Of course one expects to see art displayed on the walls of art galleries but at the opening reception of a new exhibit at Heights Arts Friday night, virtually every one of the dozen artists were wearing a beautifully handcrafted item, a work of art.... whether a vest, jacket, scarf, jewelry or purse. But of course, since all the artists use textiles in their art work.
I was talking with one of the artists and admiring her hand-woven jacket. It had a wonderful soft sheen that invited to be touched, so I did. She called that touch, the "weavers' handshake," and its that feel of texture that must draw these artists into their work.
I distinctly recall that when I was first learning digital imaging and desktop design at Cuyahoga Community College I just wanted to be able to reach into the computer monitor and manipulate the "objects" with my hands. I am much more proficient with technology now, particularly since I spend so much time on the computer for my work, but I still enjoy the "hands-on" experiences, particularly with interesting textures. That's a big part of the reason I enjoy knitting and exploring the use of interesting yarns.
What I saw was an exhibit of the Textile Arts Alliance which is associated with Cleveland Museum of Art. For an overview of their programs: http://www.taacleveland.org/program.html. For this particular exhibit each of the artists in this organization were offered the opportunity to select a textile object from the museum's collection of items no longer being used for exhibits. They either used that item for inspiration for creating their own piece or incorporated all or part of the original piece in their own work. The exhibit is on until April 4th. For more info: http://www.heightsarts.org/
One artist "Sigrid", had with her a notebook showing the steps she took in designing/creating her piece. She first studied the textile artifact from the museum under 40x magnification. She told me that in studying this 18th century artifact that she learned something new about weaving that she had not come across in her 32 years of weaving. That's saying something about the 18th century artist since Sigrid is widely known for her expertise: www.artsstudio.org/magic.htm.
There's still time this Sunday evening for a little knitting, accompanied by a audio book, a fiction with a central theme of quiltmaking. And that's a subject for another time.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Art appreciation
A group of us from church visited the Cleveland Museum of Art this afternoon which has been undergoing significant renovation for a couple of years now and it won't be completed until 2012. The sections of the museum that are now open include exhibits of European, Dutch, French and American art from the 17th up to the 20th centuries, and the armor court, displaying European Arms and Armor from 1400-1700. Here is a link to online photographs of some of the art we saw today. http://www.clemusart.com/explore/viewCMACollections.asp?cid=P113
One member of our group has significant visual impairments. Pastor Doug and some of the rest of us made an attempt to describe what we were seeing. But of course, words can never do justice for all that the perceptive eye sees....the play of light and shadow in a painting, the artist's skill at rendering detail, shades of color, perspective, emotion, meaning and all the rest.
As a photographer I am particularly sensitive to the play of light and other visual elements such as composition, color and contrast. Photography has been described as "painting with light", noticing the quality and direction of the light and how it is affecting the subject to be photographed, and then working with the light for the most favorable outcome. Thus, I consider myself a visual artist.
"Because the eye loves novelty and can get used to almost any scene, even one of horror, much of life can drift into the vague background of our attention...."* The work of artists is in part, to call our attention to things that might otherwise escape our notice.
In spite of my visual sensitivity, gazing at great works of art today alongside someone who cannot see has renewed and heightened my appreciation for art and beauty and the wonder of vision. And for all those who feel the same, and have given generously so that many thousands can visit the museum each year without charge.
Take a look at this painting and imagine describing it to someone who cannot see and never has: http://www.clevelandart.org/Explore/work.asp?searchText=noah&recNo=1&tab=2&display=
* Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses.
One member of our group has significant visual impairments. Pastor Doug and some of the rest of us made an attempt to describe what we were seeing. But of course, words can never do justice for all that the perceptive eye sees....the play of light and shadow in a painting, the artist's skill at rendering detail, shades of color, perspective, emotion, meaning and all the rest.
As a photographer I am particularly sensitive to the play of light and other visual elements such as composition, color and contrast. Photography has been described as "painting with light", noticing the quality and direction of the light and how it is affecting the subject to be photographed, and then working with the light for the most favorable outcome. Thus, I consider myself a visual artist.
