"Old" Lang Syne

I'm getting old.

Two days ago, I spent a leisurely afternoon shopping -- my small fortune of Christmas gift cards tightly packed into my wallet, which is too small -- and came home with light gray trousers from Express and a pair of loafer pumps.  Loafer pumps.  What is this?  1974?

My diet is now coffee-based.  Every time someone asks me if I want room for cream, I feel like they're offering me a bad real estate deal.  "Congratulations, you are the proud owner of a new four-bedroom, three-and-a-half bath home, but we will be using two of those rooms for our own storage.  That's in the contract somewhere."  No, no.  Dark roast, black.  Fill 'er up.  All the way up.

Last quarter at SCAD, I had an assignment to give an informative presentation about the designer of my choice.  When the time came, I pulled up my PowerPoint -- which was nothing more than a slideshow of my favorite Eero Saarinen, Mies van der Rohe, and Harry Bertoia pieces -- and blissfully babbled for fifteen minutes about Knoll furniture.  Furniture.  Furniture is what you argue about in divorce settlements, what you sit on and lie down on and spill popcorn on, not what you willfully research for weeks so you can tell all of your classmates about it.

So far, the most troubling aspect of suddenly getting old when I'm twenty is that I can't stand people my own age.  Not all of them, you see, but so many of my peers are immature, rude, uneducated, selfish little pricks, and so am I; but that's not the point, because at least I know these things about myself.  What's more astonishing is that I'm learning how to keep my mouth shut in these situations.  If you know me, you know this is a feat, and it's no longer because I don't care: it's because it's the humble thing to do.

What?

Join me in 2012 as I put on my glasses so I can read the DVD menu, pay more in shipping than the cost of the French press filter part I ordered online, and learn to say, "Sorry, I can't go out with you tonight because I would rather be at home, on the couch in front of the T.V., with the dog and a glass of wine."

Cheers.

55

In fifty-five days, I will be in Michigan.  There will be inches of gorgeous snow on the ground, Zingerman's and Pizza House will be within driving distance, and I will be on my way to see dear friends from a past life.  I will be able to get fresh apple cider, surround myself with fantastic Midwest accents, and sit around a fire pit with family and neighbors.  One month, three weeks and three days.

I have wanted to visit since I left, of course, but I could never justify the cost of traveling.  Then, it occurred to me earlier this week that if I wait too much longer, all of my friends will have graduated and Ann Arbor won't be quite the same without the people who made it a memory.  Twenty-four hours later, I had plans to be in Michigan from December 13th through the 21st.

(I'm stopping in Ohio on the 13th; I didn't miscount the countdown.)

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it.  People always ask me if I miss it, and yeah.  How could I not?  The minute I moved to Ann Arbor, the stars aligned to create the kind of environment that allows me to flourish.  Limitless opportunities for involvement and networking; pride in academic excellence; cultural richness; gray skies and snowy weather (I am the only one I know who loves this); a sense of belonging with my studio, my fraternity, my coworkers, fellow art and music students, my church, and everyone else who loves the University of Michigan.  It was completely surreal.

I don't regret transferring; I hope my other posts raving about the magnificence that is SCAD (and everything else in my life, really) are evidence of my confidence that I made the right decision two summers ago.  But Michigan is a big part of me.  My friends and family get tired of hearing about it, the football schedule is my desktop wallpaper, and I still light up when I see U of M license plates.  I wouldn't trade my time there for anything in the world.  The anticipation of going back to visit has made me aware of just how much it means to me.

Fifty-five days.

What You See

It's not what you look at that matters; it's what you see. - Henry David Thoreau

As the third week of school comes to an end, I am astonished at how time flies and how quickly and completely SCAD enchanted me.  [Book plug: Guy Kawasaki's Enchantment]  My first year here was this unbelievably fresh experience that felt like my finding what I never knew I was missing, and my excitement about my work and my joy derived from the stimulating environment are constantly growing richer.

I have been looking forward to my Fall 2011 classes for months.  I chose to take classes back-to-back on Tuesdays and Thursdays to reduce commuting time, so two days of my week are filled with twentieth century art history, typography, and visual design systems.  My art history professor resembles James Franco, and his dishevelment and absentmindedness border the line between endearing and irritating.  That said, there is something perfect about dissecting the work of Matisse at eight o'clock in the morning.  I can't remember the last time a topic interested me the way typography interests me.  Somewhere in the world, five other people might get a tingly sensation from the phrase, "diagonal stress in the counter."  Don't worry about what that means, but seriously, each lecture makes me want to go home and study the notes I took, and the recognition that I have an eye for it has made it all the more rewarding.  Visual Design Systems is my last Foundations class, and we are currently learning about all of the golden ratios, root rectangles, Fibonacci sequence, etc.  The more I learn, the more my past work horrifies me and makes me want to go "fix" everything, which is a blessing and a curse.

I wrestle with the best way to spend my time as my involvement in RUF has skyrocketed, I continue to receive design commissions, and I aim to focus on seeking jobs and internships while leaving time to do "my own" work.  I removed music performance from my life in order to leave more time for these things, and I have to constantly remind myself of that.

The more I learn about art, the more differently I see the world.  I try to explain to those who claim to lack talent or creativity that artistry is just a way of seeing.  When I see an isolated word, I analyze the spacing between every two letters.  When I see effective use of color, I consider the theory behind it.  When I see a leaf, a cloud, a trickle of water -- anything -- I visualize a thousand compositions inspired by the line, the movement, the character.  I'm learning to see for the first time, and the view is breathtaking.

Coming Home

I penned this journal entry on my way home from church this afternoon:

Today marks the ten-year anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center.  It has never personally affected me much; I was in the fifth grade when it happened, and I neither knew what the World Trade Center was nor knew anyone in it.


