out by myself today (she had some time yesterday--hockey was her preferred event). It had been a stressful week for both of us, and we're learning to take the time to take care of ourselves. I got some time alone at the YMCA (usually I have the children with me). Then I headed to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts to explore and take some pictures.

Next time I need to remember to also take my sketchbook and pencils. I need to just sit and take it easy, relaxing and reflecting. I tend to try and take in as much as I can otherwise. Still, it was enjoyable to look and take some pictures. 

As I was looking at a special Henri Matisse exhibit, I heard an elementary-aged girl tell her parents, "I could draw that." I heard her say that about a few other pieces of art. And she may have been right. We've all thought that at times--especially with some of the modern art pieces. 

And it may be true. We may be able to come up with a very similar drawing. But usually we haven't. Some of it is our lack of connections in the art world. But likely it's just because we haven't taken the time to draw or paint something. Or possibly we could do something similar, but we probably haven't had the amount of practice or training it takes to come up with the right lines and curves or hues.

The same goes with self-care. I know that I need it. I know it's good for me. But I'm not always good about taking the time. I don't always do it very well because I haven't practiced or planned enough to do the things that are restful, re-energizing, or renewing for me.

I took a nice solo camping overnight last fall, but I haven't gotten much else done for a while other than an occasional trip to the Y or a little time in the basement painting. It's important I do take time for myself. It's important my wife does as well. It's important that we have time together as a family (we went to see The Lego Movie yesterday). It's important my wife and I have time together (which is often the hardest to fit in). 

There is beauty in art. There is necessity in self-care. Maybe there's a bit of beauty and necessity in both.

Van Gogh's Mistake

I'm a frist-born child. As I understand things, first-born children tend to be perfectionists. Now, I'm not the kind of perfectionist who freezes up for fear of doing something perfectly. But I don't like the flaws I have. I don't like to admit I have any; I try to hide them instead of acknowledge them.

A while ago I heard someone talking about a Vincent Van Gogh painting that is in the collection at the Minneapolis Institute of Art (for the life of me I can't remember if this was overhearing a tour going on there or hearing someone else talking about it). There's a painting of his called Olive Groves. Van Gogh made a glaring mistake with the painting. 

I didn't notice it until it was pointed out. Look closely (this isn't the whole painting, but it shows what you need to see). Do you see it? No? Look at the sun. Now look at the shadows that fall from the trees. 

They don't lie in the right direction. According to the direction of the shadows, the sun should be on the left side of the painting, but it's right over head. Van Gogh made a mistake. And his mistake hangs in a museum. 

The Amish traditionally always include a mistake in the quilts they make. They do it under the premise that only God is perfect. 

This isn't a bad thing to remember about myself as well. I don't need to be perfect. I can still be a masterpiece wiith flaws and mistakes. God is perfect; I am not, but that doesn't mean I'm not worthwhile. These are lessons I need to keep in front of me, otherwise I forget them. 

I have people who know my character defects--they hear about them often. It doesn't matter to them, though. I always think that if people know those things about me, then they'll not like me any more. But that's not true. People still like the authentic me--flaws and all. 

I often fear that those character defects make me so flawed that I'd be undisplayable. Van Gogh's art, mistake and all, is still displayable. Whenever I'm at the art institute, I try to make it to the room the painting is in. It's still a masterpiece; I still enjoy looking at it. 

Sometimes I need the reminder that God feels the same about me.

Art and the Stations of the Cross

For a few years now our church has invited everyone to make a Lenten art work--either one of the Stations of the Cross or a scene from the last week of Jesus' life depending on the year's focus. This year is the Stations of the Cross. Normally Anders, our constantly-drawing eight-year old, is the one who has made his own station. This year he didn't want to but our Kindergartener did.

He chose to do the scene where Jesus dies on the cross. He wasn't sure how to do it. He thought about drawing, but he wasn't sure that's what he wanted to do.

We've seen some creative stations in the past. There's usually one made from Legos every time. I brought up making some salt dough and sculpting the scene. First he started sculpting a stand-up scene. It took a while to convince him that the dough wouldn't make it standing up through the baking process and would likely get broken later if it did.

So he made a relief scene. It was important to him to include the two thieves dying on the cross next to Jesus since they were there when he died.

Mine was the station where John and Mary are in front of the cross. I don't paint well-enough to capture the scene, so I thought I'd go for a more representational approach. I don't confess to it entirely being a by-product of my own creative forces--I looked at some ideas online.

