Old World Swine

Jack-a-zoid!

Yes... it's Freakazoid! My daughter's idea. Probably not another like it on our block...

"Famished Nature Will Be Avenged"

The name of this post comes from C.S. Lewis' book, The Abolition of Man, which you really should read. Really. It's short and pithy. Go and read it right now... I'll wait.

Okay. Now that you've read the book, the phrase I highlight is taken from a longer paragraph, wherein Lewis, speaking on modern education, rejects the program which says that all values and sentiments are subjective and therefore meaningless;

The right defence against false sentiments is to inculcate just sentiments. By starving the sensibility of our pupils we only make them easier prey to the propagandist when he comes. For famished nature will be avenged and a hard heart is no infallible protection against a soft head.

It is the reality of "famished nature" that I have been thinking about, lately, the idea that we were created by our Maker for a life of experience and relationship and freedom, and all the risk that entails. We were made to comprehend beauty, to drink it in, to acknowledge it and give thanks. We were made to find out things, to thirst for knowledge and truth.

As G.K. Chesterton put it in his beautiful book Orthodoxy;

The thing I do not propose to prove, the thing I propose to take as common ground between myself and any average reader, is this desirability of an active and imaginative life, picturesque and full of a poetical curiosity, a life such as western man at any rate always seems to have desired. If a man says that extinction is better than existence or blank existence better than variety and adventure, then he is not one of the ordinary people to whom I am talking. If a man prefers nothing I can give him nothing.

It strikes me that the culture we have created for ourselves, by accident or design, has become un-poetic to a degree that is positively anti-human, effectively satisfying our animal appetites, but denying our deepest longings.

We are very concerned with having plenty of everything, and to spare, but we have also grown averse to hard physical work or discomfort, and so in making nearly every kind of thing we now opt for the easiest, most efficient and soul-less method of production possible; that is, the factory. As a result, we have individually forgotten how to do and make a myriad of simple things that virtually all our ancestors did and made. We instead pay slaves to make things for us, and if you think that is an overstatement, you might want to find out a bit more about production methods and labor practices in China.

In addition, we have become so obsessed with safety as a social value that we now hover around our children with antiseptic wipes and prohibit home-made snacks for classroom parties (got to bring everything in a factory-sealed cellophane pouch!). We have worried the old, fun tradition of Trick-or-Treat practically out of existence, on the mythical ground that it is dangerous.

We all crave Life, Truth, Beauty and Unity, but we are apparently willing enough to trade in all of those intangibles, if we can have certain guarantees in return.

We long for meaning and beauty, and yet we design our common culture to be soul-crushingly drab and prosaic, predictable and safe and inoffensive in every respect. That's what we now pay our leaders (political and otherwise) to do for us, and we get mad when they don't deliver. Hang the intangibles... we want everything now, and we want it cheap, we want it safe, and we want plenty of it so we don't have to worry about running out, even if we are a bit careless and wasteful with it.

But "famished nature will be avenged".

Finished Commission

 
 

This is the finished painting of the project I posted about on Friday. Just my usual amateur photo skilz. There is some surface glare and the colors aren't quite "on", but close enough for jazz.

Though it was different than a lot of the commissions I've done in the past, I was taken with the subject right from the get-go. What I like is that there is so much going on, so many layers of meaning in what is, really, just a family snapshot. If Norman Rockwell had painted this picture, we would have had to listen to critics yammering about how it was a cliche, a staged and sentimental paean to a vision of America that never really existed.

Except that it did exist, and in some places and families it still does.

The two gentlemen in the picture are the patron's grandfather and great-grandfather, and the great-grandfather is seen reading the scriptures aloud. For the purposes of this post, we'll just call them Father and Son.

One thing that strikes me about the image is that it runs counter to the modern myth that the lot of the children is inevitably to rebel against the parents. There have, shockingly enough, always been families wherein the children really wanted to grow up to be like the parents, where adulthood meant to the young something solid and enviable, and where the old were venerated because they were old. There was mutual affection and respect between this Father and Son that is appreciated and even cherished two generations later.