Two-and-a-half years ago, I met John.  At the time, I just knew him as my mom's cousin.  A year and a half later, he became Johnny.  My housemate.  My mother was horrified when I asked Johnny if I could live with him while I was in school.  He eagerly agreed, and the last year has been the story of how we became best friends.


John was in New York City on September 11, 2001.  His girlfriend died that day, and he went to fourteen funerals that month.  He wasn't in the World Trade Center when it fell, but he could have been.  He could have died that day.


Every magazine, it seems, published an article in their September 2011 issue that tells the story of a person who was somehow victimized by the September 11 attacks.  They speak of "holding on" for loved ones; of leaving for work and coming home six months later, after a nightmare of hospitalization and physical therapy.  Today, as I thank God that my best friend wasn't killed ten years ago, I think about what would happen to my loved ones if I didn't come home today.  What would be unfinished?  What would they tell me if they had one last chance?  What would I have told them?


I wouldn't mind if I died today.  I would be with Jesus, and I have lived.  I would be able to repent of my abundant sins for the last time.  I would leave behind the best memories, the most loving relationships, and an endless supply of "what-might-have-been"s.  To most, it would seem an unfinished life.  But what do I lack?  I have been given everything.  I have been in love.  I have had my heart broken.  I have played in Carnegie Hall.  I have been to a ball with a prince.  I have seen my artwork in a museum.  I have been awed by something majestic.  I have provoked tears of joy.  I have seen true happiness.  I have inspired others.  I have helped save a life.

What else is there?  Marriage?  Sex?  Fame and fortune?  Having children?  Maybe.  But that's not what I live for.  I live for a God who knows a beauty far greater than we could ever imagine; who loves more unconditionally than we can comprehend; who knows more of suffering than any human experience.

So by the grace of God, if I don't come home today, I don't mind.  The people I love know I love them.  I'm content with what I've left behind, and I have the love of Christ.

But I still thank God that Johnny came home that day.

RUF Love

The more I think it over the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. - Vincent van Gogh

Tuesday night was the first RUF gathering of the Georgia Tech school year.  New, expectant faces appeared, wondering if this was another new beginning in their lives, and veterans eagerly rushed into the arms of dear friends whom we hadn't seen in a few days, a few weeks, or even all summer.  We had eagerly anticipated this reunion, and it was finally time for blossoming friendships, spiritual encouragement, corporate worship, hugs, fun, and frozen yogurt.

An RUF friend had texted me earlier in the day, asking what RUF meant to me (I correctly presumed that he would be delivering that night's Story of Grace and Belonging and needed some content).  Thirteen other people responded to him in virtually the same way I did, speaking of a community of people who love each other, who share similar passions of building meaningful relationships and growing together in Christ; a time that I look forward to each week because I can count on seeing people who care about me and the things going on in my life; a place where joy abounds, where you can see in people's faces that something BIG is happening.  We want to live, love and laugh together for the rest of our lives.

This year, RUF holds new meaning for me as I am now a member of the Ministry Team and a more intimate Planning Committee.  I'm not just a newbie, as I was as a freshman and as a sophomore.  I'm grounded this year.  People know me, and now I'm the one who is called to minister to those around me in a more "official" way.  I love this new burden, but at the same time, I worry a little about how I can effectively minister to a community who knows more about aerospace than negative space.

But even though I feel like I could have more of an impact at SCAD than at Georgia Tech, my goal right now is to let go of all of the things that I want to do and listen to what God wants to do through me.  Although I am possibly the slowest learner I know when it comes to real life and common sense, I have learned not to try to figure out what God is doing in my life and just to let Him do it.

The call to servanthood causes the creative gift to come alive.  It gives color and tone and direction and purpose.  The art that naturally flows out of our obedient response to the call of God on our lives, as a result of the imprint of the creative mandate, can, by grace, become water to wash the feet of sisters and brothers, cold water to quench the thirst of an unbelieving world.  To become servants of Christ is the highest goal we can aspire to in our creative work. - Michael Card, Scribbling in the Sand

Bittersweet Symphony

One of the "six senses" of the Conceptual Age that Daniel Pink describes in his book A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future is Symphony -- the convergence of a variety of skills, ideas, talents, etc. that aren't logically related but which exceed the value of the sum of their parts when combined.  The author can't help but elude to the relationships and dynamics within a symphony orchestra (he even refers to the bassoon player), and I felt a pang of nostalgia today as his extended metaphor flooded me with memories of music-induced transcendence.  I went back to stages and spotlights, fanfares and flourishes, arias and audiences.  The indescribable connection with the conductor at the emotional climax of a performance; the deafening silence in the stillness following musical catharsis; the magic of participating in the creation of an experience only God could have designed.  That was my life.  I felt the supernatural every day.  And it was beautiful.

But it wasn't enough.  I don't regret my decision to focus on art, because I know that I could never immerse myself with music as much as I would want to after dipping my toes back in.  But I do miss it.  I miss the camaraderie, the discipline, the expectation of excellence, the magic.  But I was made for something bigger.

I don't really know yet what I was made for.  I know I was made to glorify God, but I don't quite know the shape of the fingerprint I'm leaving on the world.  I don't know what my Symphony is going to be like.  And I can't imagine how or why a perfect God would use me to accomplish as much as He has promised to.

There's an old metaphor about life being a performance where each face in the audience is someone cheering you on, encouraging you, loving you.  It's easy for me to picture this -- I like to remember the view from the stage in Carnegie Hall or Hill Auditorium -- and certain faces stick out in my audience.  Faces that have said, "No matter what, I will be right here, all the time, cheering you on.  Because I love you.  And I believe that God is doing great things through you."  Faces that knew me before I could grip a crayon, right next to faces that haven't known me for more than a year.  If you aren't a musician, it's difficult to put into words just how important the audience is to the performer.  When the dust settles, the audience is kind of everything.  But this is why I need to make a change: I just want to see God in the audience.  I know He's always been there, but I've always overlooked him for everyone else.  I've tried so hard to make my audience proud that I've forgotten who my true audience is.  I want to look up past the blinding spotlight to the rows of crimson velvet seats and see my Savior watching me, always listening, always loving, right here, all the time, cheering me on because He loves me and He is doing great things through me.

