Sanctifying Art, hot off the press!

Here it is, hot of the press! I can't quite believe it, even now, but a copy of my new book, Sanctifying Art: Inviting Conversation between Artists, Theologians, and the Church, is on my desk, looking about as beautiful as I could ever have imagined! I am beyond grateful to my editor, Chris Spinks, who shepherded the project and patiently answered all my questions; to the designer, Amelia Reising,who used my painting, Jesus Dies on the Cross, as the centerpiece of the gorgeous cover; to typesetter Heather Carraher, who cheerfully made changes even after what should have been the last minute; to James Stock, who personally phoned me to let me know that copies were on their way much sooner than I expected; and to everyone else at Wipf&Stock who helped make this book a reality.

Sanctifying Art grew out of my sense of a disjuncture between the ways that many theologians, pastors, and other people in churches talked about the arts; and the ways that painters, sculptors, musicians, actors, writers, and other artists understood their own processes and products. It really began with the following story:

About twenty years ago, I was installing a rather complicated piece of art in a small church. There I was, teetering on a ladder, trying to reach a pole across a six-foot gap without dropping the linked pieces of copper that were suspended from it. Suddenly, a member of the congregation walked by, saying, “Oh, I had no idea that art was so physical!”

For my part, I had no idea that anyone could have thought otherwise. From the prehistoric painters drawing by uncertain firelight deep in the caves at Alta Mira; to Michelangelo aiming hammer blows at blocks of marble to force them to release the sculpture held captive within; every printmaker who ends each day with cramping hands and aching back after endless hours of bending over a work table, painstakingly chiseling fine lines into a hardwood block; every potter who stays up all night to tend the kiln, every muralist who scrambles up and down scaffolding to get a better view of the day’s work, every dancer who comes to the final act of a ballet with bleeding toes, and every guitarist who practices for hours despite the blistered fingers and throbbing shoulders, artists have always grappled with the sheer physicality of what they do.

For the church member who marveled at my balancing act, however, art was not physical, but spiritual. Art, she believed, was something ethereal, mysterious, sacred, a way of apprehending the holy. Art, she seemed to think, was made in an instant, a painting breathed onto the canvas, a sculpture formed by thought alone, with no effort or compromise between the moment of inspiration and its realization as object. Art, for her, was something set apart, an experience outside of normal life, a divine gift unsullied by human labor.  

This book is for anyone who, like my friend, believes that art is simply a mysterious gift rather than the result of conscious thought and physical labor. It is also my attempt to answer the twin questions, What is good art? and What is art good for? For artists, I offer a challenge to work collaboratively with others, sharing leadership, skills, and ideas freely and fluidly. For the church, I offer some ways to recover our primal relationship with artists and the arts, for understanding symbol and metaphor as a means for telling the truth about human life and the life of God. If you want to read more, Sanctifying Art is available right now on the Wipf&Stock website.

Art Car

 A couple of weeks ago, Trudi and I were walking over to AU to get some lunch, and were stopped in our tracks by this wonderful car. We had been grumbling about something or other, but the sight of this little, red KIA Soul all decked out like some Pakistani truck took our breath away, making us forget whatever it was that had been making us unhappy just moments before.

Although we were hungry, and hours of work awaited us back at the office, we took our time to examine all the curlicues and furbelows, risking our lives by standing in the middle of busy, Massachusetts Avenue to take photos of every side. 

 

We admired the medallions filled with cockatoos, parakeets, and lovebirds; dogs chasing each other across a peaceful meadow; and even a beguiling houri, offering a prayer against a sky filled with stars. We applauded the skill of the artist, whose practiced hand unerringly filled each border with repeating motifs of stylized leaves and flowers. Our own mouths curved upward at the expressive eyes and pink smile that made the front of the car echo the face of the divine, greeting every passerby with abundant, overflowing grace. And we wondered whose hands had turned a mere means of transportation into a mandala on wheels.

