Art Blog

Offering Mary May

2013-05-20T20:19:32Z

Well but there was more than this:
Spring’s universal bliss
Much, had much to say
To offering Mary May.

When drop-of-blood-and-foam-dapple
Bloom lights the orchard-apple
And thicket and thorp are merry
With silver-surfèd cherry

And azuring-over greybell makes
Wood banks and brakes wash wet like lakes
And magic cuckoo call
Caps, clears, and clinches all—

This ecstasy all through mothering earth
Tells Mary her mirth till Christ’s birth
To remember and exultation
In God who was her salvation.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Mary, the Holy Mother of God by Melissa Strickler.

Words above from The May Magnificat by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-89). Read the entire poem HERE.

Wings Of Love

2013-05-12T00:58:35Z

The first and
last words
you know are
of your mother's
native tongue.
They are not
the names of trees
or how Achilles
perished and fell
from the earth.
They are whispered
to you in the dark
before the light.
They are full
of consonants,
hushed and stoic;
pillars hammered
into the soft dirt
of your history
keeping the vowels
strung together
long enough
for your first and
last breaths.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads):
Wings Of Love by Marilyn Biles.

Words above: Your Mother's Native Tongue by Steve Brightman.

Specks of Cosmos

2013-05-06T09:49:13Z

Objects congeal around little specks of Cosmos. Some objects hide and protect us from this immensity. Some objects may form points of access to this immensity. Many are both – we need them to be both.

Images above, top (and on front-page mastheads): Altar of St. Francis and bottom: Bronze Altar #7356 by David Orth.

Words above from Threshold Objects by David Orth. Read more HERE.

Storm The Gates Of Heaven

2013-04-18T07:42:26Z

In our midst there are anonymous prayer warriors who meditate and contemplate and lift up the needs of this world unto the Lord. I sing praises for those people who pray in secret and storm the gates of heaven on our behalf.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Meditation #7 by Virginia Wieringa.

Words above by Virginia Wieringa in ECVA's exhibition: Holy Women, Holy Men.

There Are Windows And Doors

2013-04-09T09:05:27Z

St. Francis, by Jeanelle McCall, leads visitors to ECVA's latest exhibition: “Holy Women, Holy Men.”

The exhibition’s Curator, Bro. Karekin M. Yarian, BSG writes: Here you will find a sweet array of inspiration, wrought by gentle hands in prayer. It is no small thing to capture the spirits of our prophets and saints in oils and inks; to explore the mystery of holiness in sculpture and fabric and paper and canvas. But here, our friends have called forth the names and images of those who have preceded us. Here, there are windows and doors. Here, there are prayers and pleas. Here, there are the works of the Spirit brought forth from the hearts of faithful and creative warriors.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): St. Francis by Jeanelle McCall.

Words above by Bro. Karekin M. Yarian, BSG.

Unless You Lead Me

2013-03-31T00:08:57Z

I cannot dance, Lord, unless you lead me.
If you want me to leap with abandon,
You must intone the song.
Then I shall leap into love,
From love into knowledge,
From knowledge into enjoyment,
And from enjoyment beyond all human sensations.
There I want to remain, yet want also to circle higher still.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): The Empty Tomb by Lucy Janjigian.

Words: I Cannot Dance by Mechthild of Magdeburg.

The Tree Of Love

2013-03-29T09:23:52Z

The tree of love its roots hath spread
Deep in my heart, and rears its head;
Rich are its fruits: they joy dispense;
Transport the heart, and ravish sense.
In love’s sweet swoon to thee I cleave,
Bless’d source of love...

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Incarnate — Be With Us Now by Roger Hutchison. This image will appear on the cover for Without Apology: Sermons for Christ's Church by Stanley Hauerwas (Church Publishing, Inc.
Aug/2013).

Words above: The Tree of Love by St. Francis of Assisi.

Shattered Wings

2013-03-24T10:57:59Z

Turn my way, O Lord, and hear me; for I am poor, and in misery.
I have prayed to you when I was a child and living in a house with food and water.
Now I am on the streets and the snow and rain show no mercy.
I sometimes beg and sometimes work for food.
It is not easy to stay alive.
People on all sides show me disrespect and take advantage of me.

One day someone handed me a bag of helpful things.
There were blankets and socks and a hamburger.
The hands that gave them to me shook my hand.
Their eyes were smiling as they gave their name and asked for mine.
They called me relative.