"Because the eye loves novelty and can get used to almost any scene, even one of horror, much of life can drift into the vague background of our attention...."* The work of artists is in part, to call our attention to things that might otherwise escape our notice.
In spite of my visual sensitivity, gazing at great works of art today alongside someone who cannot see has renewed and heightened my appreciation for art and beauty and the wonder of vision. And for all those who feel the same, and have given generously so that many thousands can visit the museum each year without charge.
Take a look at this painting and imagine describing it to someone who cannot see and never has: http://www.clevelandart.org/Explore/work.asp?searchText=noah&recNo=1&tab=2&display=
* Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
There is more
"She had a farm in Wisconsin..." that's the line I think of in remembrance of my dear friend Joan who passed away several years ago on Christmas day, losing a well-fought battle with cancer. The line is derived from the opening phrase in the book and movie, Out of Africa, "I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills...". (The book was written by Karen Dinesen.)
And now a song comes to mind in honor of all the cherished memories, by Andrew Peterson entitled "More". Find out more about More and much more at http://www.andrew-peterson.com/
.
Yesterday I came across a note from Joan and so today my thoughts are dwelling on the wonderful memories of the times we spent together.
Among her many other skills and talents, Joan was well versed in agriculture and had studied the subject at the Wooster extension of Ohio State University. She was beginning to live her dream of raising grass-fed beef in a beautiful tract of land surrounded by gentle hills. She had a good understanding of horses, too and was going to use draft horses, Percherons, in the work of the farm. A distinctive feature of this place was how dark it was at night once all the house lights were turned out. There was only one artificial light visible in the far distance.
She and I and another friend Karen met at a time when we were all considering some career changes. We were attending some free career workshops hosted by the library and at the end of the last one I said, "Let's go for coffee" and that started a long series of get togethers even though our paths and locations diverged quite a bit over the coming years.
Joan (seated) and Karen pose as we wait to be seated in a restaurant.
And now a song comes to mind in honor of all the cherished memories, by Andrew Peterson entitled "More". Find out more about More and much more at http://www.andrew-peterson.com/
.
An excerpt:
This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still
Our nature hates a vacuum
This is not the end here at this grave
This is just a hole that someone made
Every hole was made to fill
And every heart can feel it still
Our nature hates a vacuum
.
There is not hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
and watch the sky for rain
There is not hardest part of all
This is just the seed that has to fall
All our lives we till the ground
Until we lay our sorrows down
and watch the sky for rain
.
Chorus:
There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
and getting up again
Chorus:
There is more
More than all this pain
More than all the falling down
and getting up again
.
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
in this vast eternity
There is more
There is more
More than we can see
From our tiny vantage point
in this vast eternity
There is more
.
Jesus replied, "Now the time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives." John 12:23-24 NLT
Jesus replied, "Now the time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives." John 12:23-24 NLT
Friday, February 20, 2009
Hibernation
For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven....a time to be quiet and a time to speak.... (Ecclesiastes 3: 1 and7b NLT).
My blogging mood has been in hibernation, now for seven weeks. There is a time and season for everything. But in the frozen world of winter the barren trees wait. The seeds of ideas that would ordinarily germinate and surface during my walks in the woods, they all have been waiting, too.
It reminds me of the centuries-old practice of letting farmland lie fallow from time to time. It helps to restore nurtients to the soil and reduces the buildup of pathogens and pests that occur when the land is continually planted with the same crop. Scriptural references to this practice call it a sabbath rest: "For six years you may plant your fields and prune your vineyards and harvest your crops, but during the seventh year the land must have a Sabbath year of complete rest. It is the Lord’s Sabbath...." (Leviticus 25: 3-4 NLT). A good idea since the Israelite farmers could not run to the store for pesticides to ward off pathogens and pests. Today the practice of crop rotation is implemented for the same reasons.
And the first day of spring is exactly one month from today.
"Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end."
Ecclesiastes 3: 11 NLT
My blogging mood has been in hibernation, now for seven weeks. There is a time and season for everything. But in the frozen world of winter the barren trees wait. The seeds of ideas that would ordinarily germinate and surface during my walks in the woods, they all have been waiting, too.
