Presence in Writing

As a writer, grappling with the writing process every day, I often come across comments like this, “…the work itself – the practice of the craft of writing – must be its own reward”(Dennis Palumbo, Writing from the Inside Out, 53). Over the years such statements have paled, and in fact, become a source of discouragement for me. Because oftentimes writing isn’t its own reward. Such phrases – art for art’s sake – actually became statements of disillusionment and abandonment. 


Recently I intentionally re-read Mark Batterson’s book, The Circle Maker, because I want to grow in prayer and faith. I was surprised to find that much of the same material that applied to me as a spiritual person also spoke to me as a writer. And then it hit me. When I see the word, “prayer,” it’s a word of relationship. When I pray, I’m entering into a relationship with Christ. I’m not alone. But when I utter the word, “writing,” I’m alone. It is no secret that aloneness and loneliness is a “right of passage” every writer must accept. Naturally, then, it would also become core to the writer’s identity. 


As a Christian, maybe this is something that needs to be questioned and reassessed. Writing, like prayer, is not only about the inner being, the self, but it’s also about communicating and interacting with the world (evangelium). It’s about finding relationship through the craft. It’s also about being in a relationship with Jesus. When I sit down at my desk, turn on the computer, and look at the blank page – forced to confront myself – it can be terrifying. I realized that much like the effects of prayer, I want Jesus to be waiting there on the other side. I need to know that he’s waiting there. 


It’s about entering presence. When I conceive of it that way, I’m not abandoned to figure it out on my own. I’m not begging the blank stare of art for art’s sake to fulfill me. Instead, I’m stepping into glory. 
It’s still a struggle, for the daily discipline of writing often feels harsh and unrelenting. But if it is your call, your work, then like prayer, it can also be a conduit into Christ’s presence. Then the raw discipline, the craft, the monotonous constancy isn’t the end in itself. Rather, the reward is an invitation into his presence. It’s an investment and cultivation into something eternal. It’s a journey home. 

Thinking, Oil and Wallpaper

--Anita Kobayashi Sung
Anita is one of the many talented artists that participated in our seven-week faith and art study, In the Living Room, this past spring.  Anita and her husband David are both graduates from Gordon-Conwell Seminary and will soon start a church in Manhattan. 


Come to InterArts Fellowship this Monday Night at the W83 Ministry Center as we examine how Eternal Life shapes the present lives of artists. Featuring works by The James Hall Quintet, Anna Hillengas Troester, Maria Fee and guest speaker Cherith Fee Nordling. Artists reception to follow program.

The Artists Role As Connector

Last April’s InterArts Fellowship, entitled “The Artist as Cultivator,” sought to investigate the connections between art and prayer. Without too much explanation we hoped the art--in the form of dance, song, music, and poetry, would lead some to prayerful ruminations. But, we also longed to portray the beauty of prayer.

One of the outcomes of April’s IAF were two separate Reflect nights initiated and facilitated by Nathan Troester at his church in Williamsburg. Nathan commenced the evening with prayer and a short theological presentation, later asking the handful of invited artists to reflect and response through their respective artistic mediums.

Graphic designer, printmaker, and creative director of Live From Bklyn, Dailey Crafton, shares his account from the first Reflect night in Live From Bklyn’s blog. I link the post here, but allow me to excerpt some of the content for this reflection:

as i meditated on the concepts of the transcendance/eminence of God, my thoughts were drawn toward the name that God gives himself, “I AM.” this name speak of self-existence, completely independent upon anything else for survival. transcendence defined (and named). i also thought about the Christian doctrine of God-incarnate in the person of Jesus. about how he had a body, hair: a beard. eminence. from these thoughts i also moved into thinking about the material/immaterial dichotomy. immaterial God, material man. I AM material, as it were. i’mmaterial. and that was the concept.

within the swirls of the piece, you can see the word i’mmaterial. and the line is a continuous, unbreaking line, symbolic of the infinite. i also wanted to capture the idea of humanity, so i used a pattern that to me is evocative of hair, a beard to be more specific.