We were encouraged to think of a reflective question for the scene. For me it asks, "Who does Jesus ask you to take care of in their time of suffering? Who does Jesus give to take care of you when you are going through hardships?" Facing death, Jesus gave his mother to his dearest disciple; He told John to love Mary as his own mother. I think it was an intentional example as much as a practical need.


I haven't prayed through the prayer stations yet. The artistic process was a prayer for me. Not necessarily a good prayer, but a prayer nonetheless. 

Sometimes the prayer is having that part of the Lenten journey stay with us. I think for Nils, that's the case. He is beginning to know the story more deeply.

That may be part of the point of the Stations of the Cross--that those stories become part of our story, that the pain and suffering Jesus went through is something we can identify with in our pain and suffering. We know we're not alone. We begin to understand how greatly we are loved. We begin to belong in community. We begin to find the hope that is produced through the Lenten journey.

Lenten Art

We had the day off from school for parent-teacher conferences. After good reports regarding the boys' progress, we went to the Minneapolis Institute of Art. I took these photos there of some of the artwork that was representative of the Lenten journey:

The Temptation of Christ, Titian (Italian, 1516-1525)
a young demon is trying to tempt Christ to turn a stone into bread

Christ Driving the Money Changers from the Temple, El Greco (Spanish, 1570)

Man of Sorrows, Luis de Morales (Spanish, 1560)

The Crucifixion, Georges Rouault (French, c. 1920s)

 

Crucifixion with the Virgin, Saint John the Evangelist and a Clerical Donor; Lippo Vanni (Italian, 1350-1360)

Corpus, Master of Guadalcanal (1700)

Lamentation with Saint John the Baptist and Saint Catherine of Alexandria, Master of the Legend of Saint Lucy (Dutch, circa 1500)

Lamentation of Christ, Hans Schnatterpeck (Austrian, 1490s)

The Lamentation, Alessandro Turchi (Italian, 1617)

Holy Week in Art

A series of artworks from the Minneapolis Institute of Art:

The Betrayal of Christ by Anthony van Dyck (c. 1620)

Man of Sorrows by Luis de Morales (c. 1560)

Corpus by the Master of Guadalcanal (c. 1700)

A sanctuary curtain from a Coptic church (5th-6th century)The Crucifixion by a follower of Lucas Cranach (c. 1575)

Lamentation with Saint John the Baptist and Saint Catherine of Alexandria
by Master of the Legend of Saint Lucy (c. 1500)

Good Friday

Another drawing that Anders made last night during church illustrates Good Friday. The Roman soldiers are in the lower left. I believe the lower right corner shows some of the women crying over what is happening. I'm not sure why, but the crucifixion appears to be taking place in the clouds with a rainbow--which maybe is fitting as the rainbow was a sign of God' promise not to destroy the earth by flood. But in this case it shows God saving the earth through blood. At the bottom are two speech balloons that show exactly why such a horrible event can be called "Good Friday." Jesus is saying "I love you." And the smaller balloon is from God saying, "Me too."

Yes, it is our sins--our evil, perverse, vile deeds against God, against each other and even against ourselves--that put Jesus on the cross. It was a horrible place for the son of God to be--one of the most terrible forms of death. But He went through it for our sake. Because He loves us and desires to spend eternity with us. Amen.

Maundy Thursday: Why Me?

Maundy: from the Latin mandatum; meaning commandment; as in "A new commandment I give to you: Love each other" (John 13:34)

Anders drew this picture tonight during our Maundy Thursday service at church. Jesus is saying, "I will wash your feet." Peter is off to the side replying, "Why me?"

It indeed is a "Why me?" moment. Why would the Creator of the universe stoop so low as to cleans my dirty, stinky feet? Answer: He loves me. He loves you. He loves us all.

Tonight, as we washed each others' feet at church, we first went to the table. Alone (though I went with the boys to help them). Jesus was our host as we took the bread and dipped it in the cup. It was another "Why me?" moment. Why do I get to come to the table, sinful as I am? Again: He loves me.

Sometimes when I come to the table I am Judas--willing to betray Jesus. Sometimes I am Peter--headstrong and thick-headed. Sometimes I am Thomas--needing a little more proof. Sometimes I am James and John--wanting my place beside Jesus. All twelve disciples were there at the table. None came perfect. Most didn't get Jesus until well after He had risen. But He loved them. And in their imperfect ways, they loved Him (I believe even mis-directed Judas had love for Jesus). The table was for them. To remember Him.

It was there at the table that they would learn to take up their cross. Indeed, the majority of them would be put to death for their faith. Taking up their cross wasn't just a figure of speech--it was a reality. And along the way, they learned to wash feet--to serve each other, even the lowliest among them.