It seems to me that this is the function of art, whether in the gallery, in the church, or in the street: to stop us in our tracks. Some art does this with shocking images or heartfelt stories, designed to make us think about the broken places in the world. Some art does this with sparseness and simplicity, designed to open us to the transcendent reality that is beyond any description or story. And some art simply makes us laugh with amazement and glee that anyone would take the time to do such a thing.

Ever since, I’ve been saying that I want to turn my own humble, little automobile into an art car, too. I’ve been researching what kind of paint would make such a time-consuming project survive in the changeable DC weather; dreaming about what images and motifs would speak of both serenity and joy amid the noise and distraction of city traffic; and asking myself if I am really able to accept the responsibility that driving such a car would require. Do I have what it takes to drive an art car? Do you?

PS -- If you know who is responsible for this astonishing manifestation in the AU neighborhood, please give them my thanks, and ask them to look me up. I want to meet them!

Wonder Coupled with Joy, by Kathryn Sparks

photo by Jeehye Kim

One day a dancer friend said to me something like, “Have you ever considered that when you simply raise your arms in worship you are changing the composition of the room?” Another friend, a pastor, confirmed this sentiment sometime later, “All you have to do is raise an arm and the congregation is with you.” And this got me thinking about the energy in a worship space and how a lifted arm might invite a shift. It got me thinking more about the make-up of the body and our desire for wholeness. It got me thinking about the pulse of worship and the way dance in worship generates or encourages praise, reflection, opening of hearts to God. And it led me to a deeper understanding of Liturgical Dance – presentational as well as congregational – as a means of facilitating healing of the Body. Dance within worship, God’s word embodied: a most immediate and visceral reminder of the goodness of the body, of Christ come to us as one of us.

Just as well, to learn the art of therapeutic massage is to learn to be a facilitator. The body of the one under my hands is the co-healer with God’s Spirit. What I do is to show up and, hopefully, create the conditions for some kind of shift to occur. To some this might sound like a ‘patch of weirdness.’ But Liturgical Dance is not exactly a well trodden path either. I cannot think of anything better than being a little weird for God.

In the work I plan to do as a massage therapist I will be part of a dynamic team of physical therapists, fitness trainers and dance teachers. My clients will be athletes and dancers and those with chronic pain who have not yet been able to find a solution for their pain. The connection of this work to my work in the church must surely be bridge building and facilitation: creating conditions for the body to find its way to a sense of wholeness. Whether through lifting arms or twirling feet in worship or through laying hands on a body that thirsts for touch, I pray with my whole being that I will be a vessel for transformation.

I read these words recently in an article on massage: “In touch, wonder is coupled with joy... As massage therapists, we get to do good. We get to put our clients in touch with the beauty that lives within them. We help them to experience more deeply the truth of their aliveness” (D. Lauterstein, Massage Magazine, Feb 2013, pp 42-46) And oh the wonder! Our heart pumps involuntarily and the highways and byways of our circulatory system carry nutrients throughout our body. Millions of cells do their mighty work to keep us in motion and help us rest. A nose remembers; an eye twitches and fills with emotion. Our body makes myriad decisions in passing moments for the sole purpose of keeping us alive and in balance.

Liturgical dance at its best is also wonder coupled with joy. Dancers in church have the distinct privilege of getting to do a barefoot boogie in a sanctified place. And the primary purpose is to bring the church lovingly home to itself, to remind the Church of the inherent, fleshly beauty of our incarnate and risen Lord. Herein is the great commission for an embodied ministry:

“Take, eat”…(ingest and digest Me)…said our Lord Jesus on the night he was betrayed. I become your cells and blood, enlivening muscle and bones. So tangible, I am your flesh and your deepest yearning…your desire and your action. Offer Me to a hurting world. Take your hands and put them on my Body, him and her who ache for newness and an end to suffering. Let your feet be swift and beautiful for a Church that needs a barefoot boogie to bring it lovingly home to itself. And take your words, soft and gentle yet gathering strength for witness and proclamation, and love, deep love. Offer Me to a hurting world.