It reminds me of the centuries-old practice of letting farmland lie fallow from time to time. It helps to restore nurtients to the soil and reduces the buildup of pathogens and pests that occur when the land is continually planted with the same crop. Scriptural references to this practice call it a sabbath rest: "For six years you may plant your fields and prune your vineyards and harvest your crops, but during the seventh year the land must have a Sabbath year of complete rest. It is the Lord’s Sabbath...." (Leviticus 25: 3-4 NLT). A good idea since the Israelite farmers could not run to the store for pesticides to ward off pathogens and pests. Today the practice of crop rotation is implemented for the same reasons.
And the first day of spring is exactly one month from today.
"Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end."
Ecclesiastes 3: 11 NLT
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Pass it on!
Christmas reflections 2008
I often wonder what it is about genealogy that fascinates people. All the hours of research yield a just an arrangement of names and relationships on the family tree. Most of them we have never met. Sometimes we’re fortunate to have stories to go with the names. I have substantial amounts of information about several of my ancestors but I’ve never heard anything about those who had a less desirable reputation.
Two of the gospel writers, Matthew and Luke thought genealogy was a big deal too. Matthew was writing to the Jews and traced Jesus’ genealogy back 42 generations to show that Jesus was a descendant of Abraham, the father of the Jews, and a descendant of David, which fulfilled Old Testament prophecies about the Messiah’s family lineage. Luke was writing to the Gentiles so he traced Jesus’genealogy back to Adam, to emphasize Jesus as Saviour of all people.
In Jesus’ lineage we find Judah who sold his brother into slavery, Jacob who cheated his way into first place, and David who committed adultery and murder. In the patriarchal culture of the day, the genealogical record was of fathers and sons, but Matthew’s account also lists 5 women, all of whom had some sort of scandal associated with them. Matthew’s account also lists a great many names of people that we know nothing about.
What can be said about this is that God’s plan was not thwarted one iota by all the flaws and failures down through that lineage. And even all those obscure and undistinguished others played a role.
The writings of my great-great grandfather Loren Webb reveals his passion for carrying forth the Good News that Jesus brought to us through his life and death. Sometimes I feel as if I’m picking up where he left off in my work behind the scenes at The City Mission. What makes genealogy fascinating for me is that sense of belonging to this family line and honoring my heritage through how I live my life.
From the first century til now, Jesus’ followers have been passing on the Good News of his redeeming love. That ancient message rings with hope and healing for the difficulties we face in this age.
Can you hear it?
Blessings to you and yours this Christmas and in the New Year!
I often wonder what it is about genealogy that fascinates people. All the hours of research yield a just an arrangement of names and relationships on the family tree. Most of them we have never met. Sometimes we’re fortunate to have stories to go with the names. I have substantial amounts of information about several of my ancestors but I’ve never heard anything about those who had a less desirable reputation.
Two of the gospel writers, Matthew and Luke thought genealogy was a big deal too. Matthew was writing to the Jews and traced Jesus’ genealogy back 42 generations to show that Jesus was a descendant of Abraham, the father of the Jews, and a descendant of David, which fulfilled Old Testament prophecies about the Messiah’s family lineage. Luke was writing to the Gentiles so he traced Jesus’genealogy back to Adam, to emphasize Jesus as Saviour of all people.
In Jesus’ lineage we find Judah who sold his brother into slavery, Jacob who cheated his way into first place, and David who committed adultery and murder. In the patriarchal culture of the day, the genealogical record was of fathers and sons, but Matthew’s account also lists 5 women, all of whom had some sort of scandal associated with them. Matthew’s account also lists a great many names of people that we know nothing about.
What can be said about this is that God’s plan was not thwarted one iota by all the flaws and failures down through that lineage. And even all those obscure and undistinguished others played a role.
The writings of my great-great grandfather Loren Webb reveals his passion for carrying forth the Good News that Jesus brought to us through his life and death. Sometimes I feel as if I’m picking up where he left off in my work behind the scenes at The City Mission. What makes genealogy fascinating for me is that sense of belonging to this family line and honoring my heritage through how I live my life.