And I thought I missed having an audience.

North Star People

"Which is the greater mystery, that man is artistically creative or that in his creativity he may empty himself and still remain artistic?" - Harold Best

Chapter six of Michael Card's Scribbling in the Sand is titled "A New Song to Christ."  In it, he paints glowing images of the beautiful starry night sky he often admires from outside his home in Tennessee, an experience which bleeds into many chapters of his book and his life.  He speaks of the southern sky, home to the planets and the sun and moon, the signs of the zodiac and other constellations, and additional wonders like nebulae and star clusters.  In the northern sky, a considerably duller set of constellations, the circumpolar constellations, revolve around a dim green star: Polaris, or the North Star.

He says the North Star is difficult to spot the first time, and people are often surprised at its comparative insignificance, saying, "I thought it would be brighter."  And yet, the North Star is the one which sailors and astronauts use to find their way when they are lost because of its unchanging location at the tip of the northern axis.  Who knew?

In response, Card presents the following:

     People are sometimes described as stars.  We look up to them, at their apparent brilliance, and feel ourselves small and insignificant in comparison.  They move across the sky of life, luminaries, attracting most of the attention and admiration.  Like the moon they constantly change their faces to suit the season.  Like the sun they often burn hot.  Like meteors they usually burn up quickly.
     If you or I have any choice in the matter (and I am convinced that we do), I would like to campaign for the idea of our becoming North Star people.  Sure, we might not seem as bright or interesting as some.  Seldom will people point their telescopes at us.  And when they do they will no doubt respond, "Oh, I thought she was brighter than that."
     But as North Star people we can serve a deeper purpose.  When people need us, we can be there for them, pointing the Way.  While the world is spinning at a dizzying pace, we can remain grounded to the same spot, less dazzling but unmovable. (71-2)

Somehow, astrology never made it onto my list of peculiar interests, but I love this illustration.  In a society where we are constantly urged to stand out, to be the best of the best and to market ourselves as such -- to the point where we are told this is the ONLY way we will succeed -- what would it mean to fulfill God's purposes for us by receding from the spotlight?  As an artist, how could I possibly market myself effectively without focusing on myself and trying to stand out in a crowd?  And how do I embrace the way God made me -- outgoing, loud-mouthed, fearless, quirky, artistic -- without making it a source of pride and wanting to be in the spotlight rather than reflect it back at Him?

"Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.  Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.  Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father." Philippians 2:3-11 (ESV)

Trouble Sleeping

Rarely do I have trouble sleeping.  If you know me, you know that few things can keep me from conking out from midnight to nine if the opportunity presents itself.  And this summer, the opportunity has presented itself quite frequently.

But tonight was different.  Tonight, after another summer day filled with joy and general happiness, an army of accumulating thoughts, feelings, and realizations finally teamed up and beat me over the head with a frying pan.  Or it may have been a baseball bat.  One of those.

In the last few weeks, I have had a growing frustration with undue praise from friends and family.  As my conversations with my RUF campus minister have allowed for deeper, richer discussion, and as I have been emailing more frequently and my recent book obsession has led to increased blogging, a horrifying backlash of accolades has reared its ugly head in a much grander way than is comfortable for my conscience.  I used to find encouragement in sentiments which praised my apparent faithfulness or insight.  I used to interpret these as confirmation that I am growing as an individual and as a Christian, and I would silently give myself a pat on the back for being a good example and a visible sign of God's handiwork.  But none of what I write or talk about has anything to do with me.

Anyone in RUF at Georgia Tech who has been around me could tell you that I will be the first person to speak up in a discussion or offer to give a closing prayer.  I love having genuine conversations about things that really matter; I love encouraging others as we deal with struggles in our lives; I feel comfortable saying anything to anyone at any time.  Guess what?  I'm an extrovert, I like people, and I have no shame.  And when I write about the truths I learn in a book that reveals the beauty of God's grace, could it not be that I'm merely well trained in literary analysis?  Could I not just as easily pull thought-provoking passages from a book about the Holocaust or venture capital funds?  We like to think that such discussions are the outpouring of the heart, the result of substantial inner growth and the fruit of hours of prayer and meditation, but I know myself far too well to believe this is the case.

The reason why the praise sickens me is that I know that anything representing a true outpouring of my heart would be the most grotesque mass of filth ever encountered by man.  Do I revel in rich discussions about Christ and his work in people?  Absolutely.  Do I enjoy tossing around ideas about theology and philosophy and psychology?  Certainly.  But my heart is filled with pride and double standards, not faithfulness and honor.  I am far more concerned with seeking my own flourishing than seeking the flourishing of God's kingdom.  And I hate that.

What kept me up tonight is the irrefutable knowledge that, in spite of the current condition of my heart, God has given me a fairytale life.  He raised me in the healthiest, most loving, most intelligent and gifted family in existence; He put me in the best schools with the best teachers and a delightful assortment of friends; He protected me from danger, hunger, poverty, and neglect; He allowed me to take a Selfish Year to be in a place that inspired me, where I could take pride in my busyness and productivity and frolic in glistening snow for months on end and wear the same colors as 113,000 other people every Saturday and study under some of the most talented professionals in the country; He then let me transfer to an art school that more people dream of attending than will ever afford to, where I am arguably getting the best art education possible, once again swimming in sources of inspiration and learning from the finest in the field; and to complete my fairytale, He put me in a castle fully equipped with a furry sidekick and a best friend who could simultaneously shower me with lavish gifts and shoot the poor fool who crosses me, should he find it necessary.  "Rainbows and unicorns" doesn't begin to describe the life that I live.