I knew they came from you, O Lord.
For you Lord, are good and gracious and give mercy to all who call on you.
You have servants who show their gratitude
By helping those in need.

Teach me your way, Lord.
That I might get off the streets
And walk in your truth.

I will thank you, O Lord my God, with all my heart
And will praise your name forever.

I have not forgotten you God.
Do not forget me.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Shattered Wings by Melissa Strickler.

Words above: Psalm 151 by Jay Begay, a member of Spirit Journey Youth, a Native American Episcopal Youth group from Northern Arizona working on their faith journey step-by-step (an Outreach program of the Diocese of Arizona since 2000). Read "Fling It" here. Read more about Spirit Journey Youth here and here.

Note: Kaze Gadway works with the emerging leaders of the Episcopal Church within the Native American community of Northern Arizona. She says: "They are youth of promise from twelve to twenty."

Your Roots

2013-03-16T14:16:00Z

Almost all of your roots

have curled back into soil

by now, there is nothing

left for the world to see.

Or nothing left that the

world needs to see now.

You have to stand there.

The wind is not enough

to knock you down, unless -

of course - you let it be.

The dirt had never been

salted and left for dead.

Only barren from lack of

sunlight and nutrients and

earthly desire to push

one tiny inch more

away from you.

That might have been

the inch that broke you

through to willowed bliss,

that might have been

the inch that spanned

this world and the next.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Terrestrial by Anthony Anchundo.

Words above: One Tiny Inch More by Steve Brightman.

Crown

2013-02-25T22:48:23Z

My father died in an accident 6 years ago. He was a constant encouragement to me in my painting and spiritual journey and I still miss him desperately. I remember laughing with him, because though he loved my work, he never quite understood abstract art and was always asking me to paint him a boat. I said, “Dad, even if I do paint you a boat, you won’t recognize it — it will be too abstract.” But there was one painting that he completely understood, and it is the one pictured above titled “Crown."
He said it looked like the crown he would someday receive in heaven with beautiful jewels in it. And that he could also see shadows of the thorny crown that his beloved savior wore for him in the background... and that is exactly what this painting is about.

He had a photo of this painting in his pocket when he died. He carried it around with him wherever he went. I know my father is safely in the arms of Jesus now, and I’m very sure that the crown he received is much more beautiful than this.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Crown by Julie Quinn.

Words above by Julie Quinn.

Bow Our Hearts

2013-02-13T10:45:23Z

O Lord, we come this morning
Knee-bowed and body-bent
Before thy throne of grace.
O Lord -- this morning --
Bow our hearts beneath our knees,
And our knees in some lonesome valley.
We come this morning --
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord -- open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads) by Aaron Douglas in God's Trombones: Seven Negro Sermons in Verse: Electronic Edition.

Words above: by James Weldon Johnson in God's Trombones: Seven Negro Sermons in Verse: Electronic Edition.

© This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.

A Dream

2013-02-02T14:52:45Z

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me—
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Photograph "137lp" by Paul Wainwright.
More images from the "Pendulum Gallery" can be found here.
Read how these images were made here.

January

2013-01-17T20:46:57Z

The days are short,
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor,
And parkas pile up
Near the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees' black lace.

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.

Image above: Birds In Snow by James A. Mangum.

Words above: January by John Updike.

By Love I Sail

2013-01-02T21:44:35Z

To live of love it is to sail afar
And bring both peace and joy where’er I be.
0 Pilot blest! love is my guiding star;
In every soul I meet, Thyself I see.
Safe sail I on, through wind or rain or ice;
Love urges me, love conquers every gale.
High on my mast behold is my device:
“By love I sail!”

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): The Little Flower by Janet McKenzie.

Words above: from To Live Of Love, February 25, 1895
Poems of St. Teresa, Carmelite of Lisieux,
known as The “Little Flower of Jesus,”
Translated by S.L. Emery.

Following The Star

2012-12-25T05:44:20Z

Three wise women set out to follow the star. Each ended the journey and gave away her treasure along the way. One dropped out when she was needed to heal the sick during a plague. The second stayed behind to help prevent a war with her leadership. The last remained in a great city to provide for the poor. When the star left the heavens each awoke the next day to discover a gift placed beside her while she slept. They never solved this mystery, but the meaning is clear: they had arrived at their destination even though they had not completed their journey.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): O Holy Night by Christina Saj.

Words above: by Steven Charleston.