Apr 14 2009
How did you come to found the International Arts Movement?
I found myself isolated from the creative communities as a Christian and from the Church as an artist. But I became convinced that the “gap” I fell into was actually a culturally significant arena (some call it the “critical zone”), a kind of an estuary, a rich mixture of faith-infected cultural waters with many strange, beautiful creatures swimming about. So, I decided to be intentional in seeking the others out, and to understand the climate of the “critical zone.” You could also say that I did not find IAM, but that IAM found me.
You live and work just blocks from Ground Zero. How did 9/11 change your approach to your own art, and your understanding of the role of artists in the world?
9/11 confirmed what I had been feeling for some time up to that point, highlighted especially by the Columbine incident: that we are in a cultural malaise far deeper and troubling than we cared to admit. Refractions is, now looking back, a way for me to articulate both the fears and hopes coming out of trauma, and how we swim in the “ecosystem of imagined actions.” Imagination has consequences. Therefore, artists’ influence far exceeds the peripheral, decorative realities.
You write in one of your essays: “Developing a habit, a culture of repentance, will require us to walk straight toward the darkness, including our own imaginative power of vengeance.” What do you mean by “a habit, a culture of repentance”?
Repentance, metanoia, means to turn 180 degrees around. I was, at the time, living in Ground Zero, and walking up to my studio about ten blocks away. Each day, I had to turn back and walk toward Ground Zero, and I associate this act with needing to repent each day of my lack of forgiveness, apathy and doubt. What was going on inside my heart, in a larger way, the culture was going through as well. There was an opportunity for the culture at large to also repent, in that sense, to “run toward the tower of Christ.”
In your introduction to Refractions: A Journey of Faith, Art, and Culture (NavPress) you point out that the word “peacemaker” used by Jesus in Matthew 5:9 (“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.”) can also be translated as “peace-poet.” What are the potential implications for followers of Jesus of this uncommon interpretation?
The Bible is authored by a Creator for the creative children of God to create in love. Matthew 5 is only one of many ways that Jesus pointed to the reality of God’s children to thrive in creativity and love. The implication here is that in order to be fully human and a follower of Christ, we need to be in the creative endeavors, and that true peace requires active, and creative, commitment. Even pragmatically, it may be far more effective to send a symphony orchestra than soldiers to begin the diplomatic process, as we saw in North Korea. The arts allow a deeper, more enduring conversation that affects the whole person, tilling the cultural ground for empathy and a new way of seeing things.
Why is it important for the Church to be involved in the arts?
Because we are created to be creative, the Church is not fully church until the communing members are thriving in their creativity. The arts give us the capital and the discipline of culture, good that needs to be transmuted into the Body of the Church so we can live fully in God’s countenance, and thereby be effective catalysts in the world.
You write frequently in your essays about the “third language.” What is “third language”?
The “third language” moves away from the culture war’s inflammatory language, and seeks to speak beyond the divide. We need to find ways to re-humanize our conversations to speak meaningfully about the values we care about. “Third language” needs to be created constantly, drawing from the past but also innovating at the same time to create commonwealth of a diverse voices.
Reading your essay “Why Art?”, I was reminded of Zbigniew Herbert’s poem “Five Men,” about five men executed by firing squad. Herbert says at the end of the poem, basically, “I am aware of the men’s execution, so how can I justify writing poems about flowers?” His answer is that the night before the execution, the men under death’s sentence talked about prophetic dreams, automobile parts, girls, vodka—in other words, the everyday things of life. Herbert concludes his poem: “thus one can use in poetry/names of Greek shepherds/one can attempt to catch the colour of the morning sky/write of love/and also/once again/in dead earnest/offer to the betrayed world/a rose.” What is your response to those who have trouble justifying artistic pursuits in a world with so much inequality and injustice?
Art does not necessarily provide answers to inequality and injustice, but provides a vision of the world beyond them. Giving a rose in rebellion against de-humanization is a simple act, but repeated by the thousands, like in the case of Princess Diana’s death, it can be a powerful demonstration of humanity. I do not believe there is a strict dichotomy between artistic pursuits, or of beauty, with justice issues. Both beauty and justice require a foundation of the ethics of love, and are the twin pillars of the City of God. When Mary anointed Jesus with the expensive jar of nard, she was intuitively recognizing, with her act of beauty, the injustice Jesus is about to suffer. The extravagant gesture, and the disciples’ response “what a waste,” was met with Jesus’ commendation that “wherever the gospel is told, what she has done will be told.” Both beauty and justice must be practiced together to truthfully engage in human conflicts, because it is not just about the “rights” of a person only, but about the possibility of human flourishing in general.