There is so much great subtext here, but I hate to blather about it. It's a bit of family history that also gives a glimpse into national history, and maybe all histories, which seem to run in cycles, after all.

The New Dappled Things is Here!

The new Dappled Things is here!... This is the kind of spontaneous publicity I need! My name in print! That really makes somebody! Things are going to start happening to me now!

How do I know all this? Well, I got an awesome message from Dappled Things. How did I know it was an awesome message, even before I read it? Because the title line read "An Awesome Message from Dappled Things"!

To wit:

Dear Tim,

 

The new issue of DT, the one featuring your painting, is now online! Thanks again for sharing your work with us. I thought maybe you might want to use the humorous message below to tell your readers about the new issue.

 

God bless,

 

Bernardo

 

------------------------------------

 

Hi, this message is all about ninjas Dappled Things,* THE NEW ISSUE OF DAPPLED THINGS. This message is awesome. My name is Bernardo and I can’t stop thinking about the new issue. This issue is cool; and by cool, I mean totally sweet.

 

Facts:

 

1. Dappled Things is made by mammals. Rational mammals.

2. Dappled Things is awesome ALL the time.

3. The purpose of Dappled Things is to flip out and kill bad writing.

 

The new issue’s weapons and gear:

 

1. Fiction by best-selling science fiction writer John C. Wright, as well as an interview with him that you will LOVE—if you know what’s good for you. “Oh, what’s the big deal?” you foolishly ask. Fine, I’ll give you a sample. But if you don’t like it, there’s no hope for you, and you need to go away and read some Dan Brown. Here is a totally sweet passage:

I first noticed the angel across the platform when I went in to buy my ticket. Admittedly, the sight made me nervous. I nonchalantly tried to keep him in view and I even bought a newspaper so I could hide my face while staring, just like a spy in a bad sitcom.

2. Killer stories by Tony France, Fiorella de Maria, and Gerald C. Matics.

3. Ninja outfit Sweet new cover design.

4. Essays that will explode your brain with their awesomeness, like Michael L. Ortiz’s “Some Remarks on Autism and Catholicism” or the second part of Eileen Cunis’s “On the Vocation of the Christian Artist.” In his sweet essay, Mr. Ortiz, who has Asperger Syndrome, gives us a window into his mind:

The first thing that some people notice upon meeting me is that I do not make eye contact. This is not because I am shy or devious; eye contact simply overloads my senses and makes me unable to think. To me, eyes are like the sun, which blinds by its excess of light. Furthermore, faces refuse to resolve themselves into recognizable composites for me: they remain mere assortments of features. . . . Sometimes I fail to recognize acquaintances, and sometimes I mistake strangers for friends. I once recognized my wife’s nose from a distance in a crowded public place, well before I realized that my wife was attached to it.

If you don’t think that sounds like a TOTALLY COOL essay, then go away and sit at the loser’s table, ’cause you obviously don’t have a clue.

 

5. Poetry and art so absurdly strong that they’ll leave you weeping like a little girl. Yeah, that’s right. Run to Mommy.

 

The new issue is so crazy and awesome that it flips out ALL the time. I heard that there was a copy of the new issue that was eating at a diner. And when some dude split an infinitive, the copy killed the whole town. (Metaphorically.) My friend said that he saw a copy totally uppercut some kid just because he didn’t understand that beauty is the enjoyment that comes from the contemplation of being.

 

And that’s what I call Ultimate Literary Power!

 

If you don’t believe that the new issue of Dappled Things has Ultimate Literary Power, you better get a life right now or it will chop your head off! (Intellectually.) It’s an easy choice, if you ask me.

 

Also, the new issue (and every issue) is soooo sweet that you need to buy a subscription now for all of your friends. I can’t believe how good it is sometimes, but I feel it inside my heart. This issue is totally awesome, and that’s a fact. It is fast, smooth, cool, strong, powerful, and sweet. I can’t wait to read all of it. I love Dappled Things with all of my intellect (including my aesthetic sense).

 

Q and A:

 

Q: Why is everyone so obsessed about Dappled Things?

A: Dappled Things is the ultimate paradox. On the one hand, it doesn’t care for the fads and fallacies of contemporary culture, but on the other hand, it’s at the cutting edge.

