Tattoo

            I think a lot of people in my generation would agree that tattoos are considered art. Our parents may roll their eyes, but we know better, kids ALWAYS know better than their parents- it’s a given. Having said that, I plan on getting tattoos- I feel they are a sentiment of my faith- my art- siness, and just a side effect of living in Flagstaff. I start this off whimsically, because I want to share a bit about a tattoo I’ve been planning on getting in an “easy- to- hide- but- not- sexy” place either above my knee or on my meaty bicep. I actually have a total of 3 tat ideas (because you can’t just have one) but this tat is probably the most significant one to me. So grab yo tissues, Fluff, cause this is gonna make you cry, and not just because I’m planning to permanently engrave on my epidermis.

            When I was getting ready for my high school/ community college graduation, I received a special letter from my mom. What made this letter “special” was because my mom died when I was nine years old from cancer. I tell this story, not to dampen your spirits or to encourage a long message telling me ALL about how knowing this about me makes you feel such and such ways. I tell you this because whether I want to admit it or not, this event has shaped most of my life since. One thing that I have come to realize through Christ is that in the scope of His story, this major event in my life is miniscule.

            My pastor brought this up last Sunday, and I think that it is a great illustration of what I mean. In 1873, Horatio G. Spafford wrote the famous hymn: “It is Well With My Soul” after losing all his money in the great Chicago Fire, as well as his four daughters to a shipwreck. In the second- to last verse he wrote:

But, Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,

The sky, not the grave, is our goal;

Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!

Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

            Whether or not I find myself in unfavorable circumstances, the Good News of Christ should always be my comfort- my goal. My soul rests, not because of earthly comforts, but because of Jesus. Therefore whether I prosper or suffer, my soul is always well because the Lord has redeemed it from this fallen world. If Spafford could say that it was well with his soul after such extenuating circumstances, how can I, who have the unconditional love and support of 2 parents on earth, and 1 parent in the safety of heaven’s gates, can I dwell on the earthly loss of the later?

            In the letter from my mom, there is a particular line that will always be significant to me: “… when you have Christ it’s “See ya later” not “goodbye” that you say.” Even though I only knew my mother for the first 9 years of my life- half of which she spent sick with cancer, I cannot, and refuse to, mourn the years “lost,” because in the scope of eternity, most of the time I spend knowing my mother will be spent in a place where there is no sickness. This line, written when I was only seven years old, is in her handwriting, and I am getting it tattooed on my body. The funny thing is, I know she’d hate it if I got a tattoo, but when I see her again, I doubt she’ll be able to scold me about it- because I’m sure it wont be on my new body. But it will stand as a reminder in this harsh world, of my future and hope. It is a reminder of God’s love for me, because I know, somewhere in a heavenly log cabin, my mother waits to hang out with me, and in the meantime, in a log cabin in Show Low (YOLO) AZ, I have two equally loving parents, who are there to guide me through the hardships of this life.

            I don’t want to leave you with the impression that I don’t mourn the loss of my mom. It’s still a sad topic. But the joy of Christ is so much bigger and significant in the scope of eternity, that there is no other way I can possibly introduce it to the world. My mom’s death was sad, but I can’t leave it there, because it is not a tragedy- it is a victory and it is well with my soul. 

Dots

              The thing I hate most about patience, is at some point, while you’re trying to become more patient in life, you wonder: “When will I finally be patient, so I can stop trying so hard to be patient?” My failings with this spiritual fruit tend to become more evident while I’m pulling 10 -hour shifts at the preschool. Ladies and Gentlemen, that is a 7:30a- 5:30p day trying to get 3-6 year olds to “listen”. There comes a point, between wrangling children off of trees, and trying to explain why they shouldn’t use bathroom words, where my first response is to shoot a firm cry of “JUST SSTAAAAAHHHP!” when kids decide it’s a great idea to push each other in line, instead of stand statuesque with their hands behind their back and a bubble in their mouths. And sometimes, when I have to calm down a screaming child, I’m tempted to start crying and tell them how much I want to see my daddy.

            Art tends to be the most therapeutic outlet for when I’m coming off a long patience- testing day. Whether or not it’s a difficult project I’m planning, I can usually count on finishing it within a few weeks, and I enjoy taking my time on certain deets. Except for “Dots.” That one sucked. I knew that I liked doing “stippling” with a felt- tip and figured doing it with paint (i.e. “pointillism”), while being more time -consuming, would give me more street- cred. I think it was the way that I chose to go about it. To do pointillism, you can make the dots any size in the world you want. Being cocky, I chose to use one of my smallest brushes. It also does not matter how big the canvas/ paper is. I decided to use a 16x20. Also, for each area of a certain “color”, you have to make 12 different unique mixtures of paint so that people can tell it’s made of dots, and not just a regular old painting. It wastes paint, time, brainpower, and is not rewarding for a long time. I began “Dots” May of 2012, and finished it February 2013. That’s about 10 months. My initial goal was to finish it by the end of summer. Working for five hours would get me a fist- sized area of blue for the sky, and to put that in perspective, I have small hands.