What Dailey’s description from the Reflect event provides is an example of how artists can integrate prayer and art while also portraying their role in connecting abstract ideas with concrete matter. Yet more is being bridged, we also see the reconciliation of spirit and body, work and faith, product and process. Dailey demonstrates how art belongs in the realm of theology, and theology certainly can shape our art. Witnesses to such interactions come away with a deepened understanding of God, while also refreshed by possibilities. It is firmly set in my mind how artists are called to be bridge builders in our ever increasing disconnected world.

Pray artfully,

--Maria

Thank you, Dailey, for allowing us to reference your blog post. Dailey’s i’mmaterial linocut print is available through his online shop.

The Spirit's Work

In my apartment building in Queens, I am fortunate to have a superintendent with a kind and humble heart. James is a man of principle and deeply committed to his family, including his autistic son, Jason. We live in an old pre-war building with lots of issues so I am in regular communication with James for repairs. The problems in my apartment don't seem to be unique among the other 60 rentals in our building because this year James installed a little drop box in the lobby with instructions for how to make a service request and a little pen dangling from a string. It works like this: the tub gets clogged...again, and I drop a little note in the box explaining the problem, the level of urgency and a range of times that I can be available to receive the work. So, far it's been a pretty efficient little system, with perhaps one drawback. I'm never exactly sure when he's coming or how long it will take to do the repair. Most often, I find myself interrupted from REM sleep by the doorbell and jolted unexpectedly from my Tempur-Pedic pillow about an hour before I had intended to wake up on a weekday morning.

I can't help but notice the similarities of this ongoing relationship to that of my prayer life. I receive so many answers to my prayers with the same scraggly disposition that James meets when he shows up at my door, toolbox in hand. What do we imagine the Spirit's work will look like when we pray, "Lord, change my heart. Make me more like you"? It is far more the will of the Father than my own that I be transformed into one who reflects his character. The disconnect comes in how I tend to think about and imagine the process of bringing about this transformation.

For the most part I think we have quite a different view of our hearts than God has. It's fitting. The plumber has quite a different view of your toilet than you do as well. For you, it's part of an unconscious habit of doing a business about which you take no particular notice until something has gone wrong. In God's reality your heart is a place of massive devastation, and yet also a place of glorious beauty and potential. This has everything to do with who he is, and the quality of his nature. In his nature lies the hope of our hearts. He's on the job. But are we awake to receive him?

Kenyon

The Artist as Cultivator

In Andy Crouch’s, Culture Making, Christians are encourage to take up the posture of cultivation. Kenyon and I have proceeded to use the term cultivator as one of the various roles of the Christian artist. Tonight at InterArts Fellowship we venture one step further and will highlight the relationship between prayer and cultivation in the life of the artist.

Here is how we see it, both prayer and art are cultivating actions. Prayer tills our souls, cultivation works at shaping the material world. Together, prayer and cultivation echo back to the scene in Genesis 2, God’s Spirit animates the man who is then placed in a garden. Quite rightly, it takes life-giving faith to engage in generative, meaningful work. Furthermore, Henry Van Til states there are two main actions Christians perform in the world, prayer and work, ora et labora, cultus and culture. Both are life expanding. Our prayers speak through our deepest inner being in order to draw us out of ourselves to work assiduously in the world.

This is why I’m intrigued by the story of the cursed fig tree that withers in Matthew 21. It bridges Jesus’ cleaning of the temple, with the stern warning that if God’s people do not produce fruit for the king, they too, will wither. The disciples amazed that Jesus could quickly dissipate the fig tree hear the reply to their wonder, “Whatever you ask for in prayer with faith, you will receive.” According to Jesus, you can even move mountains, if you just ask.

God longs to make us a house of prayer that we may bear choice fruit. But the biggest miracle is that prayer enables us to hand over our harvest, what we have cultivated, back to the Lord. We are called to be both temple, the house of prayer, and Bethpage, the house of green figs. God’s creation is such that it harbors extraordinary potential. There is no need to hoard the firstfruits because we live in God's abundance. So when we enter into relationship, through prayer, with the giver of live, we should begin to see possibilities even among mountainous impossibilities.

The artist as cultivator invests in soul-stretching activity. Through prayer and the the creative process we align ourselves with God. We urge you to hand over your harvest to the true landowner. Prayerfully cultivate, cultivate prayerfully.

--Maria