It's not often that I question God's plan, but this is a hard one for me.  Why would He give any sinner this life, much less this arrogant buffoon?  Couldn't these gifts have been better spent on someone else?  I can only conclude that He is preparing me for things far beyond my comprehension, requiring more sacrifice than I've ever had to make in my twenty years.  In a way, that's terrifying, but praise God that He might use me to do His will rather than my own.

Pure Imagination

"The imagination is the bridge between the heart and the mind, integrating both, allowing us to think/understand with our hearts and feel/emote with our minds.  It is a vehicle for truth" (Card 55).

In the next chapters of Scribbling in the Sand, Michael Card digs deeper into what it means to respond to God's call to creativity.  He suggests that the imagination can be thought of as the door at which Jesus knocks in Revelation 3:20, which means we have the options of leaving the door shut or opening it and responding to this call.  In addition, we can use our imagination in an obedient or disobedient fashion.  Do we use the gifts and abilities God has given us in a way that brings glory to Him, as Noah built the ark, or do we use them for our own ends, as the builders of the Tower of Babel?

The author notes the significance of this decision by noting, "the sins that exercise the most control over us take place in the imagination" (56).  If the imagination is powerful enough to cause us to stumble, to break each of the Ten Commandments one by one as we murder with hateful thoughts, idolize everything in our lives but God, dishonor our parents by thinking ill of their decisions ... how, then, could we redirect that power to obediently use the gifts and opportunities that God presents to us?  The humanistic view of our art being limited to our own physical limitations seems ridiculous when we consider that it is not we who are creating something out of nothing, but rather God working through us, if we open the door for Him, to reveal what we can only imagine.  It is not our duty to be creative and come up with new ideas; it is our duty to allow God to reveal to us and to the world the beauty for which we have a natural hunger.  We can only reveal truth through Christ, and we can only do so by reaching the heart and the mind.

Creativity as a Calling

I knew before I finished reading Christian musician Michael Card's book Scribbling in the Sand that I would reread it as soon as I reached the last page.  I hadn't expected my first in-depth study concerning art and Christianity to change my entire approach to my profession as I knew it.  As I make every attempt to absorb a fraction of the content in Scribbling, I want to briefly and periodically share with you a few of Card's thoughts so that you might benefit from his studies as I have.

What is art?

New York artist and director of the International Arts Mission, Makoto Fujimura, describes "the language of the arts" as "a language born of faith" (9).  He adopts painter Joel Sheesley's ideology that content in art is "the substance of things hoped for," the Hebrews 11:1 definition of faith, based on the idea that art is an attempt to translate the transcendent into the visible and tangible.  Certainly, this translation is not unique to Christian artists, but imagine the difference in content when the "things hoped for" include salvation through Jesus Christ.

Card attributes the natural human longing for beauty to the exquisite, inherent beauty of God, saying, "God is beautiful.  His beauty demands a response that is shaped by that beauty.  And that is art" (27).  How drastically would our lives (and art) change if we learned to truly "gaze upon the beauty of the Lord" (Psalm 24:7)?  How can people who are artistically gifted by the world's standards use these gifts to translate the "things hoped for" into a visual feast for hungry eyes?

What is creativity?

"Creativity is not about me.  It is not about you.  It is not us somehow acting like little gods, creating on our own in the same way God creates.  Although he asks us to imitate him, we are not imitators of God in this dimension. The most we can hope for is to respond appropriately and creatively to who God is and what he means.  Creativity is a response" (28).  A response.  A response to a musical line bursting from the soul of a trained musician?  Possibly.  A response to a random strike of brilliant inspiration in an ordinary moment on an ordinary day?  Perhaps.  But above all, it is a response to the creator's hunger for beauty: his hunger for God.

Card openly contradicts the popular claim that since God is the Creator and we are made in His image, our own creativity is simply a reflection of His.  Instead, he proposes that it is a response to beauty, which is in itself a form of worship.  Worship is commanded of us.  We were made to worship.  And "because it is a response, it does not originate with me.  He speaks.  He moves.  He is beautiful.  We respond.  We create.  We worship" (29).  Creativity has nothing to do with us.

This passage resonated in me as I recalled a TEDTalk by secular writer Elizabeth Gilbert, author of NYT bestseller Eat Pray Love.  In an effort to recover from the absurd, disproportionate glory brought to her by EPL, she studied the history of man's perception of "genius."  In light of the 21st century's emergence of the "tortured artist" who destroys himself into oblivion because of pressure, fame, or fear of failure, Gilbert, knowing that her largest success could be behind her, chose to pursue a different way of thinking.  She notes, "we've completely internalized and accepted collectively this notion that creativity and suffering are somehow inherently linked and that artistry, in the end, will always ultimately lead to anguish."  She asks, "is it logical that anybody should be afraid of the work that they feel they were put on this Earth to do?"

She traces the idea of "genius" back to ancient Greek and Roman culture, where the "genius" is not the artist, but rather a daemon, a sort of spirit that may or may not choose to assist the artist in making a masterpiece, indicating that failure is nothing personal; it's just bad luck.  In contrast, the humanistic concept of "genius" that emerged in the Renaissance places every ounce of credit, glory, fame, and blame on the artist himself.  This "completely warps and distorts egos, and it creates all these unmanageable expectations about performance."  As a result, an artist's realization that his glory days may be behind him "is one of the most painful reconciliations to make in a creative life.  But maybe it doesn't have to be quite so full of anguish if you never happened to believe, in the first place, that the most extraordinary aspects of your being came from you."

