Young Quaker artist from Africa

I realize that I’m walking the dangerous edge of a proud grandmother. But I think I have good reason to be proud. Gwen Emily Amahora Thomas, currently a senior at Newberg High School with only a few weeks before graduation, is sharing her art with the world. The lobby of Friendsview Retirement Community is displaying her African portraits, fruit of assignments from her AP art classes.

She describes her art in an essay accompanying the portraits:

“Home. That word has both enchanted me and haunted me my whole life. I was born and raised in Rwanda, Africa as one of the few white kids in the country. However, my skin color didn’t prevent me from finding my home in Africa. In recent years, I have had to leave my beloved home and live in America. Saying goodbye to my life-long friends, taking a last glimpse of my childhood home, and finally boarding that plane was the hardest thing I have ever done. But boarding a plane and living somewhere else doesn’t mean that I leave it behind. Rwanda will always be in my heart and a part of who I am. It’s no wonder that most of my art work reflects my love of my country. The portraits are all created as a reflection of the transition I was and am going through.

“I am currently a senior a Newberg High School. I spent my freshman and sophomore years at a boarding school in Kenya where my art began to improve. After graduation this June, I will be going to George Fox University to study nursing.”

Enjoy!

 Self portrait

Proud grandparents!

Art as a door into prayer

I have a certain place in my living room where I go to keep my morning watch and then return to from time to time throughout the day. My chair faces a window with a view of trees and sky. I also keep certain works of art nearby, to help me focus on life and give me courage.

On the stand by the window sit a copy of an icon of Pantokrator Jesus and a picture a friend drew/prayed for me in the Zentangle art style. On the wall above the stand is an original painting of a forest stream.

On another wall I see an original painting of three Aymara women, a crafted wooden picture of a Bolivian village, and a reproduction of Rembrandt’s “Return of the Prodigal Son.”

 Pantokrator Jesus

The original of this icon is a gigantic wall mosaic in the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, once a Christian cathedral, later a mosque, and currently a museum that is trying to restore and blend the art of both religions. Several years ago I stood before this mosaic and felt moved. In the original Christ is accompanied on either side by his mother Mary and John the Baptist. His two fingers represent the double nature of Christ, both man and God, a response to one of the controversies of the 5^th century. I love the tender expression on the face of Jesus. I sense his love and care for me.

Zentangle drawing by Miriam Bock

Miriam prayed for me while I was doing research in Bolivia during January and February. She used this art form to focus her prayers. It’s full of symbolism. The center of the piece, the goose (which emerged and surprised Miriam) is a Celtic symbol of the Holy Spirit. The more ordered squares in the bottom represent the discipline and order of research, and the egg is the hidden treasure I hope to discover. The drawing also contains a playful spirit, the sprouts of poems, and the eyes of God continually watching out for me. There’s more, as I keep discovering. It’s a visual blessing and reminder of the life God offers me.

Forrest stream by Dave Vanderveer

My brother-in-law is a gifted artist. He’s also a generous person. I admired this painting, so he gave it to me. I love the way the light skips off the water. I can almost hear the stream singing over the rocks and the breeze in the trees. It speaks light and life and Spirit.

Three Aymara Women by Oscar Tintaya

Oscar Tintaya is a Bolivian artist who is becoming well known in his own country. He is also a Quaker, and he is my friend. This painting reminds me of the high aesthetic values of the Aymara people, as well as the mystery of this culture. These three women, seated in the market place, aren’t about to let you into their world. And yet God has opened the doors. I continue to marvel at the beauty and mystery.

Wooden picture of an Aymara village

This picture, by an unnamed Bolivian artisan, is formed of tiny slivers of wood artistically arranged to show a village in the foothills of Mount Illimani. Again, the beauty and mystery of the Bolivian landscape and the Aymara culture bring up a spirit of wonder and gratitude.

Rembrandt’s “The Return of the Prodigal Son”

I bought this reproduction of Rembrandt’s painting in The Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia, after having stood for an hour in front of the original. Henri Nouwen’s book of the same title was the key that unlocked this work. The picture draws me into the unending story of the father’s love, the possibility of redemption.

Even though a Quaker (with our reputation for stressing reality above symbolism), I’m also a poet with a love for art and a responsive nature. Art helps me pray, and I need all the help I can get.

Of course, the Original is far more beautiful than all these works. Sometimes I just close my eyes and enjoy the presence.

The body (human and otherwise): Spirituality and the Arts

Last week my concept of art was expanded—or should I say “exploded”?—in a stunning presentation that Craig Goodworth entitled, “Art, Spirituality and the Body.” Craig demonstrated art that flows from a grounded spirituality, a spirituality that rises up from physicality, materiality, geography and culture.

According to his bio, “Craig Goodworth is an interdisciplinary artist whose practice lies on the boundary between landscapes of theology and poetics. Working in sculpture, drawing, installation, performance and prose, core themes in his art are the experience/idea of the body, and place.” Drawing a metaphor from the Passion of Jesus, Craig explained to us that his work is “Saturday art.” It occupies the liminal waiting space between the pain of the crucifixion (Friday) and the triumph of the resurrection (Sunday). Light and shadows intermingle. It is art with “real world contact.”

Craig divided his presentation into sections dealing with the human body, the body of the animal, the Body of Christ, the social body and the body of earth. In the section on the body of the animal, he told of a three day experience in the high desert of Arizona where he worked with the carcass of an elk, exploring it with a camera, turning it into a three-day experience of performance art, with the intention of understanding and living out the three days of Easter. (See Triduum Excerpt.)

