Part I: Why I Wanted to Write
Part II: A Long Road in the Same Direction
So I've been accepted into my top choice for graduate school. To study at a school that has, for me, resonated everything I've always thought. The way faith has synthesized with art has, for even before I wanted to be a writer -- since I first read Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton -- been immeasurably important to me. But in words I've never been able to express. That's why writing as a television producer never satisfied me at my inmost. Never resolved that long-plucked note. You just can't fathom things like filioque and Incarnations and Atonements in twenty-second, less than 15-words-a-sentence news copy. But in fiction, after reading O'Connor, I had arrived at the conclusion that it was possible in fiction. And having always been a lover of theology and "deep-thinking", a kind of syncretism became, for the first time, a quantifiable reality. I could become a writer.
Five years later, in at Seattle Pacific for degree a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, I'm still not anything like a writer. More like I'm this wild branch that's been granted this opportunity to be grafted onto this well-producing, abundant branch (read your Bible if you think I just came up with that). But that's really a good way of explaining where I find myself this morning. And how I feel about how things will now proceed for two years. It's just simply that: I've been grafted onto this tree of well-producing, inspiring fruit. And that I know have an incredible responsibility because who is to say that I can't just as easily end up un-grafted from it all. Don't think I haven't been on my knees in this past week expressing my utmost to God. At the joy. At the blessing. And for the hope of what now happens. Last night, in my devotions, I read this whole metaphor for Romans and it's hard not see it applying to me in this sense, considering where I am right now. And I got this sense of my new responsibility to being grafted onto this incredible community of writers to whom faith and art are not so much grafted, but have grown up from the same roots.
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
On Looking Out At The World
In lieu of the recent Derek Webb brou-ha-ha on the Internets, maybe it's about time I joined the fray. Not so much because I really feel the need to opine about one of my favorite musicians and his HuffPo interview. But more because something Webb frequently says via Twitter that troubles me. And not the "troubles me for his soul" kind of troubles me -- let's be clear on that point: I'm not attacking the man at all -- just exploring something he says that has me thinking. Webb frequently says that he only "looks at the world and tells you what [he] see". It's led me to question the objective of the artist.
As I writer -- or trying-to-be-writer -- I have placed two tentative footsteps into the world of the artist. So I have pondered my new role. And Webb's outlook has certainly not been my own. While I am in agreement that an artist does look out at the world, I'm not sure that's the complete story. It seems, at least in the snipped contexts of Twitter, that Webb's response on behalf of himself the artist feels like a cop out. A way to end rather unseemly discussions -- that do, in actuality, need ending. But still. To me being an artist necessitates responsibility -- to the art form, to the subject matter, to the people we aim to transmit the art to. And merely looking and telling seems to prevent that responsibility from occurring.
It's as if the artist (and not necessarily Webb here -- I don't know him at all, just exploring his expressed position in terms of my own thoughts) is saying -- don't blame me, or don't fault me, it's the way the world is, judge for yourself. There's merit there, of course. It gets people talking. Promotes a level of discussion -- sometimes healthy, sometimes unhealthy. But how can an artist -- musician, writer, painter, etc -- remain inside his room with a view and not subject himself to the art he expresses? How can he only look and tell and not feel? Or not what to feel? Or not want to be scarred forever by it? Am I missing something? Am I not far enough inside the doorstep? Am I the young ER doctor who weeps after losing his first patient while the older partners hardly blink and look down at me?
Perhaps I'm being too nuanced about it. But it's got me asking about the life of the artist-- That it's only a look and tell approach? Not trying to bring Jesus into this, but that's not the approach He took. He added the feel. He added the "be affected by your art" when He stepped into the painting.
Tonight I stumbled across a line from the book My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok, "An artist is responsible to his art. Anything else is propaganda.” That summed up what I've been thinking in my own head. Art burdens a weight of responsibility upon the shoulders of the artist. I want my art to bear something of the Artist. I want to step inside it, to feel it, suffer it's sufferings, joy in its joys, smudge in its smudges. I want to emerge from one of my stories affected, to have the taste of it remain in my mouth long after I moved on to other stories.
Where does this leave me? Where does it leave those I hope to also be affected by my art? What position does this leave me to defend my future art to critics? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
As I writer -- or trying-to-be-writer -- I have placed two tentative footsteps into the world of the artist. So I have pondered my new role. And Webb's outlook has certainly not been my own. While I am in agreement that an artist does look out at the world, I'm not sure that's the complete story. It seems, at least in the snipped contexts of Twitter, that Webb's response on behalf of himself the artist feels like a cop out. A way to end rather unseemly discussions -- that do, in actuality, need ending. But still. To me being an artist necessitates responsibility -- to the art form, to the subject matter, to the people we aim to transmit the art to. And merely looking and telling seems to prevent that responsibility from occurring.
It's as if the artist (and not necessarily Webb here -- I don't know him at all, just exploring his expressed position in terms of my own thoughts) is saying -- don't blame me, or don't fault me, it's the way the world is, judge for yourself. There's merit there, of course. It gets people talking. Promotes a level of discussion -- sometimes healthy, sometimes unhealthy. But how can an artist -- musician, writer, painter, etc -- remain inside his room with a view and not subject himself to the art he expresses? How can he only look and tell and not feel? Or not what to feel? Or not want to be scarred forever by it? Am I missing something? Am I not far enough inside the doorstep? Am I the young ER doctor who weeps after losing his first patient while the older partners hardly blink and look down at me?
Perhaps I'm being too nuanced about it. But it's got me asking about the life of the artist-- That it's only a look and tell approach? Not trying to bring Jesus into this, but that's not the approach He took. He added the feel. He added the "be affected by your art" when He stepped into the painting.
Tonight I stumbled across a line from the book My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok, "An artist is responsible to his art. Anything else is propaganda.” That summed up what I've been thinking in my own head. Art burdens a weight of responsibility upon the shoulders of the artist. I want my art to bear something of the Artist. I want to step inside it, to feel it, suffer it's sufferings, joy in its joys, smudge in its smudges. I want to emerge from one of my stories affected, to have the taste of it remain in my mouth long after I moved on to other stories.
Where does this leave me? Where does it leave those I hope to also be affected by my art? What position does this leave me to defend my future art to critics? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
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