Indeed.

A Rare Condition

A few days ago, I began reading Craig Dunham and Doug Serven's Twentysomeone: Finding Yourself in a Decade of Transition, given to me by my elder sister.  I dove in, choosing to ignore the cheesy cover design (circa 2003), and couldn't wait to get to Chapter 3, which introduces a section on character and discusses a quality very close to my heart: humility.

This is not to say that I have mastered the concept of humility, by any means.  If you know me well, you're laughing.  It is, however, a quality that I consider crucial to quality human living and an imperative goal for Christians. This is one of those areas which will always fall into my "I'm working on it" category.

This afternoon, with ideas from Twentysomeone on my mind, I made the oh-so-coveted MARTA trek to the Atlanta Municipal Courthouse to celebrate my first speeding ticket with a mandatory Teen Victim Impact Program session.  As senior portraits of teens who had been killed in car accidents flashed across the screen, I began to think about the photographs that each family had chosen to submit.  The officer spoke of interviews with the victims' parents, who wanted nothing more than for their sons and daughters to be remembered.  "Kyle and Brian were co-captains of their high school basketball team."  "Caitlin was the head of the cheerleading squad."  As I grew more and more irritated by the predictable profiles of the teenagers and their multi-thousand-dollar smiles on the Photoshopped glamour shots, I wondered what kind of photo I would want my family to give the press.  If my entire life were to be represented in a single photograph, what would I want it to look like?  Laughing with friends at a frat party?  Nope.  Smiling next to one of my paintings or on stage after a concert?  Nah.  Petitioning for political change or discussing apologetics at a student forum?  Heavens, no.

I want to be the blur of a person faintly visible in the background, cleaning up someone else's mess.  I want to be the one who isn't in the picture because she left the party early to be with a friend who needed a friend.  I want to have a hard time finding pictures of me; I'd rather photograph others' victories.

On the return trip home, I met one of my favorite MARTA passengers yet (not as favorite as the Bulgari distributor or the Krispy Kreme lady).  As I was waiting for my bus to get to the station, I knelt down to tie my shoe (espadrilles, not tennis shoes, naturally), and a nearby voice asked, "Are you okay?"  Puzzled, I looked up to find a guy around my age looking at me, concerned.  I smiled out of confusion, explained that I was simply tying my shoe, and he left me with, "Good luck reaching your destination!"  It turned out that we were waiting for the same bus (of course), and as we chose seats, he near the front and I near the middle, I could hear him muttering, "I have a rare condition ... she's cute ... she's pretty ..." and it struck me that his "rare condition" was not unlike a multitude of TV and movie characters who speak their mind uncontrollably.  It amused me, of course, because of the things he was saying, but then, I thought: What would I say if I spoke my mind without a filter?  Isn't that the purest expression of the heart audible by man?  Would I make fun of people?  Constantly complain?  Speak only of myself?

I want to have the kind of heart that would make me speak of things true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy ... and I know that I am far from this now.  If character is a reflection of the heart, what would my heart say?

Snow Day!

Friends.

You have not truly lived until you have sledded, tubed, or in some other way propelled yourself down the slope at Piedmont Park on a snow day.

After eggs, coffee, and political television, John and I spent yesterday morning outside, working hard on a snow Kimber (which turned out looking sort of mediocre; not photo-worthy), and were then joined by our sweet neighbors, Gerhard and Sonja, and their kids, Teresa and Benedict, as we proceeded to make a snow Ariel, snow penguin, and John-sized snow angel.  Gerhard and Sonja were juggling the kids between meetings, so while Benedict napped, 3-year-old Teresa came over for lunch and watched Playhouse Disney and The Incredibles.

Then ... the adventure.  The six of us, plus Kimber, walked down the street to the Park (that never gets old) and made our way over to a large hill on the southeast corner.  We were pretty astonished to see what seemed like the entire Midtown population on the top of this hill, rowdily cheering each other on as they whooshed down the slope on laundry baskets, yoga mats, stop signs, kayaks, sleds, plastic tables, and anything else they could find that could serve as a snow vehicle.  They had created a little peak midway down the hill that made for some decent hang time as they slid over it, up into the air, and landed hard back on the snow below.  It was such as sight to see, and so rare an opportunity when everyone is home from work or school, free to enjoy themselves and make friends with strangers for a day.  Every face was filled with a pure, excited joy, except or those who had just landed painfully or hit a curb on their way to the bottom.

After watching some successful and not-so-successful runs down the slope, we made our way around the hill to a less-crowded area.  We took turns trudging to the top of the hill, finding balance on a little snow tube that we borrowed from other neighbors, and soaring down the hill, trying to steer away from people, trees, and benches.  Gerhard was the only one who could successfully steer (after attempting, John and I found the concept preposterous), but I thought sledding backwards and/or spinning was more fun anyway, and after John and Sonja took the kids back home, Gerhard and I stayed a little while longer to build our own peaks, try sledding head-first, and for him to make a few runs on the big slope.  It was fantastic.

After walking home through the beautiful snow (as beautiful as it can get in Atlanta), I came home, took a hot shower, and uploaded John's videos of Gerhard and Sonja sledding.  We didn't have any hot chocolate, and the Starbucks down the street was closed, so we reverted to the classic making-s'mores-by-roasting-marshmallows-over-a-gas-stove.  Which was, of course, phenomenal.  The evening concluded with skimming through a variety of shows that we had recorded, and finally, the BCS National Championship.

Talk about a perfect day.

SCAD reezooms.

Today was the first day of Winter quarter at SCAD, and it was SO nice to be back!  My Monday/Wednesday classes are an advanced computer apps class and Art History II, and tomorrow I'll have Color Theory, which I'm super excited about.  I wrote out descriptions of my opinions of today's professors and then remembered that they could possibly read this someday, so this is going to be an unusually short post.