In the section on the social body, he spoke of the importance of place (“You are where you live”) and presented “Liminal Space,” an installation and performance-based art project situated in Phoenix, Arizona, Craig’s own home town. An empty warehouse was transformed into a welcoming place of immigrant history, a social sculpture, as Craig put it. One of his intentions was “to create a space in a decaying place that would be hospitable to the other.” The way Craig links geography with spirituality reminds me of Kathleen Norris and her reflections on the Dakotas. Christianity Today documented “Liminal Space” in a short DVD. (See "You Are Where You Live.")

“Installation art,” “performance art,” were new concepts to me, and I’m intrigued. Craig has made art a way of life. He sees—and portrays—life from angles that startle, like looking into the rib cage of a cow and discovering a temple. Concerning the connection between art and spirituality, Craig says that we go through two conversions: one from the world to God and the other from God back into the world. He is working—drawing, sculpting, writing, installing—his way through his second conversion.

Craig and his wife Marie Christine attend the unprogrammed worship service at North Valley Friends. Not brought up Quaker, they are attracted to the way Quakers emphasize waiting on God, which is a type of liminal community space.

He ended his presentation with three queries (the last one a question from CS Lewis’ novel, ‘Till We Have Faces): 1) Describe your conversion from the world to God, and then from God back to the world; 2) How do you connect your spirituality with your body?; 3) Is holy wisdom clear and thin like water or thick and dark like blood?

I’ve been pondering that last one for a week. No answers yet.

Craig Goodworth’s whole website is well worth checking out.

Green and grounded in dirt: Spirituality and the Arts

True spirituality engages the five senses and has dirt under its fingernails; this was part of the message of a recent session of the seminar on “Spirituality and the Arts.” Miriam Bock and Phil Thornburg presented from the perspective of landscape artists. Brother and sister, they grew up in Burundi, and the African flora and fauna early formed part of their experience of the life of the Spirit. Phil now owns and manages a landscape company called Winterbloom, and Miriam works for him as a landscape designer.

They demonstrated how art and spirituality join in this profession, a profession where, according to Phil, “Practicality and aesthetics need to be married; but practicality comes first.” He presented the practical side of his art, telling fascinating before and after landscaping stories, with photos, that addressed real problems having to do with such issues as drainage, depleted soil, small areas, etc. But the result, as he puts is, gives the client “art that is not finished but is something that person can step into and become an ongoing partner with creation.” 

Phil also brought and demonstrated the four most valued tools a home gardener can own; these included a Japanese hori hori. I definitely want one of these, even those we don’t have garden space in our condominium. I would love to casually mention my hori hori to people, partly because it would be such fun to say.

One of the most insightful moments of the evening came as Eric Bock, part of the audience but also another of his Uncle Phil’s employees, told about how humanely Phil treats those who work for him, encouraging as well as training them and giving opportunities to grow personally and professionally. This relationship has been transformative for Eric. I realized that discipleship can be an art, and that Phil is an artist on more levels than maybe even he realizes.

The Winterbloom website contains Phil’s artistic philosophy, as well as photos of his work.

The integration of art and spirituality that Miriam and Phil live out encourages me to appreciate the artistry of the Creator of all this green splendor, and to be grateful for the trees and flowers that draw us closer to our Center.

The serious business of play: "Spirituality and the arts"

Last week was my turn to be the presenting artist at North Valley Friends’ seminar on Spirituality and the Arts. I shared from the position of poet. As I pondered and prepared on how my art and my spirituality intertwine, I came up with a list. I love making lists. They’re usually a bit arbitrary, but that’s one thing I like about them. If I were to come up with a list on the same topic next month, it would be different. And that’s OK.

Actually the list of ways my poetry contributes to my spirituality was enlightening to me, and apparently to the small group of people gathered on Wednesday evening. I gave it a simple heading: “Poetry helps me to…..” And then I read poems that illustrated each item on the list.

Here’s my list. “Poetry helps me to…

--see and say the grace of God hidden in the ordinariness of life.

--embrace what it means to be human.

--engage in the serious business of play.

--remember.

--explore the Word, accidentally discover truth.

--pray.

The poems under the category of “the serious business of play” were the most fun to read. I’m convinced of the necessity of play/fun/laughter to a healthy spirituality. I’m fascinated by the relation of the words “humor,” "humus” (as in dirt/ground), “human,” and “humility.” And of course the Spanish words always enlighten: gracia (meaning “grace”), gracias (meaning “thanks”), and gracioso (meaning “funny”). A humorous outlook is a good indication we’re trusting God, not taking our circumstances or ourselves more seriously than we ought.

I see art (or Art, if you prefer) as play. As serious play. I’m reminded of C.S. Lewis’ comment that “The serious business of heaven is joy.” Perhaps by writing poems (or reading and loving poems) we’re playing our way closer to heaven.

Here's one of the poems I read, an old poem actually.

“An Eccumenical Quaker Draws the Line”

 Can't say I'm not open.

I meditate with Mennonites,

chant with Catholics,

and belt out Baptist blues with the best of them.

I danced at my daughter's wedding to a Nazarene,

and once I even rolled the aisle with a Pentecostal.

But with funerals I reach my limit.

When my time comes

I will insist on my own homespun,

tried and true Quaker version.

I just wouldn't feel dead

without it.