Tag Archives: Art

Puppeteering

Karen is occasionally into old episodes of the Muppet Show. I almost always have the same reaction: she puts in the DVD, I walk out of the room to do something else, convinced that I won’t be interested, only to end up coming back to watch it because it’s just a variety of comedy that isn’t done anymore, at least not done well. Many of the jokes are quick…the type you have to be on point to catch. What I enjoy about them is that they aren’t just pop culture references that only the “cool” will get, but rather cultural and artistic references in general that require education to pick up on. Tonight we watched an episode with Brooke Shields as the guest. The episode centered around the group’s humorously ill-fated attempt to do a comedic performance of Alice in Wonderland. The episode was full of fast references, visual and verbal, to this and many other fairy tales, in such a way that the audience wouldn’t pick up on them if they didn’t know what went with which, and didn’t have time to stop and think because everything kept moving. There was a reference to War and Peace early in the episode, and, my personal favorite, a performance of Jabberwocky! I couldn’t believe my ears, nor could I believe that I was able to still recite a good part of the poem along with the performance.

Why don’t we see comedy like that anymore? Don’t get me wrong, I loved Letterman through my college years, and appreciated the particular brand of humor that came with the late shows. That humor, however, was nothing compared to the educated humor that (even) the Muppet Show was able to provide. I think the reason is that our culture at large just isn’t nearly as educated as it once was.

In college, I watched an episode of Frasier in which a reference was made to someone “yelling ‘Heathcliffe!’ across the moors!” I laughed hysterically. My room-mate didn’t get it. More recently, while brainstorming a writing project for my faith community, I wrote a short piece patterned after A Modest Proposal. The editorial staff rejected it, stating that they had never heard of this essay, and thus were afraid readers wouldn’t understand my piece as satirical.

Is it possible that this many people haven’t heard of Wuthering Heights, or A Modest Proposal? Even if they haven’t read them, to have never heard of them?? The last thing I want to do here is be elitist: there are many, many pieces of literature I haven’t read. I don’t look down on those who aren’t well-read because I know all of us are gifted in different ways. Still, what happened to the level of education that was at one time held as the standard? When did the standard become exceptional?

I see an attempt in educational venues of all types, from faith communities to schools, to “bring down” the knowledge to where the audience is perceived to be. This underestimates the audience and students, whatever their age. Instead, why do we not leave the knowledge where it is and endeavor to bring the audience up to that level? The intense focus on the end result (i.e: test scores) is, I fear, doing a great deal of damage to the fabric of our culture, affirming an under-educated generation and raising one behind it that appears unapologetically ignorant in many realms. Already, the things that matter most are minimized in the name of industrialized progress. Spirituality and the arts are pushed to the back as science is deified. At the risk of pushing too hard with the sometimes sweeping generalizations I’ve made above, I have to sound the alarm: we’ve lost so much already…how will that be compounded when video completely replaces the written word, and language is degraded to succinct bullet-points in outlines?

Hopefully, that is the fear of a dark, alternate future of science fiction, and won’t ever become a reality.

If it does, though, I suppose no one will remember the genre anyway, so the irony will be lost.

Contradictions

It happened just a few months into my first official position as a “youth pastor.”

It was summer, my first in Virginia; hot and humid. My allergies were still learning to cope with the horrific pollen levels in the air. The youth pastor who was over me in the chain of command decided to have a “food fight” as a youth group activity. The purpose of this activity remains unclear to me to this day, other than to keep the students amused, which is what youth pastors are typically charged with. What was clear was that all those assembled were to bring some sort of food, and we were going to throw it at each other. He advised bringing old clothes.

My logic was this: even my “old clothes” were painting clothes, and I would need them again in the future. It was obvious that the clothes worn to the “food fight” would be best disposed of afterward. So, I would go purchase something cheap, and toss them when I was finished.

Where else, but the local Goodwill?