But, of course, it's wonderful to be back at SCAD where the hair is more colorful than the clothes, there is always an over-the-top Fashion major in every class (also an idiotic Fashion major in every class, and yes, there is a difference), there's someone with a major you've never heard of in the class, and we all understand each other at some level.  Tonight, I was going down a MARTA escalator when I realized that the SCAD guy in front of me was wearing bleached dark wash skinny jeans strikingly similar to mine.  Hah!

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Slowing Down Number One

This morning at my parents' church, I was thrilled to see a friend from Texas, a choir director from our Dallas church who was visiting her kids in Georgia.  We see her and her husband about twice a year when they visit Old Peachtree around the holidays, but this visit was different.  Having planned to be on the road back to Dallas by now, she remained in Georgia to be with her daughter-in-law who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer right after giving birth to her third child.  Over lunch, she described how chemotherapy gets harder with each treatment and how difficult it must be for her independent daughter-in-law to accept help that she's never really needed until now.  What struck me the most was her observation of how we think of people in her situation occasionally, every now and then, and compartmentalize them into a mental box; but for her daughter-in-law, cancer is a 24/7 reality.  I had heard this idea before, but tonight I watched a TED Talk on the benefits slowing down your life, and after the conversation with my friend, I began to think about two things: how difficult it is to keep in touch with people we don't see often, and how incredibly self-centered I've become in the last few years.

On TED, Carl Honore makes the assertion that all areas of our life can improve if we slow down, and believe it or not, it is possible to do so.  I believe this wholeheartedly, but I also have a hard time slowing down when my generation is one of instant gratification and I usually want to do everything all at once.  This fall, when my lifestyle changed so dramatically after transferring to SCAD, even though there were times when I didn't know what to do with myself, some of my close friends commented on the difference they saw in me after I slowed down.  A few days ago, I slept over with a friend I hadn't seen much since the summer, and two of her observations were "you have a lot more energy now" and "you've gotten louder."  Hah!  Anyway, one of the things I want to do with my newfound breathing time is to communicate better with the people who I don't get to see on a regular basis.  I have been blessed with an extraordinary number of incredible people whose interest in my life makes it so much better, and whenever I take the time to send an update email or blog, I am overwhelmed by the number of sweet responses.  I am reminded that there are people whom I hardly ever see who are genuinely interested in my life, and that means the world to me.  I can't stress enough the importance of reaching out to people, even people who may seem more distant than they once were, and I know that I wouldn't be who I am today without their support and encouragement.  The friend I had lunch with is one of these people, and I know her daughter-in-law feels the same way about those who take interest in her life.

Since I moved to Georgia when I was sixteen, I have often felt like the baby bird who is kicked out of the nest and told, "Fly."  I have been in countless vulnerable situations and had to make the most of where God put me.  But somewhere along the way, I got so wrapped up in trying to figure out what I'm going to do next that I forgot how to think of others before myself.  I've been looking out for Number One for so long that I've become blind to people like this daughter-in-law who has to deal with a pain that I've never known every waking minute of her day.  Now that I'm settled in a somewhat familiar environment, I pray that God will make me someone who thinks about others more than just "now and then," and that I learn to make the most out of the healthy, widely supported, comparatively easy life He's given me.

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Multiple Personalities

Tonight, I treated myself to a TED Talk binge.  I was introduced to TED.com in an art class at Michigan, and I soon became hooked on the twenty-minute videos purely devoted to sharing ideas.  The most powerful Talk I watched this evening was Brene Brown on the power of vulnerability.  Brown, a social services researcher, spent six years studying what separates people with a firm sense of love and belonging from those more encompassed by shame or disconnection, and while I suggest you watch the Talk in its entirety, the idea that felt the most personal to me was this: people who find love and belonging experience connection as a result of authenticity and are willing to let go of who they thought they should be in order to be who they are.

The more God shapes me into whomever it is He created me to be, I often feel caught in a struggle between my identity as a Christian and my identity as an artist.  I feel like our culture tries to separate the two, as if there's no way a girl with multiple ear piercings, liquid eyeliner, and destroyed jeans could possibly have a serious spiritual relationship with the Christian God.  This, of course, is not the case, but as I am developing my image as an artist, I often feel restrained by concerns about what other Christians will think.  Not only regarding my visual appearance, but how can I present myself in a way that fosters my artistic instincts and fun-loving personality while reflecting a Christ-like character?  Is is possible that it may always take some people longer to see both sides of me because there aren't many Christian artists, per se, or should I make an effort to display the love of Christ more than any other quality?

This one idea that Brown shares packs so many concepts into a single phrase.  First, we need to let go of who we think we should be.  I have been blessed with a myriad of Christian role models, in particular women whom I can look up to and think, "I want to be like that."  Five minutes after meeting them, you can sense their love for God and their desire to live solely for Him.  I want to be like that in so many ways, but when I think about these women individually, none of them are like me in non-spiritual ways.  I'm so different from my perception of the ideal Christian woman (who, of course, doesn't exist), but I know that that doesn't mean I can't be like my role models; it's just going to look different coming from me.

Second, the goal is to be who we really are.  Who I am is certainly a fluid concept at this point in my life,  but I know enough to know when I'm not being who I am.  I would love to hold nothing back and be my loud, crazy self all of the time, but I often feel inhibited by my desire to come across as the Christian I am and claim to be.  I haven't yet mastered the art of being both simultaneously.  Or, at least, I think I haven't.

Finally, the first object of letting go of our perceived ideal is the means to the end of being who we are.  Not only do we need to do both, but one process has to be complete in order for the other to be fulfilled. I'm not saying that I should completely abandon my desire to immediately come across as a true Christian, but rather, I need to reevaluate my idea of what that looks like.  The Christian women I know aren't the only Christian women in the world, and I certainly shouldn't aim to be exactly like them.  Now comes the search for what it looks like to be a full-time believer and a full-time artist.  Thoughts?

