Chronicles in Ordinary Time

From “Chariots of Fire”:
“I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure. ” Eric Liddell

I spent my Sunday evening watching “Chariots of Fire” and “Inspector Lewis.” Both sets of stories talk about faith, and the lack thereof. I came to faith in my twenties, never having darkened the door of a church sanctuary. Thirty-eight years later, the gift of faith is still a mystery to me. Some have been given the gift, others have not…

The above illustration is part of a promotional image I did several years ago, reworked tonight. It’s the only “Chariots” sort of image in my portfolio. I used to think that in being an illustrator, I would have time to draw whatever I wanted, all the time. The truth in my life is that I usually only get to draw the things that I’m hired to draw, or things that I hope will help get me hired. The rest of the time I’m working at my ‘day job’–Building Code consulting– or looking for illustration jobs.

I usually have a long-term project that I’m working on; the last one took nearly three years to finish [partial below]. It’s still not really finished–in a static sense–I tweak it frequently, trying to get all of the details more correct, or changing the components. All of my digital illustrations are in Photoshop layers–the digital version of the cels [celluloid, a clear plastic] that the Disney Studio made famous. Images created on transparent layers that can be moved, adjusted, and if done properly, can create the illusion of depth. My long-term projects are usually what I consider my expression of ‘fine art.’ whatever that means. They usually are an expression of faith, in some fashion.

I generally don’t do ‘religious art’ images–‘blanket pictures’–everyone walking around wearing blankets… Faith for me is more than a Bible story. I never have been one to mess with other people’s lives. I’ve never appreciated when people have tried to mess with mine. I had the job of ‘messing with’ my children’s lives; and I tried to limit that involvement; I didn’t think it was my children’s job to vicariously live the life I was or wasn’t able to. So, my illustrations have tried to reflect the outcomes of my faith; particularly Grace–unmerited favor–a gift we do not earn or deserve.

I came to faith ‘kicking and screaming’ [those who know me know I do neither]; I did not want to become a religious person. Eric Liddell knew he had a purpose, and he was fortunate to know what it was. I’m still fumbling around, trying to figure it out. I encounter people, whether ‘live or on Memorex’- who talk about ‘losing faith’–another concept I don’t really understand. A gas jet was ignited within me thirty-eight years ago. Not a big flame, one could barely cook over it; and yet one that has not gone out. Thirty years of chronic pain, including twenty years of migraines [ice packs, lying in the dark]; and now a season of neuropathy–my skin has lost most of it’s sensitivity; and yet my deeper nerves continue to send messages of aching; sometimes sharp pains. Job’s wife told Job he should ‘curse God and die,’ and Job responded with, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” I never ‘found’ faith–it was something embedded within me; I don’t know how to lose it. Sort of like losing my liver…

Today was a crummy day; I spent most of it in bed or on the recliner. Fortunately, I feel better now that it’s early morning. My eyes don’t work correctly; the neuropathy has affected my eye muscles, and they don’t converge well, nor do they adjust quickly. I can empathize with my youngest son, who inherited my Mom’s crossed eyes.

When I draw [manually or digitally], sometimes I feel my Creator’s pleasure. Or perhaps share in the pleasure of Creation. Creation is pleasure, and I believe that this is why it has never stopped, and never will. Children know this intuitively; it’s usually the criticism of others that spoils the creativity, and sometimes keeps it from happening from that point onward. Sometimes the light never goes out.

forward to:
www.mjarts.com

Faces.
I feel like I’ve been drawing them all of my life… I wonder how many more I’ll be drawing. I discovered tonight that the sense of feeling in my fingers has significantly decreased in the last month. They still work–the motor nerves function; but they work by sight now, more than by feeling.