I picked up a pair of black jeans and a black and blue pinstripe long-sleeve shirt that fit, not being too careful knowing that I would wear these one time. I went to the check-out lane. The woman ahead of me remarked on my choice: “Oh, you matched those well.” My heart sank a bit, but I refused to succumb, holding onto my utilitarian attitude: these were for the kids! This was a worthy sacrifice.

I wore them, made an unsalvageable mess of them, secured them in a trash bag when I arrived home, and left them on the curb after my thorough shower. I hadn’t thought of that ruined outfit, purchased for desolation, until this weekend.

I was acting in a short comedy sketch this weekend for my faith community. My wife assisted, as she is so handy with, in building props. The other actor entered carrying a tray of popcorn bags, like you would see at a ball game. So, Karen dutifully popped a bowl full of popcorn the night before, that would be placed on top of the stuffed popcorn bags, just enough so that it looked realistic.

Now, I know it’s only popcorn. In my head, I’m thinking, this is for my art! This is for the audience, and this is about God.

And then I thought of the clothes from a few years ago.

When I was a sound and scenic designer in college, I remember the debate about how “environmentally friendly” theatre was or was not (the term “green” had yet to surface in mainstream culture at that time). I remember at least one publication discussing what to do with the leftover scrap lumber from the set construction, as well as the set pieces themselves after the show was finished. I remember the sense of sadness watching my first real set be destroyed after the run of the show, striking the stage for the next production. There was a tug-of-war there, of sorts, although it hadn’t really pushed its way to the surface yet. I was the kid in high school that drew remarks from a teacher for having a Greenpeace decal in my locker, before I had any idea what they were about. I was the guy who bought an Earth Day t-shirt my freshman year in college. I’m currently the recycling fanatic in an American Southeast that largely couldn’t care less about recycling.

In short, I think I’m a bit of a contradiction.

I wonder if there’s any room at all for utilitarianism here? I currently practice theatre in the venue of a faith community. A huge amount of lumber from sets is recycled for housing repair. We do huge clothing drives. There’s a lot less to be guilty about here, because creating is in itself justified in God’s image, and the art is worth some waste. There is also, however, a point of careless disregard for our activity that hurts those around us indirectly. The clothes for the “food fight” a few years ago were at that level, I think (the other pastor felt guilty afterward, as well). Funny how I did something I’m suddenly very certain was extremely distasteful to God in order to engage in a pointless activity that I thought He would be passionate about.

Now, perhaps it’s silly that a bowl of popcorn would cause this level of introspection, but, at the same time, there are people who would gladly give anything for that popcorn before they starve to death…some of them in our own country. So, at what point does our art justify waste? At what point is creating outweighed by the collateral damage?

Okay, maybe someone wouldn’t “give anything” for popcorn, but it does seem to flaunt our excess a bit, I guess. Worse, however, is the realization as I write this of the actual food that was used in that “food fight” years ago, made for the evening, also destined for waste, that could indeed have fed someone. The irony that the latter is the function of the church, but that we used it for the former, strikes me painfully in this moment.

Is the answer a difference between legitimate artistic creative ventures and youth activities? As much as I’d like to believe that, it seems a bit elitist to say, as well as a bit of a double standard. If one is wrong, then it seems it should at least be indicative of a line, beyond which the other is wrong, as well.

Or, perhaps the answer is the danger in crossing a line toward fanaticism in believing God “called” us to do something specific, and thus we dive into something forgetting logic, damning the torpedoes and full speed ahead. In short, am I justifying wasting food for the sake of the art that I love, while condemning the same waste in a “ministry” that I fully believe I entered in error?

Or, perhaps the answer is neither of those. Whatever it is, I don’t have it. What I do know is that this is a valid question, and, while I’d be rather pretentious to think that I had the answer at this point, I’m hoping that I stumble across it soon.