And tonight, as we washed each other's feet--as my young sons washed my feet--I was caused to remember that I was the lowliest there. There is nothing special about me. Nothing that elevates me above anyone else. But God loves me. And that's more than enough. And it's reason to love others--and wash their feet.

Lenten Art

Our church has prayer stations every week for people to make use of during worship (mainly during times when we're singing--including during communion as we go to the table in small groups so not everyone is there at the same time). There are various stations at different times. Some are tactile and sensory (like the confession stations where you choose a stone and press it into a bowl of sand) and most appeal to the children (like the station where you may pick a loop with ribbons and dance to the worship music).

During each week of Lent stations of the cross are brought out adding more each week. People from church signed up for different stations. Anders, Beth and I each signed up for one (I'm going to be in trouble here because I didn't get a picture of Beth's piece).

Anders is an excellent artist, and he agreed when I suggested he do one of the stations. He chose #2: Jesus takes up His cross. I was curious to see what his drawing would look like. He did some nice ones of the Nativity. But he wasn't up for drawing the picture. He wasn't sure how to do it. So, while we were looking for pictures of station #2 online, we came across an artist who did all the stations using hand prints. A subsequent trip to my parents' farm got us a nice weathered piece of lumber. His station turned out simple but eloquent, I feel.
It will say different things to different people, but for me it says that "taking up our cross" isn't an easy task. It's toilsome, dangerous and even lethal.

My station was #4: Jesus meets His mother. I struggled with how to portray it for a while. I ended up focusing on Mary and the emotional impact that Good Friday must have been for her.

There are times when I have that emotional reaction to "seeing" Jesus carry His cross. For Mary it must have been heart-wrenching to see her son going to be crucified for no legal reason. He was going to His death because He claimed to be God. And Mary, though she probably wrestled with understanding Who her son really was, must have had some belief that Jesus was right in what He said. She had been handpicked by God, after all.

Of course, each piece may say something entirely different to you. Or nothing at all. That is the nature of art. It is not like a book in which one can sometimes clearly understand the author's point. Art is an expression both by the artist and by the viewer. Lent speaks to us all in different ways as well. But there is one clear message through it all: God loves you more deeply than you can imagine. We don't always interpret that message well, but it's there. Hopefully at the end of this Lenten journey that message is a little more meaningful.

The Master Artist

Last night I found myself amongst college students with sketch pads, families on an educational outing and older adults enjoying the cultural opportunities of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. My wife and I each try to get some personal time for ourselves each week. I took a couple hours last night to head to see some art.

While I thoroughly enjoy going with my family, it was refreshing to go by myself. I could take the time to read about pieces of work without having to rush on. I could stop and make a quick sketch. I could listen in on one of the art lectures. (Not that I didn't still rush myself a little to try and take in too much in the little time I had.)

Admittedly, I'm more into classical art than modern. I am impressed by paintings that look like a photograph. The details of some works amaze me. I am humbled by the genius exhibited in a brush stroke in the hand of a master. I am also envious. I wish I could create paintings with such amazing detail and artistry (I would love to be able to make sculptures or other works as well).

God refers to us at various times as a piece of His artwork--often as a work in progress (clay in the potter's hands). That means we have to let the Creator have His way. If we resist what He is doing, we end up a marred piece. We're flawed, unless we let the Master finish His work. That's not easy: we wait and we wait, we go through trials, we give up our selfish wills in order to be more workable.

But if we let Him have His way, we become something beautiful. Too often I can stare and marvel at a painting my Van Gogh or Monet or Renoir, but I look down on someone (making too much noise or dressed in appropriately) in the gallery with me. And so I need to let the Master Artist work on me until I get to a point of seeing the beauty in all of God's works, more so than I do by masterpieces done by human hands.

Art on Ice

On Friday we stopped by Medicine Lake while we were out running errands to check out Art Shanty Projects. It turned out that nothing was open during the week. The lady who lived in the Shan-Tea we walked into informed us of that. She was wearing a beard. We didn't ask further questions.

Art Shanty is "a four-weekend exhibition of performance, architecture, science, art, video, literature, survivalism and karaoke, ASP is part sculpture park, part artist residency and part social experiment, inspired by traditional ice fishing houses that dot the state’s lakes in winter."

It quickly became our new top Outdoor Winter Activity Outing (Special Event category). There are 20-some ice shacks with creative designs. Each has a different focus to explore.

