Culture of Sorrow

Ever read a blog post (or anything for that matter) that elucidates something that's been rolling around in your head but you hadn't firmed up into solid thoughts yet?

That happened to me today when I read Melissa's post over at the Living Proof Ministry blog.

She starts by briefly discussing Ain’t Too Proud To Beg: Living Through the Lord’s Prayer by Telford Work (2007). Dr. Work is assistant professor of theology at Westmont College. But she moves quickly to a point he brings up in one of his sermons in the epilogue: the culture of sorrows.

Go read the post for an excellent treatment on the subject; I won't be able to do it justice here. But here's the core of it.

He uses it in reference to our own culture and “the common sensibility that life’s true character is misfortune and that sadness rules over us” (226). He says: “In our culture of sorrow, sadder is cooler. Joy may be desirable, but it’s not fashionable.

I've been thinking about this a bit lately. Have we become so disconnected from each other, so turned inward to ourselves that when we ask someone, "How are you?" we only want to hear "I'm fine." We don't want to hear sorrows, but we also don't want to hear joy. It's as if someone else's joy is a condemnation on our own lives. As if since we believe life sucks, we should all wallow in it together and nobody better dare rise up and tell us we can experience joy.

It may not be as blatant as I'm describing here, but it does seem particularly in the art world deep is equated with depressing, artistic with pain. One thing that I truly appreciate about Christian art is that there is a thread of hope pulling us through. We of all people have reason for hope and joy. I don't know that there's an answer, but I do find it something to be aware of.

My Artist

Ever wonder about the power of genetics in your family? Nurture versus nature? I do often because my son is so much like my youngest brother. And they haven't spent an overly lot amount of time together.

But this picture above drawn by my 7-year-old Calvin (not his real name) reminds me eerily of the drawing of my youngest brother when we were in church (back in the dark ages before there was children's church and we had to sit in big church).

My brother, Jason, used to draw "Jack Youngblud" and the Rams (back when they were in LA) complete with spikes on the cleats. What amazed me back then (and even now with Calvin) are the details, like spikes or yard lines numbers on the field that they chose to include.

Just as I posted this, Calvin handed me another drawing, this one of "baskitboll." The guy is flying through the air (complete with sound waves)as he dunks into the net with a big smile on his face.

We saw High School Musical 3 this weekend (practically de rigure viewing for the tween set). My daughter is involved in two drama productions and choir. Calvin is also in drama. I think about the options for kids now to express their creativity, much more than was available when I was a kid. I often feel like I'm having to reach back and relearn creativity. I hope my kids never lose it.

Youngest bro is now a cop in LA and doesn't do too much drawing any more (that I'm aware of). However, I'm enrolling Josh in a kids' art class on Saturdays to encourage his creativity. It's just as important to nurture the arts as it is book learning. Maybe even more so.

The Olympic Gymnast

I do this blogging thing all wrong. You're supposed to pick a niche and own it. Me? I don't own anything. I don't even own a car. I'm all over the place from art, to theology, to writing, to life in the Midwest, to my kids' antics. Just like my life. Ah well. Rules are overrated.

So. That's my disclaimer of sorts for this post. Good writing-buddy friend, Heather Goodman is doing a monthly online festival of art and life. LOVE that idea! This month the medium is a piece of visual art that moved you.

What a wide open subject! So many pieces of art have moved me from the classical to the post-modern. From my own art to the art of my son. How do I pick?

The way I usually do. By going back to the first time I remember a piece of art moving me. I was about 8 years old and obsessed with gymnastics. We were visiting some good friends of our family up in San Francisco and he had a couple of LeRoy Neiman prints. I remember be astounded by all the colors Neiman used. That it wasn't at all like the kind of art I was used to seeing. I was fascinated.

One night we were wandering around downtown San Francisco and he and I ducked into an art gallery. This print was on the wall.

link

I don't know how long I stood there staring but apparently I was enraptured enough for the sales person to begin asking our family friend if he was interested in buying the print for "his little girl."

I had never seen anything that captured my emotions on so many levels. My love of gymnastics (I could do that exact move and I had blonde pigtails), the colors, the motion. All of it was taking me someplace I'd never been before. A place I couldn't begin to describe, but I knew I wanted to visit again and again.

Years later when I was in college I visited the home of a friend of a friend. They had several Neiman originals on the wall. I stood and stared for I don't know how long.

The Kroger Art Gallery

You gotta check out Jeanne Damoff's post today at Master's Artist.

I've always loved how she finds beauty in the ordinary, and this post just expresses it so beautifully.

Plus, I would have paid money to see her taking pictures in the produce section and seeing the expression on the other shoppers' faces.

Did I mention I envy her her camera too?