Odd Inspirations

I woke up much more easily this morning…sunlight is beginning to come through the window again by around 6:30 a.m. in Virginia. It makes for a much better day…I was up, forced myself to look professional, and off to work I went.

On the way, I listened to a great discussion about the theology of music. The Kindlings Muse posts these discussions on their podcasts frequently (they’re hinting of discussing U2’s new album in May), so it’s an exploration with which I’m familiar. Today’s discussion primarily involved Bob Dylan. The discussion of the faith content in his music is interesting if you’re into those sorts of discussions, and worth listening to. I found myself distracted part way through, however, and wondering things.

I listened as one of the panelists discussed Dylan’s “Christian period,” and it was at that point that I drifted into some introspection. I find myself envious of any artist so free to spend their days pursuing their craft that others reflect on their work enough to dissect it into periods. While I don’t think of myself as any less of an artist or as any less creative, I long for their freedom to speak truth, to voice opinions, even to dress and look the way they want. I’m thankful for the opportunities I’m given to speak truth and to express what is given me, and I’m grateful for both mine and Karen’s professional positions that pay more than just the rent. Sometimes, though, I feel as though I’m a cog in the machine, forced to dress to a certain code, bound by expectations of professionalism that get in the way of doing one’s job well at times, and a daily routine that certainly can act to dry up wells of creativity. There are moments when I wonder if we are not similar to the drone people of the foreign planet of L’Engle’s imagination in A Wrinkle In Time, where complete uniformity is required, and individuality is not tolerated for fear of the difficulties it will pose.

As with everything, however, I’m faced with the choice of either succumbing to life, or redeeming what is there. I’m choosing to redeem it…not only in my seeking to impact those people whose paths I cross each day in my professional field, but using overall experiences as inspiration, as what a close friend calls “grist for my writing mill.”

I read a long time ago somewhere that a good writer is a good observer. I think that is true of any artist. The only other art I have experience with is theatre, and I can certainly say that a good actor is a good observer, as well. To act a lifestyle, one must have seen the details of that lifestyle. To write about a human life, one must have observed human lives in all of their good and all of their bad. Clinically, I observe people every day in order to have an objective analysis of where they are, a piece of their holistic puzzle that I attempt to put together in my head to know best how to help them.

I know I’m not the only creative personality to ever struggle with feeling as though I’m a prisoner of an industrialized age…that anything fun or passionate in life is taken away by responsibilities to family, to work, even to God. There’s a danger of becoming resentful to all of these, of becoming tired of being forced to give up our creative time to any of the three. In fact, though, I think that the only way one can be creative is to give up some time to all three, because it is in all three…as well as other realms of life…that we acquire the foundations for our prose, our paintings, our poetry, and our plays. In doing so, we serve our art, thus serving those who walk down the street next to us. In doing so, we serve the Divine.

And, in doing so, we neither become cogs in the machine or rage against it. We do something so much better than that. We act to redeem it from the inside out, with language and beauty that ultimately points to faith.

Hiding in the Shadows

Karen wants to dwell in the light.

Those were actually her exact words last night. Ironic that she would say that, as I am, physiologically, so sensitive to sunlight. Take it away, I get depressed. Give me a lot, I’m pretty happy. Perhaps that’s the reason that the only season I really have any use for is the summer. I’m a pleasant sort of guy. I enjoy being in the light, as well…yet, I spend so much time in the dark.

Karen has difficulty reading my fiction. She gets, to use her words, “freaked out.” When I write fiction, I tend to explore the dark, to probe its depths, in order to find a way to redemption, or at least to the possibility of redemption. Art, after all, asks a question…it isn’t so much in the business of providing answers.