 

Q: I heard that ninjas the editors of Dappled Things are always cruel or mean. What’s their problem?

A: Whoever told you that is a total liar. Just like other mammals who love good writing, the editors can be mean OR totally awesome.

 

Q: What do issues of Dappled Things do when they’re not killing fallacies or flipping out?

A: Most of their free time is spent flying, but sometimes they build cathedrals. (Ask Matthew Alderman if you don’t believe me.)

 

If you are ready for Ultimate Literary Power, then come to our website now. Don’t come if you liked Confessions of a Shopaholic. (SERIOUSLY.)

 

Sincerely in Christ,

 

Bernardo Aparicio García

President, Dappled Things

 

* Editor-in-Chief’s Note: The hardworking, fun-loving, and (figuratively) nunchaku-wielding staff of Dappled Things takes no responsibility for injuries incurred by a too literal reading of the comparison of utterly awesome literary writing’s effect on the mind to that of ninjas on the body. Any resemblance to actual ninjas, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Commission in Progress

Spotty blogging this week is because I have been busy getting some of my work into an area gallery (finally), and because I have been working on a commissioned portrait.

Since I don't have anything very earth-shaking to say today, I'll just leave you with the pictorial evidence of progress on my commission. The painting is from a photo provided by the patron, which is something I am happy to do if the photo is good enough to make a good painting. I have turned down some commissions of this kind because there was just not enough there to work with.

The photo has what I think is a kind of Norman Rockwell-ian charm to it, and the image as a whole - without, I think, overstating - is kind of iconic. Like Rockwell's paintings, it depicts a piece of American life that most will agree has been disappearing, and that cynics like to think never really existed.

I'm anxious to finish this one, so I had better get back to my easel...

Right Anglicans

According to this AP story form Yahoo! News, the Vatican has taken steps to create a new ecclesial structure just for traditional Anglicans who want to return to full communion with the Church.

It's no secret that a lot of Anglicans are aghast and appalled at the rapid doctrinal meltdown of their denomination, the result of moral relativism. A great number are looking for a way to reconnect with the historical roots of the Church, and are looking to Rome.

This new ecclesial structure will allow the return of Anglicans to the fold of the Church, while also allowing them to maintain some genuine Anglican identity in terms of their traditions and worship. Things like the Common Book of Prayer, I would guess. It will also allow the possibility of married Anglican priests and seminarians eventually becoming Catholic priests.

This is an exception to the celibacy rule that has also applied to married Eastern Orthodox priests who enter the Catholic Church.

Some Anglicans may be upset at this move from the Vatican, as the split within Anglicanism (long brewing, but recently triggered by major accommodations to homosexuality) has been growing, painful and public. It would seem that this response by Rome would have to encourage some who have been looking for a way out of the sinking Anglican lifeboat to make the leap for the Ark of Peter.

If they are that upset, though, perhaps we could arrange a trade. As much as it would pain me, I am willing to send them all our bitter feminist nuns, dissident crank theologians and aging hippie priests in exchange. These would fit right in with the likes of Katharine Jefferts Schori (head of the Episcopal church, the American branch of Anglicanism). Like peas in a pod.

What will these poor, Anglican converts do on Guy Fawkes Day? Oh, the internal conflict! Personally, I don't care if they celebrate and light their firecrackers. Guy was very naughty, trying to blow up Parliament like that. Had he run in with a pistol and a sword and demanded a fair fight, I might feel differently, but sneak attacks with bombs are unmanly.

I Loves Me Some Jarlsberg

Not a fancy or expensive cheese, Norwegian Jarlsberg is just really good. Firm, with a sweet and nutty flavor, very similar to Swiss cheese (you could confuse the two) only, it seems to me, more creamy and with a more pronounced flavor. It's supposed to be aged at least a year, and as much as fifteen years. I'd like to get my mitts on some of the fifteen year stuff.

My daughter went with me to the grocery store where they have the nice gourmet cheeses, and picked out the Jarlsberg because the big holes in the cheese looked like fun to her, like the cheese you see in Tom & Jerry cartoons. She's good about trying new foods, and so we took home a good-sized wedge.