I watched an amazing video tonight, from a CBS broadcast of  Simon & Garfunkel’s “American Songs” program in 1969; aired only once because it was so controversial at the time. This particular video is a series of scenes from the presidency of John F. Kennedy, the last years of Dr. King’s life and some campaigning by Robert Kennedy, as he strove to follow his brother’s footsteps. And the thousands of people who lined the railroad tracks across the country as the body of JFK was taken to Washington from Texas. The soundtrack is “Bridge Over Troubled Waters”:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5yhNKR-SkAo

The country was different back then. Not necessarily better or worse…it was better and worse. And it was very different than today…
I was in high school in 1969, and fairly oblivious. I knew about the political unrest in our country, watched a classmate devastated by the assassination of Robert Kennedy. Dr. King’s assassination was of little interest to me because I’d only met a handful of African Americans; in high school, and I’d never had a conversation with any of them.  Portland was pretty white in those days.  I was beginning to get concerned about the political situation in the country,  because THE DRAFT was looming on the horizon…

I started drawing faces in the 6th[?] grade; a way to keep myself occupied during long summer weekends in a tiny Eastern Oregon town, which seemed to me the most boring place on earth [my grandmother only had one or two television channels, and her house was strange and uncomfortable]. On her front porch she had a refrigerator carton full of old magazines; so I started drawing the faces I found in the Saturday Evening Post and Life Magazine.

By the time I was leaving high school, I figured I’d become a technical illustrator– I’d become fascinated by the renderings of ‘things’ we made in my last two years of drafting. The summer between my Senior and Freshman years I debated long and hard over the purchase of a “stereo system”–to the younger readers, a turntable, amp and speakers– a prerequisite for every college student in 1970. We did not have televisions or computers in college when dinosaurs ruled the earth. The TV was in the basement of the dorm, and got packed on Thursday evenings so we could watch Rod Serling’s “Night Gallery”.

If I was drafted, I’d have no need for the stereo; if I wasn’t drafted, I needed the stereo for my dorm room. On July 11 I bought the stereo. Had I been born 6 hours earlier, I would have been on my way to Vietnam or Canada. The difference between a draft number in the 20’s and one ten times larger.

Faces have always fascinated me. Norman Rockwell, my illustration hero, once said that the most interesting faces were among the elderly, and I now understand. Infants have few interesting characteristics. Rockwell enjoyed drawing children and teens, many of them probably somewhat of a caricature of themselves. He found young adults through middle age were generally boring, but they were needed for casting.

I always start with the eyes; we are told that they are the ‘windows of the soul,’ and if I get them wrong, the rest of the face probably won’t turn out well. My best drawings have a soul… not an eternal one, but a soul nonetheless; part of that soul is steeped in the music I listen to while I draw, or by the movies I have on as background. I’ve always wanted to play an instrument; I bought a piano once that is beautiful to look at, but I stopped practicing. In order to get as good as I wanted to be as a pianist, I’d have to take time away from drawing. So our piano is a beautiful piece of art in our living room. My drawing is the music my soul plays.

Our world today needs the protest singers of the 60’s and 70’s. New versions of them, that is. The world is easily as messed up as it was then; I know the USA is as messed up.  The battle for Civil Rights has become a battle between the rich and the poor; and the soundtrack is missing. “Hell” and “damn” were the strongest language allowed in public performances back then; and yet, the lyrics gave us hope, and courage to stand up against injustice. As “interesting” as it may be, using “F***in'” as an adjective or an adverb, a dozen times in a paragraph, doesn’t really improve the language at all. I guess I’m getting old.

Give yourself a gift: listen to “The Sounds of Silence”  tonight.

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www.mjarts.com

One of my first heroes, George Reeves. I don’t know that he ever understood his contribution to society.

I can’t think about what happened ten years ago yesterday, without thinking about the thousands of innocent people throughout the world, throughout history, whose lives have been sacrificed upon the altar of revenge. I am a pacifist who believes that violence is inevitable, for we are a broken people, prone to place the suffering of others below our own suffering. It is all tragedy.