That leaves me concerned a bit for myself. I believe that I am “in the light” now, or at least I actively attempt to follow that Way. Yet, I spend a great deal of time in the dark. The people I help every day at work, the friends I walk beside who are wrestling with dark times, the memories of my own spiritually unhealthy decisions…these are all part of the journey to bring me to the light. Unfortunately, I don’t portray the “in the light” concept nearly as well as I explore the darkness that preceded it…what Buechner called the tragedy of the Message preceding the comedy. When I act, I act dark roles the best. I gravitated toward Heath Ledger’s final performance as the Joker last summer. I direct drama better than comedy. I write explorations of the darkest parts of our souls, and leave the discovery of the light as a question mark, a possibility that is beyond me to articulate.

That’s not to say that I don’t think we discover the light; to the contrary, I have done so. We all slip back into the dark periodically, however, and I’m sometimes concerned that it is that part of the human condition that I explore the best. Of course, art that explores the other side tends to lack substance at best, or be didactic at worst, so perhaps the issue is that I’m afraid of being either of those things.

All that to say, I think I’m really good at exploring the side of us that we don’t like to recognize is there, because ultimately humans don’t hold an answer to the problem anyway. At the end, I long to point to the Way, and I am in hopes that I do that in some capacity.

And, if not, I think I’ll have to find an editor other than my wife.

Now, Where’s That Gonna Go?

So two weeks after moving into our new apartment, things are taking shape and beginning to feel like “home,” or at least as much as an apartment can. Most of this afternoon was spent with final tweaking, and unpacking books to place them on the bookshelves, the placement of which we had finally decided. Karen and I both have our share of obsessive-compulsive tendencies (I prefer “organizationally gifted”), and we like to organize our bookshelves by book type: plays together, fiction together, childrens’ lit. together…you get the idea. As we were placing old textbooks onto the appropriate shelves, Karen pulled out a text on “Principles of Marketing” from my undergrad, and asked succinctly where to place this as it didn’t match with anything else we own.

The textbook came from a marketing class I took in my last year of my undergrad, when I had (erroneously) stopped 6 credit hours short of my theatre degree, and declared a psychology minor to accompany my other major of communication. Having thus made the decision I would later regret to bow to the questions of “what kind of job are you going to get with that?”, I was looking for a way to make my communications degree more marketable, and I took a marketing class. A little over a year later, I stumbled into the psychology field and have made my living that way ever since, even though I’ve never been able to get theatre out of my blood. God has a sense of humor.

All that to say, I’m glad that a marketing textbook doesn’t fit in with anything else we own, because I hate the concept of marketing. What I realized tonight, though, is that it is an unfortunate necessity in our culture.

The realization came as Karen was distracted and drawn (as will inevitably happen) into reading the books she was trying to place onto shelves. She read some amazing passages by Douglas Coupland, from his book Life After God. I was struck by the ironic connection to our discussion over the marketing textbook, because I would never have picked up this book to read it. The cover is one of the worst designs I’ve ever seen (ironically not the one pictured in this Amazon link; our copy has a baby in a swimming pool. Horrible). My loss, because the passages Karen read aloud were some seriously amazing prose, and I now have every intention of digging into Coupland’s work further. Had she not gotten me past the cover, however, that would have never happened.

Similarly, I was strolling through the local Barnes & Noble last winter and ended up purchasing a copy of Origin by Diana Abu-Jaber (again, not the cover art in this Amazon link…my copy has a white minimalist winter scene that reached off the shelf and grabbed me). I highly recommend the book, which I ended up very drawn into, even though I wasn’t looking for a crime thriller at the time. This one, as it turned out, was of extremely high literary quality. I stumbled onto it because of the cover. Marketing worked here as well as it would have in reverse of the horrible cover to our copy of the Coupland book.

I see marketing having positive and negative effects on us. At the end of the day, I don’t see our culture working without it, but it still ultimately leaves a bad taste in my mouth, because I think it leads to a notable absence of authenticity. The whole idea of selling art and finding a “target audience” is somehow repellent to me, but I see the necessity of it, I suppose. That’s why I’m the writer and not the agent, I guess.

It also lends a fresh credence to that old adage of not being able to judge a book by its cover.