I opened it up when we got home, poured a beer for myself and cut a small-ish piece for her to try. Now, to me, anything in the Swiss/Emmentaler/Jarlsberg family would be considered a mild and versatile cheese with broad appeal. My daughter (14), though, took a sniff and took a pass. Wouldn't even taste it.

What really surprised me, though, was when Sweet Wifey nearly gagged after she took a nibble. I chalk it up to her having had some upper-respiratory crud the last few days that made the taste unpleasant.

But who knows? My tastes have certainly changed over the years. I can't imagine liking Bleu cheese when I was a kid as I do now. In fact, I'm pretty sure I would have hated it. What seems to me, now, a very mildly pungent flavor might seem to another, well, as my wife said, "musty... like feet.". I just don't see it.

Jarlsberg is the kind of solid cheese that you could make a meal of almost by itself. It seems almost that one could live off the stuff. I ate a few pieces on garlic bagel chips, but found that I like it best plain (with good beer or wine for the palate, of course).

I guess, with a positive rating of only 25% in our family, I can save myself the trouble of looking for Jarlsberg recipes. Oh, well... more for me, as they say. I can be assured that my wedge of Jarlsberg will sit in the fridge unmolested, except when I want to slice off a hunk.

I know I've had Jarlsberg cheese before, probably a number of times. It's just that I hadn't been paying attention. Try some with a glass of wine, preferably a lighter, dryer variety like Chablis. Good with beer, too.

Steven Greydanus; Wild Things More Than a "Decent Film"

Over at Decent Films, Steven Greydanus gives the new film adaptation of Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are a very positive review. Steven is my go-to guy on rating films. Life is short, and cinema tickets are expensive... I don't have the time or cash to screen a lot of films that might or might not be worthwhile. While I don't always agree with SDG, he has been a reliable barometer when it comes to movies. He should have his own half-hour on EWTN. There, I said it.

I also have to confess, I was one of those just not that blown away by Wild Things as a kid. I haven't read it in a very long time, perhaps I should pick it up again.

I do think that part of my impression as (I think) a second grader was a response to adults (teachers) who absolutely gushed over the book as the Greatest Thing Ever. It seemed to me at the time that the book was also presented as a kind of primer on The Right Way To Use Your Imagination, as if me and my school friends didn't have our heads teeming with perfectly good daydreams of our own. Not that this was Sendak's idea.

That's one reason I never liked folk music as a kid, and had to approach it again as an adult, working my way backward through my biases. A lot of my teachers were young folkie wannabes, and they couldn't understand why any healthy youngster wouldn't want to sing chorus after chorus of Michael Row The Boat Ashore or Puff, The Magic Dragon as they strummed their Sears guitar. Maybe I would have had a different response to M.T.A. or Whiskey In The Jar, but that kind of thing would have been frowned on, I suppose.

By Steven Greydanus' account, the Wild Things movie sounds intriguing. Maybe it will be another opportunity to work backward through my biases.

Sarah Silverman Stole My Idea

Much as I hate to give this any more publicity than it deserves, which is none, I want to comment on Sarah Silverman's recent suggestion that the Catholic Church "sell the Vatican" to stop world hunger.

Where to begin? First, I want to point out that I said the very same thing when I was a dimwitted adolescent. It was an old trope then. Original and daring it ain't. The difference between me and Miz Silverman is that I grew up at some point. She didn't really steal it from me. She stole it from every grumbling crank since Nero.

But then, being a foul-mouthed comic isn't exactly the definition of "going against the flow". By falling right into line with the fashionable atheism of her social set, Miz Silverman reveals a timid and unimaginative conformism.

Then there is the irony of the kind of statement wherein one demonstrates one's deep concern for the poor by demanding that someone else do something to help them. I wonder if she texted the suggestion to the Vatican from her limo; "I would help the poor myself, but I have an appointment for a pedicure. Give 'til it hurts, Catholics!".

There is also the underlying philosophical problem of such a statement, which goes right along with the Spirit of the Age, which is materialism. By her remark, Miz Silverman sees no value in beauty or art or other intangibles (not to mention faith). For her, apparently, every symbol is an empty symbol. But then, I notice she didn't suggest we sell our national monuments... Mount Rushmore, the White House, the Capital Mall, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial.