May it be so!                                      Amen.

Take my Hands, by Kathryn Sparks

photo by Amy Gray

 Take My Hands…                                                

…and let them move, at the impulse of Thy love. Take my feet and let them be, swift and beautiful for Thee, swift and beautiful for Thee. So goes the second verse of the hymn ‘Take My Life’, number 391 in the Presbyterian hymnal. Lately I find myself singing these words almost daily.

Here at ‘A Studio Incarnate’ we can remember the most basic incarnation – the body.  Fashioned in the image of God, we inhale and exhale without any effort on our part. Bones provide our frame and muscles produce movement. I am inspired to write about the new profession I am entering, though my primary call remains the same. After two years in training, I am beginning work as a massage therapist to complement my ongoing explorations in dance.

I teach Liturgical Dance for the Luce Center at Wesley Theological Seminary and love dancing in church as often as I can. So…massage therapy?  How could the two possibly be related?  I invite you to go on a journey with me as I attempt to articulate the connection for myself and for you, the curious reader.

I have long been fascinated by the inner workings of the human body. More than ten years ago, I found myself drawn to classes in Charlottesville, VA (where I was living at the time) that supported the art form of dance. For ten weeks I delved into a type of movement study called Body-Mind Centering and, later, I was introduced to another subtle discipline called Feldenkrais.  At their core, both develop skill in listening to the body itself for wisdom and understanding.  I was captivated. During that period of my life I was also starting to claim my call as a bridge between sacred and secular through the medium of dance. I was dancing more and more in churches and brought sacred dance to the stage in a large community dance production at the center of downtown Charlottesville. The year was 2000 and it was ripe with possibility. A year later, I enrolled at Wesley to take this call further.

I have been dancing my whole life. Born breech, naturally, I came into this world led by my feet.  Now it seems my hands have something to say, propelling me into a surprising work. Feet and hands: the means by which I offer myself to this world.

My forays into massage therapy also began in the year 2000. I have long managed what can be a debilitating condition and it was during a crisis point, the spring before the dance production, that I received my first massage. It was Lent and life around me was heightened and terrifying. When Kathleen’s healing hands touched me, I received water in the midst of a desert. It did not occur to me then that I would eventually be called to do the same for others. What struck me most about the experience was that it brought me back into communion with myself and others. My spirit was released and flowed freely again.

Years of serving God through Dance passed. I grew as a dancer and a teacher. Through various other shades of movement and dance classes, workshops and practices, my understanding of what the body offers us and holds for us blossomed – is still blossoming.

--Kathryn Sparks

Flashies and Other Visions

A few years ago, Glen and I were delighted by the “Blinged-Out Universal Tree of Life,” which stands on the sidewalk outside of AVAM's Main Entrance. Constructed from rebar, mirrors, and monofilament, it glitters and twinkles like a something made of magic and stardust. Here’s a brief video of it in all its glory:

 

Inspired by that glistening glass tree, we spent part of last fall making our own, somewhat scaled-down, indoor version. While we managed to work out some of the technical details easily, we tried several different glues and adhesives, but were not completely happy with any of them. 

 
Naturally, our inspiration tree was the first thing we wanted to show our friends. As we were standing around exclaiming over this or that detail, a man came up to us and enthusiastically introduced himself, saying, “Do you have any questions? I’m the artist!” Handing us his business card, Bob Benson told us about his website, ShinyHappyThings, and the strings of mirrors that he calls “flashies.” When I asked him about the glue, he generously told me it was something called “goop” and that I could buy it at the hardware store. Then he went over to his car, got some boxes, and took them inside the museum.

My friends and I spent the next few hours wandering around filling our eyes and imaginations with the paintings, drawings, and unclassifiable objects from AVAM’s permanent collection and its current show, The Art of Storytelling: Lies, Enchantment, Humor & Truth. I'd try to tell you what I saw, but maybe you should just look for yourself. Let me know what you think. Meanwhile, we'll be adding more flashies to our tree.