Sometimes they come in groups, right?
I attended the opening reception tonight for a new art exhibit that is showing in town for a few weeks. We were moving from room to room, soaking in the aesthetics, when I turned around and was slapped in the face by a painting. It was a landscape, and oil on canvas…very different from the mixed media pieces surrounding us, and so I suppose it would have gotten my attention anyway. Normally, I’m not really a landscape guy. This one was very simple: bare branches in the foreground, silhouetted against a full moon in the background. It took me somewhere that I wasn’t expecting.
Tillich would have said that it opened up a new level of reality for me, and I think that’s true. God uses art to speak to us in this manner. I can get somethiing out of almost any work, but every now and then I stumble onto one that really speaks to me. This one caused a full blown epiphany.
It took me back home, to where I grew up, to the fall of the year, looking up into a cold night sky like I frequently used to do. I’ve contemplated, pondered, and prayed many times into such a sky. That painting was a portal to a time 20 years into my past. It caused me, however, to unpack a lot of thoughts in the present.
You see, I’m a city guy. I love the urban landscape. Take me into a rural area, and I’m very out of place, not to mention typically uncomfortable. That belies my background, though, because I grew up in the middle of Appalachian culture, far away from any metropolitan area. That’s not to say that my family members are rednecks, they’re certainly not. While not totally the artistic creative types, they’ve always endeavored to understand and support a son that is, and done an excellent job. There were many, many rednecks around during my childhood, however. I hated where I grew up. I loathed it. I detested it. I would insert a stronger word if I could think of one. From the time I was old enough to act independently, I rebelled against it, and everything that culture represented. I did it mentally and emotionally as a teenager, and acted by moving to the city to pursue my bachelor’s degree as soon as I was able. I became exactly the opposite of my environment. That wasn’t hard, because my personality is such that I would have been anyway, but the point is I made every effort to not fit in there. I’ve always been ashamed of where I grew up. I hated it. I’ve even lied and said I was from Pittsburgh, where I spent a great deal of time during my post-college years.
But tonight, for some reason, God tapped me on the shoulder and told me it was okay. Perhaps its the culmination of the journey He and I have been taking since Christmas. That painting was a window back to my childhood, and the memories of the most amazing family I could ever hope to have been blessed with. I experienced that culture, for better or worse, and I am a better and more capable person for it today. I hate that culture, and that’s okay too. But I experienced it, and there was a reason for that. God didn’t have me born there by accident.
More to the point, it will come out well in the future (Romans 8:28), so it’s okay. It’s okay that I’m from there, and I don’t have to be ashamed of it. I don’t have to hate it. I can dislike the culture, and intend to never return to it. Believe me, I hold that intention. But I am not a worse person because I experienced it, I am a better person.
Diversity is a beautiful thing.
The occasional ephiphany isn’t bad, either.