I watch lots of movies;  I love watching stories being told. Some have suggested that I spend too much time watching stories and not living one. I’m working on that.
This afternoon I watched “Mongol,” a Russian/Chinese film about the rise of Genghis Khan.  The Mongolian clans based their lives on revenge–he stole my horses, I’ll steal his wife. Temudjin [to later become Genghis Khan] decided that Mongols needed laws:
“Mongols need laws. I will make them obey…even if I have to kill half of them.
Our laws will be simple. Don’t kill women or children. Don’t forget your debts.
Fight enemies to the end. And never betray your khan. ”
For all of our supposed progress, I’m not sure that we have gotten beyond those laws. The prohibition against the killing of women and children seems to have been forgotten.

I also watched “Prince Caspian.” C.S. Lewis is another one of my heroes. Watching “Mongol” and watching “Prince Caspian” were very similar experiences; a quantitative difference in red paint. I’m not sure that’s what Mr. Lewis intended.

I grew up believing in heroes. Those willing to sacrifice their live in order to save another. That’s one good thing that came from the tragedy of 9/11– the honoring of the heroes who ran into the burning buildings. I once worked with one of those sorts of people. He ran into a burning building to rescue a trapped woman. And got chewed out later by a senior officer, for not putting on his protective gear before entering the building… He served a different Master.

I met the greatest of my heroes when I was in my twenties. An encounter that changed my life forever. He sacrificed his life so that we all could live. Unfortunately, His story has gotten so messed up over the centuries that it means very little to very many. His story isn’t an action tale. It’s the story of reaching out to people where they are and accepting them. It’s a story of compassion and forgiveness. And a story of bravery that does not rely weapons. Perhaps the greatest bravery of all.

I grew up with the illustrations of Howard Pyle, NC Wyeth, Frank Schoonover, Hal Foster and lesser lights. Tales of adventure where good won out over evil… fairy tales, I suppose; in these times.

I dreamed, I still  dream of following in their footsteps.

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www.mjarts.com

“…and the monstrous creatures of whales”

          I recently went through a period of weeks where I thought I had a fatal illness. As far as the doctors have been able to determine, my sensory neuropathy isn’t going to be fatal; but it might be even more uncomfortable than it has been.   This isn’t necessarily great news; I’ve been dealing with chronic pain for about 30 years, and that the thought of things getting worse isn’t particularly exciting. So I now go through my days with little feeling in my hands [and everywhere else]; a diminished ability to look closely at my work [my eyes don’t converge properly], and a diminished sense of balance.

When I was dealing with my questions of death, I realized that I wasn’t concerned about Eternity–I took care of that in 1973, when I gave my life back to my Creator. I was concerned about things undone. I have a granddaughter living states away that I barely know. I have illustration projects I haven’t completed.  And I don’t feel that I have done much about influencing the world in a positive manner.

So I have returned to the concept of blogging. Do I want the world to know the struggles I go through to create illustrations? Not really. I am generally a very private person. I write with ease; I’ve been writing technical opinions for nearly thirty years. I have lots of opinions; but I find that most people are concerned about their own opinions, rather than being open to new ones.

A couple of years ago I helped chaperone a ‘high-school lock-in’. During a card game/ice-breaker, we were asked, “what would your dream job be?” I fortunately did not have to answer that I already have my ‘dream job’— it just isn’t quite what I imagined it would be. For the last 11 years I’ve earned a living as a Building Code Consultant/ Illustrator; in reality, I use every Building Code project as an opportunity to work as an illustrator. To a degree, I ‘collaborate’ with myself– doing research and technical writing as a “Consultant”, and then handing the project over to my in-house “Illustrator” to help the final product easier to understand through the use of images.

Twenty years ago, when I decided it was time to start pursuing a career as a children’s book illustrator, I started collecting images of work that I wanted to emulate. I recently received a Canadian image-promotion magazine, and discovered that most of the photographers had Photoshopped their images to make them look more like drawings/ paintings; and the illustrators’ work tended to look like cartoons. I’ve caught up with the images I wanted to make 20 years ago; but the parade of taste has changed course.

          Still, I persist. Each and every day I am sustained by the Love, Mercy and Grace of my Creator…