            I didn’t like working for hours on a thankless job every weekend. I like seeing results within the first couple hours: something to enjoy watching the process of, not a ¾ blank canvas with scattered dots of paint and smudges of pencil. But I needed to do it. Mostly for ‘afore mentioned street cred; but also because it was an excellent practice. When I invested my time in it, the part of me with the tiny ounce of patience enjoyed it. It was rewarding to think that I could sit patiently for hours at a time and meticulously choose where to put the next dot. I liked making a dome- shape of paint on the flat canvas, and allowing it to dry before going back to that spot to lay down another dot. It was sick, but I liked it sometimes.

            It was a much -needed lesson in patience, and I’m pretty happy about how it turned out. The moment it was over, I thought to myself “never again.” But usually when I say that, I end up doing it again. So, to continue punishing myself, I’ve begun another one. It’s the same 16x20 sized canvas, and I’m using my thinnest brush. Only this time, the picture is way more complicated, and it’s gonna suck. 

The New Colossus

       The problem with having a blog is… you have a blog. It’s another thing to take care of. I already have to shower at least once a week, brush my teeth when they get yellow, and find clean plates to eat Hot Pockets off of, because let’s be real- those “sleeves” are too hot after 2 minutes. Now, I have to take care of a forum I willingly created for the purpose of showcasing some of my art. I have a theory that everything said on a blog is amplified in people’s minds as who you are- meaning that I would probably sound like a sad, sarcastic downer who lives on Hot Pockets and weekly showers, in angst at her lack of followers. Actually, I’m a terribly bored college student, working as a preschool teacher, who paints and wants to eventually sell some of it, writing on a blog when she remembers to, and rambling about whatever she happens to be thinking about. Eh- but that gets old, and I need to add some more consistency and insight to my blog, not for your sake [Joel Bidderman -i.e. my favorite follower hollaaaaaa!], but for mine. So I’m going to talk about some of my paintings- some of them have absolutely no particular meaning to them, so any theories you came up with about my mental sanity are probably true. But one in particular stands out to me; “The New Colossus” named after Emma Lazarus’s poem that is on a plaque inside the Statue of Liberty. So I did this piece for a scholarship for patriotic art where I could win up to $10,000, and I won! Well the regional division, and got $50 for it (Worth it!).  I take NO credit for the idea, and I take no credit for the fact that it happens to line up perfectly with Lazarus’s poem.  Here’s the story:

            I was getting pretty thirsty for college funds- applying to every Internet scholarship I could find, when I came across The Daughters of the American Revolution scholarship for the most patriotic art entry. To be honest, it was the shiny $10,000 prize that caught my attention- not the opportunity to express patriotism in my art- or even to be recognized as an artist. All for the money. Pretty much the same reason I want to become an Elementary teacher- greed. A piece worthy of $10,000 had to be a good one, so I asked the best artist I knew for help. At church that Sunday during worship, I continued to pray for some inspiration- something that would evoke enough emotion: using my cheap Wal* Mart brand supplies, and limited time, to create something rad. So, I got this idea- or “vision” of the Statue of Liberty- already a better idea than my bald eagle devouring an enemy chopper with a swastika on the side and a U.S. flag billowing in the wind with vibrant fireworks as a backdrop. Long story short, I painted this without thinking of anything in particular- I actually simplified it more than I originally planned, because the simplicity made it more powerful. I got encouraged when I showed Robin (Fluff/ mom) when it was just a rough -draft, and she actually broke out in tears (she’s now the owner of it and uses it in her class). I don’t remember how I figured this out, I’m thinking my dad brought it up- but when I read Emma Lazarus’s poem, my first response was “Sweet! Same name”, then I had to stand back and remember how good God is. Even though I didn’t win the $10,000, God gave me His message: that in Him, I could trust. He would supply me with what I needed. And He has. That next year, I was able to leave the High School that was holding me back. Through a loophole, I was able to attend a charter school through my community college, while also continuing the program from my previous school, which also gave me access to free college. I received my Associates Degree in Elementary Education at the same time I received my High School diploma. It was also through a loophole that I was able to receive a full- tuition waver scholarship. It was also through a loophole that I was able to receive Freshman housing as a transfer student at NAU. I was also able to afford the first semester without getting a job, and when I ran out of money, God provided me with my job I have now. God didn’t give me this idea for a painting because He wanted me to win the scholarship- which is something I thought at the time- He wasn’t worried. I expect to graduate with my Bachelor’s in the Fall of 2014, and I expect to be debt- free by all calculations. God knew that He would overwhelm me with so many financial blessings. He gave me this idea because that’s just how great our God is. God cares about my art- even though it will probably amount only to my favorite hobby- I know that He is glorified by it, and He blesses me daily through it. Just check- out how incredible our God is, by reading Lazarus’s poem, while looking at my rendering of God’s idea:

The New Colossus

By Emma Lazarus 

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"