From the first century til now, Jesus’ followers have been passing on the Good News of his redeeming love. That ancient message rings with hope and healing for the difficulties we face in this age.
Can you hear it?
Blessings to you and yours this Christmas and in the New Year!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Crossroads
In recognition of my brother Bob's birthday this week I want to share a story he told me while I 
was visiting with him in Maine. The story came to his mind while we were at the Owl's Head light house, a beautiful spot along midcoast Maine, guiding sea-faring vessels into the Rockland harbor.
The lower photo is Owl's Head point as it would be viewed approaching it from Rockland harbor. The top of the light house
is just barely visible just above the
trees in the center of the photo.
This particular spot is the first sighting that my brother had of Maine, from aboard the US Coast Guard Cutter, Laurel. He recalled with vivid detail the crossroads in his life that led to this place. He had just returned home from DuPage Horticulture School in West Chicago. He recalls walking into the living room where my mother was sitting on the couch next to her brother Jim who had had a career in the military. The draft was going to be enforced as a call to arms for the Vietnam war. Uncle Jim advised him to sign up for the Coast Guard which he promptly did.
......
He first went aboard the Laurel in Baltimore which was on its way back to Rockland, Maine, its home port. It was in early morning light of a spring day in1968 that he first caught sight of the rugged beauty of Maine's coast. He figured it to be a great place to be stationed but when the Laurel docked next to a fish factory he had some initial doubts.
Every year Bob attends the annual EMS conference held at the Samoset Resort overlooking Rockland Harbor with a view out to Owl's Head. And every year he reflects on all that has transpired in all the years since he first set sight on this place. "....sitting looking out at Owl’s Head I think of Tom Gopp and where his service time took him [Vietnam]* compared to the many many blessings I have experienced in Maine. I remain in awe of God’s plans and feel unworthy of the life we have had...."
Watch for more stories and photos of my brother's adventures on the Laurel, from hoisting 14 ton buoys out of the ocean, to search and rescue, to oceanographic studies in the Caribbean.
* Check out my post on April 6, 2008 for hometown remembrances of Tom Gopp and other of my brother's peers who came back from Vietnam in a coffin.
was visiting with him in Maine. The story came to his mind while we were at the Owl's Head light house, a beautiful spot along midcoast Maine, guiding sea-faring vessels into the Rockland harbor.The lower photo is Owl's Head point as it would be viewed approaching it from Rockland harbor. The top of the light house
is just barely visible just above the
trees in the center of the photo.
This particular spot is the first sighting that my brother had of Maine, from aboard the US Coast Guard Cutter, Laurel. He recalled with vivid detail the crossroads in his life that led to this place. He had just returned home from DuPage Horticulture School in West Chicago. He recalls walking into the living room where my mother was sitting on the couch next to her brother Jim who had had a career in the military. The draft was going to be enforced as a call to arms for the Vietnam war. Uncle Jim advised him to sign up for the Coast Guard which he promptly did.
......
He first went aboard the Laurel in Baltimore which was on its way back to Rockland, Maine, its home port. It was in early morning light of a spring day in1968 that he first caught sight of the rugged beauty of Maine's coast. He figured it to be a great place to be stationed but when the Laurel docked next to a fish factory he had some initial doubts.Every year Bob attends the annual EMS conference held at the Samoset Resort overlooking Rockland Harbor with a view out to Owl's Head. And every year he reflects on all that has transpired in all the years since he first set sight on this place. "....sitting looking out at Owl’s Head I think of Tom Gopp and where his service time took him [Vietnam]* compared to the many many blessings I have experienced in Maine. I remain in awe of God’s plans and feel unworthy of the life we have had...."
Watch for more stories and photos of my brother's adventures on the Laurel, from hoisting 14 ton buoys out of the ocean, to search and rescue, to oceanographic studies in the Caribbean.
* Check out my post on April 6, 2008 for hometown remembrances of Tom Gopp and other of my brother's peers who came back from Vietnam in a coffin.