Which brings us to her transparent anti-Catholicism, which - let's be honest - is what the remark is all about. Sarah Silverman doesn't lay awake nights worrying over the poor. She does think a lot about publicity, though, and trashing the Vatican is always good for a few days of tabloid chatter. One can't rely on jokes about rape or abortion or masturbation all the time. Trashing Christians is a very handy alternative, because it requires no courage at all, but you will be applauded for it as if you had done something significant. You will also get invited to all the right parties and cast in all the right parts.

There are two kinds of comics at work today; first, there are those of the "I-can't-believe-they-went-there" variety, who stimulate a Pavlovian response by attacking things that ordinary, normal people find important. Miz Silverman is one of these, and they are as common as dirt. This is where most of what passes for stand-up comedy comes from nowadays. Lacking a sense of humor, these performers rely on the mere shock of words. This is why we have "retard" jokes again. It's transgressive and edgy to make fun of the handicapped, see. What a fifth grader would rightly be ashamed of, these people get paid to do.

Then, there are the genuine humorists, who are more rare: Brian Regan, John Pinnette, Jeff Foxworthy, Jim Gaffigan... these may cross a line now and again, but in the main their humor is about being human, and most of the jokes are, in one way or another, on all of us. It's not even a question of bad language. There are some comics I really appreciate who swear a good bit. The words "humor" and "human" are both related to the root word "humus" ("earth"), after all. The difference is, they aren't trying to be offensive. There are times when another kind of word won't quite do.

It's odd how wide a gulf there is between being earthy and just being dirty.

One of the Cool Things...

...about living in the Ozarks is... bumping into John Michael Talbot when you're running errands!

It was such a great blessing to see him. I met him once before at a Christian Musician's conference in Eureka Springs, maybe ten or twelve years ago. I wasn't there as a musician, y'unnerstand... we just went to the performance the final evening.

This time my son, now 18, was with me, looking, shall we say, much different than he did when we had last seen brother Talbot. As a boy, he used to fall asleep listening to JMT's Table of Plenty album.

One of my favorite John Michael Talbot recordings is his Meditations in the Spirit, because it is largely comprised of scripture set to music. It has been a great aid to prayer, at times.

I interrupted brother Talbot, introduced myself, and he was very gracious, introducing me in turn to a Sister who's name I have forgotten, though I have not forgotten her kind face.

If she ever finds out how quickly I forgot her name, I hope she won't take it personally, as names have always flown straight out of my head. I have a terrible time with names, unless I can tie them to something solid. If I met you and you hit me in the head with a shoe, I would likely remember your name, but barring something along those lines, it will take meeting you a few times for me to get it right.

I was able to talk with John Michael for a few minutes about an art project I have in mind, and he was again very gracious and encouraging. I have for years wanted to do a series of paintings depicting the monastic life of the Brothers and Sisters of Charity at their Little Portion Hermitage in Berryville, Arkansas, and this serendipitous meeting may shake me out of my inertia enough to finally do it. Prayers please.

I think the meeting might have been more significant for my son, though, who has been in a period of, well... let's say searching. In the modern world, it can be hard to believe in things like plain goodness and holiness. Meeting John Michael and this gentle Sister was, I think, a little like an opening door for him.

The fact that both were in their monastic dress also may have made a big impression on him. It is one thing to tell someone that we hold an ancient and timeless creed... it's another thing to see such a concrete reminder of it. He, like many Americans, has never seen anything like Chartres Cathedral or Old Jerusalem (we in the West stopped building beautiful, awe-inspiring churches a while back). Their simple monastic habits were the quiet visual equal of the distant ringing of some ancient bell.

There is much in the Church that my son questions, but this was something like spying a hearthfire through a frosted window after you've been wandering in the snow. The flaws of the Church are easy to see, and easy to criticize. The holy Fire at the center of the faith can be harder to spot. Once you get a look at it, though, nothing else will quite measure up. It becomes worth putting up with the flaws.

I hope he saw an unexpected glimpse of that fire.