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New Year, New Life

Whaaattt??  Emily actually posted something on her blog?!  Yes, ladies and gents, after more than nine months, I am bringing ViennaSong back to life.  No, I did not get pregnant and have a child during this time; that number is just a coincidence.  I have, however, made other life-altering decisions since March, so let's dig in, shall we?

My music scholarship increased by $2,000 per year, and while that is certainly nothing to sniff at, I did not receive money from Art & Design, and my federal financial aid package decreased by $10,000 because my mom is working now, so I finally hit a brick wall trying to pay for Michigan.  I didn't find out about the federal aid until June, and between the time I came home at the end of April and the time I received the letter, I could already tell that my artistic interests had shifted.  Instead of practicing for hours on end, I preferred watching documentaries about typefaces or fashion designers.  I lost the thrill of the challenge of studying the bassoon, and I enjoyed being able to learn about various elements of design or create a painting when I wanted to.  After much deliberation, I was finally ready to pack up the bassoon for the last time and focus my energy on my art.

Everyone was extremely supportive, and some of my Michigan friends were actually glad that I was finally simplifying my life.  My bassoon professor said that while he understood my decision, he thought that the music world would lose something and that art would gain greatly from it.  I couldn't ask for a higher compliment or a more gratifying conclusion to our student-teacher relationship.

I applied to the Savannah College of Art & Design, one of the largest and most renowned art schools in the country, and I was accepted with a significant amount of scholarship money.  I chose to apply to SCAD's Atlanta campus rather than the main campus in Savannah because  prefer the bustling city to a smaller historic town, and a cousin of mine who lives in Midtown graciously agreed to let me live with him while I'm in school.  Once again, God flipped a switch, the questions disappeared, and all of the details fell into place.  Four and a half months after leaving Michigan, I began my new college career as a Graphic Design major at SCAD.

My new lifestyle is so completely different from anything I've ever experienced.  Firstly, I sleep at night, which is magical.  I take fifteen credit hours at a time, instead of the thirty or so that I spent in class or rehearsal in one week at Michigan, and I don't have class on Fridays.  Pair a wide-open schedule with living in one of the greatest cities in the world, and you have time to study at a Starbucks next to lawyers and image consultants, run errands on Peachtree Street, walk the dog to Piedmont Park ... it's heavenly.  I regularly attend ChristChurch Presbyterian (PCA) in Buckhead, and I got involved with Reformed University Fellowship (RUF) at Georgia Tech.  There is nothing like having a huge group of friends my age who share my beliefs and values and whom I regularly hang out with multiple times a week.  Also, I resumed performing with the Symphonic Wind Ensemble at Georgia State, which I will get paid for beginning this Spring!

SCAD is a lot of fun in a lot of ways, and I anticipate it only getting better from here.  I love being in an environment with so many other artists, where we never have to explain ourselves because the unusual is expected and creativity is the norm.  Classes are easier than I presumed they would be, but I love the faculty, and my classes will probably become more demanding in time.  I also love hearing about SCAD students and alumni in the news, and the big event this quarter was our Open Studio Night, where we showed works by faculty, alumni, grad students, and some undergrads (yep, including me), and had hor d'oeuvres and a live band to entertain the 1500+ guests.

So as much as I miss Michigan football and all of the other wonderful things God gave me last year, I love the life I'm leading now.  Every day brings something new and exciting, and I hope to share a great deal of it with you as Atlanta brings out the artist in me.

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Just Keep Swimming ...

This morning, I woke up in Kalamazoo, Michigan.  I turned off my alarm and pulled the electric blanket back over my shoulder for twenty more minutes of warmth before I got up to take a shower.  As I was drying my hair, my cousin Gavin told me we weren't going to church because the kids are sick, and when I came downstairs in pajama pants and a Michigan hoodie, 3-year-old Fiona ran up to me and jumped into my arms, giving me the best "good morning" hug ever.

Yep, it's Winter Break in Michigan (like Spring Break, only with two feet of snow on the ground), and I am thoroughly enjoying the time to rest and recuperate before completing the second half my second college semester.  On Friday night, I took the train from Ann Arbor to Kalamazoo, respectfully declined a Miller Lite from the surprisingly attractive law student sitting next to me, and sat on the stopped train for three hours while we waited for the new crew to get their "full night's sleep" of four hours.  I didn't mind a bit, since I couldn't imagine anything more satisfying than sitting and doing nothing for once in my college life.

I'm spending the break with my cousins Gavin and Karen Taylor and their adorable kids, Fiona, Drake, and Silas, with whom I also spent Thanksgiving.  It's so wonderful to have a home away from home and to be able to build these great friendships that were completely unexpected.

Everything else has basically been carrying on as usual.  I'm learning how to say "no" to occasional events just to keep my sanity, and I somehow manage to keep up with my job and get all of my classwork done on time.  I'm watching my friendships strengthen and struggle as a result of how much I have going on, and as much as I'm growing closer to my friends from the music school, I've realized how much I need to keep up with my Intervarsity friends, who always feel like family to me.

When I met with the A&D dean this month, his first words, as usual, were, "You came back."  We caught up on how classes are going and where I am with money.  He asked me to come back in March to schedule my classes (he said that if I'm investing this much to go here, I might as well get my money's worth) and to figure out the money situation.  He can try to get me some money, but again, the art school doesn't have a lot to give away.  On the contrary, I reapplied for music scholarships and told Dr. Lyman and the other recommending professor that I won't be coming back unless I get more scholarship money.  Although Lyman never replied to the email, I think he took it seriously, as he has talked with the music dean at least a couple of times to see what they can do.  I wasn't sure how he was going to deal with it, since he could just as easily take on some more freshmen next year rather than upping my scholarship, but it looks like he wants me back.