Friday, December 19, 2008
To the Mystery
In lieu of Christmas letters I have gotten in the habit of writing reflections on the incredible and wondrous truth that God became a baby at Christmas. I don't think I 'll ever run out of thoughts to share about this centerpoint in history. I am, however, about to run out of time to get this year's reflections written. Just in case I don't get to it, I'm sharing one written a few years ago. It's timeless nature still makes it very relevant for today.
Christmas Greetings 2004
We sang a little song as children, perhaps in rote, but never-the-less it’s the mystery that surpasses all others. "Jesus loves me, this I know..." When the challenges of being "grownup" begin to overtake me, this little song takes me back to the simple truth that He wants me to come to Him as a little child. He says this not because little children are innocent but because they are incompetent in adult matters.
They don’t worry and scheme about how to make a buck to put food on the table, they just trust that they will be cared for.
And, children can live in dual worlds of both the real and unreal or mysterious. On a little hike in the woods with my great niece, we stopped at the footbridge to have a chat with the troll residing underneath. She directed this little drama, assigning me the role of troll. And so we carried on this conversation, the troll and her, that was both real and unreal at the same time.
There is so much of life that could rob me of such a wide-eyed wonder and mystery, so much that could make me question whether Jesus or God loves anybody, from the misguided who rage that somehow we must "get it right" to be in His family, to the awful death tolls of disease and war…
But there is a profound mystery even in struggle and suffering and death. Jesus likened His own life to the seed that must "die" as it falls into the dark earth, because only then can it bring forth life. This is the inescapable mystery of all time, that Jesus had to die to give us life, and greater still the mystery that His love for me and you is what empowered Him to lay down his life.
On this side of eternity I’ll never "get it right," except to believe the unbelievable... My only hope is in this mystery, that in His death and in his rising again, he cancels the power of sin and death and leads me to an infinite, glorious home, where pain and sorrow will be erased from our memory.
To the Mystery
A song by Michael Card
When the Father longed to show
A love He wanted us to know
He sent His only Son and so
Became a holy embryo
No fiction as fantastic and wild
A mother made by her own child
The helpless babe who cried
Was God Incarnate and man deified
Because the fall did devastate
Creator must now recreate
And so to take our sin
Was made like us so we could be like Him
That is the mystery
More than you can see
Give up on your pondering
And fall down on your knees.
Christmas Greetings 2004
We sang a little song as children, perhaps in rote, but never-the-less it’s the mystery that surpasses all others. "Jesus loves me, this I know..." When the challenges of being "grownup" begin to overtake me, this little song takes me back to the simple truth that He wants me to come to Him as a little child. He says this not because little children are innocent but because they are incompetent in adult matters.
They don’t worry and scheme about how to make a buck to put food on the table, they just trust that they will be cared for.
And, children can live in dual worlds of both the real and unreal or mysterious. On a little hike in the woods with my great niece, we stopped at the footbridge to have a chat with the troll residing underneath. She directed this little drama, assigning me the role of troll. And so we carried on this conversation, the troll and her, that was both real and unreal at the same time.
There is so much of life that could rob me of such a wide-eyed wonder and mystery, so much that could make me question whether Jesus or God loves anybody, from the misguided who rage that somehow we must "get it right" to be in His family, to the awful death tolls of disease and war…
But there is a profound mystery even in struggle and suffering and death. Jesus likened His own life to the seed that must "die" as it falls into the dark earth, because only then can it bring forth life. This is the inescapable mystery of all time, that Jesus had to die to give us life, and greater still the mystery that His love for me and you is what empowered Him to lay down his life.
On this side of eternity I’ll never "get it right," except to believe the unbelievable... My only hope is in this mystery, that in His death and in his rising again, he cancels the power of sin and death and leads me to an infinite, glorious home, where pain and sorrow will be erased from our memory.
To the Mystery
A song by Michael Card
When the Father longed to show
A love He wanted us to know
He sent His only Son and so
Became a holy embryo
No fiction as fantastic and wild
A mother made by her own child
The helpless babe who cried
Was God Incarnate and man deified
Because the fall did devastate
Creator must now recreate
And so to take our sin
Was made like us so we could be like Him
That is the mystery
More than you can see
Give up on your pondering
And fall down on your knees.
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