The second picture is one of several "dice-shacks"--they've got a table, benches and several games to play while sitting inside.
The third and fourth pictures are of the Nordic Immersion Village Art Shanty. Today was Danish day.
The fifth picture is the Art Swap Shanty where you bring in a piece of art you've created and trade it for one that someone else brought in. And yes, that is a knit hat on top of it.
The sixth photo is Anders & Nils on vacation in Egypt in the Stay-cation Shanty.
The seventh picture is Nils and I entering the Tiny Shanty.
The eighth photo is inside the Gunderson Residence. The refrigerator is the secret entrance into Listening Post Seven-Gamma--a top secret spy outpost (but you didn't hear that from me).

There is also a working post office (the only one on ice--it has its own special ZIP code) and a branch of the local library where you can check out books.

The picture on the left is what I traded for in the Art Swap Shanty. It's by Sylvia St. Claire (though the back is signed by Jan Elftmann, so we've got some researching to do).
The second is a photograph I "bought" in the Shop Shanty. They had several things to "buy" but you couldn't use money for them. I got the picture by guessing what city it was taken in (Madison). There was a large vase you could "buy" by bringing a live bouquet for it, a red shirt you could "buy" if you had a Target ID card on hand and some DC Comics stamps you could "buy" if you showed a superhero pose to a stranger.

So that was the last few hours of our afternoon. It was cold, but we had a good time on the ice.

Julia Child, Blogging and Art

Last night my wife borrowed the movie Julie & Julia from our neighbors so we could watch it (which reminds me that I need to take it off my reserve list at the library). The movie is based on a blog that a woman (named Julie) wrote about cooking all of Julia Child's recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking within a year's time. Her blog gained a huge following over time and was eventually made into a movie which compares and contrasts Julie & Julia's lives as well as chronicling how Julia Child impacted Julie's life.

It's been just over six years since I began this blog. The first four years were hit or miss--I didn't write much at all. There's not even an entry about Nils being born.

The blog really came into being when we moved to British Columbia. It was an effective way for us to continue sharing our lives (and, perhaps more importantly, pictures of the kids) with all the people we were leaving behind in the Midwest.

I've continued the blog since then since we still have friends from all over the world that we logistically just can't keep in touch with as often as we'd like. I also feel connected to my readers; having a comment on a post just makes my day to know someone took the time to read and respond to what I was thinking. And perhaps at this point I write mainly for myself. I need to take the time to reflect and connect . I need to keep writing--I have a dream to someday have something published. And whether or not that ever happens, it's good for me to do. I guess blogs can end up being a bit narcissistic, but I hope that in helping myself I can also help others, that I can speak to them, than even in cyberspace I can minister to others.

I would love to be able to have this blog springboard me into something bigger, as it did for Julie Powell. Writing is something I can do at home while I'm watching the boys. It's be nice if it could provide a little income as well.

The other thing I've been doing from home is painting and drawing. It's mainly a hobbie for enjoyment, but I've been humbly trying to sell some as a way for people to brighten up their work spaces (Cubicle Art).

I just sold my first pieces this weekend. Sure, they were to my sister. But she wanted them. It wasn't just charity on her part (at least I'm fairly sure it wasn't). I probably would have never thought of selling my art if it weren't at the suggestion of a friend. I've still got a lot to learn about painting, but it's enjoyable and relaxing to me, so I'll continue. Even if I don't think I've got much to offer yet.

I guess with anything we do, we need to do it for ourselves as well as doing it for others. Sometimes in taking care of ourselves, we keep ourselves healthy so that we can serve others. And all we do needs to bring glory to God (1 Corinthians 10:31). So as I take care of my boys, do housework, write, paint or whatever, I do it for me. I do it for someone else (whether it's my wife or you) and I do it for God. Yet another good reminder that I need to love God & love my neighbor as myself.

Art for Posers

Anders favorite thing to do with at the art museum yesterday was to pose. So here, for your viewing pleasure is Anders and works of art.

Rainy Days and Thursdays

Beth was off yesterday. It was a rainy day. A nice rainy day. I needed to get out of the house. The zoo was our initial destination, but the rain didn't look like it was going to let up, so we took the boys to the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts. Anders was keen on seeing the Egyptian mummy sarcophagus. He was also delighted to see some swords and medieval armor. It was hard for Nils to look and not touch. So we weren't there for too long, but saw a nice sampling of displays.

We still went to the zoo--I wanted Beth to see the butterfly exhibit before it's gone in a couple weeks. It was kind of nice because we were able to find parking close and there weren't any lines. We only hit the butterfly tent and the primate house, but it was just enough.