I still love everything that I do, and as stressful as it is, I have been so encouraged by God's grace in allowing me to get everything done and live to smile about it.  I never realized until this year how much energy I have, but I think it's because I've never been stimulated by so many things that give me this energy.  I thrive under pressure, and I feel like the need for sleep and the restraint of a 24-hour day are the only things keeping me from doing everything all the time.

The pictures below are of the Michigan hockey game I went to (quite the experience, let me tell you) and the massive amounts of snow that have been dumped on us this week.  I already loved this place ... the gorgeous snow all over the place doesn't hurt, either.

Go Blue!

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Yost Arena

Water Buffalo doing his dance to the Doobie Brothers

These guys frequently pay me a visit.

My favorite tree.

What I see walking to the school of music every morning!

Stuck

I can do the work for twenty-one hours of classes.  I can show up when I'm supposed to, I can meet the deadlines, and I be awake when I need to be.  I can do quality work for a part-time job and effectively communicate with my supervisor.  I can contribute to my fraternity, showing up to meetings and participating in service activities.  I can fellowship with other believers every Sunday morning and throughout the week as we worship the God we live for.  I can go to bed at 12:30 and wake up at 5:00 every day, and I can love doing what I do.

But I can't become the artist and the musician I want to be at the same time.  I don't have time to come to the music library and pore through bassoon literature, evaluating the evolution of my instrument's place in the orchestra throughout history, or listen to recording after recording, analyzing the professionals' tone and expression for future emulation.  I don't have time to spend hours in the art museum, studying brush strokes and line quality and finding deeper meaning in abstract forms.  I don't have time to hide out in a studio or practice room for hours on end, exploring the very arts to which I have dedicated my life.  I can never obtain my full potential in either area while devoting myself to the other.  I just can't.

And yet, I still can't picture my life without either one.  I will always be an artist, and I have so much to learn, but it's the musical moments that I live for, that change lives.  I could be so great at either one if I totally engrossed myself, but together ... checking items off of a list isn't good enough.  God put me in one of the only places on earth where I have virtually unlimited invaluable resources at my fingertips, but it's like one of those candy machines in an arcade, where you control the claw as it digs deep into a sea of fun-sized candies, but they start to fall out of grasp, and you end up with nothing but a bag of M&Ms and a pack of SweetTarts.

The good news is, I don't have to make a decision tonight.  Nor this week, nor this month.  This library will close in eight minutes, I'll go downstairs to practice, and life will go on.  The snow will still sparkle on the ground outside, and it will still take me approximately three minutes to walk home tonight.  There is some comfort in certainty.

T.G.F.W. (Thank God For Weekends.)

Hello, world!

I'm back to the grindstone after a delightful weekend.  Saturday afternoon, Amanda (from IV) and Deb and I baked cookies using all of the delicious cookie ingredients we could find on the baking aisle in Kroger ("Kro-zhay").  After a ΣAI meeting, I went to Susan's second dissertational bassoon recital, which was amazing.  All of the pieces on her program were Paris Conservatoire rep, so they were unbelievably demanding, and she performed beautifully.  The first piece called for the piano to introduce an offstage bassoon that progressively travels up the side aisle onto the stage throughout the first few phrases, and we all cracked up when we heard Susan behind us and saw her scuttle up the side of the auditorium and walk onstage.  I loved mingling with the studio at the reception, because it finally feels like a little family now that the "I don't drink" awkwardness is wearing off.

Yesterday, after doing some long-overdue laundry, I went to Anne's (from church) house to watch the Super Bowl!  Her friend Georgia came, too, and I did Music Theory homework between commercials.  Yes, between commercials.  It's the Super Bowl.

I received a delightful Valentine's Day package from my mom ... see pictures below!

OH!  And guess what?  There's supposed to be a BLIZZARD tomorrow!!!

Go Blue!

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"Welcome to February in Michigan!"

These were the first words out of my professor's mouth on Monday morning.  While we have entered the most brutal month of winter, it is still as mild as ever.  We haven't had a decent heavy snow in a while, and it has gotten cold, but nothing a good scarf can't handle.

This has been my first attempt at a suicide week, where my alarm goes off at 5:00, I practice for a couple of hours before Music Theory, go to classes, and do homework and design until 12:30 at night.  Sunday night, I actually went to bed at 10:30, but I always get messed up if I wake up in the middle of a sleep cycle, so I've stuck with my tried-and-true method of getting in a full sleep cycle and actually being able to get out of bed in the morning.

How did it go, you ask?  Well, the good news is, I basically got everything done I needed to.  The bad news is, I still need to practice more and to work more on the weekends, so that is my goal for the next couple of days: to figure out how to get some sleep over the weekend, but still set myself up for a productive week.

I still very much enjoy everything that I do, although I've had to back off on some of my InterVarsity commitments just to keep my sanity.  Tonight, Abby and Brandon and I went to the Symphony Band concert in which Amanda, Lauren, Angelo, and Dan played, and we all went out for bubble tea afterward!  For those of you who don't know, bubble tea is an Asian drink with little tapioca "bubbles," which kind of look like marbles rolling around in the bottom of your drink.  Anyway, I'm having fun with this new little posse, and interestingly enough, most (if not all) of them are Christians.

Tomorrow, I'm baking cookies with Deb (my IV mentor) and a couple of other girls, and then our Doctorate bassoonist is having her second (out of three) recital.  All for now ... the fun never stops!

Go Blue!!

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In all of these, the image on the left is the front of the shirt, and the image on the right is the back.


As in "Hail to the Victors," for you non-Michiganders.