We Took a Trip!

   The week after Easter, we fortunate enough to be able to take a little family vacation. If you don't count the times where our travels involved visiting someone else, this was really our first family vacation. It wasn't exactly action-packed or exotic, because it's hard to have action-packed days when you have an eleven-month-old who requires at least two naps a day, but it was fun because we went somewhere that I had always wanted to go: the Redwoods in Northern California. 

   We stayed in Crescent City at the Curly Redwood Lodge (unique because all the wood in the building came from just ONE curly redwood tree). I've posted some pictures to offer a sample of our travels.

   Here we are at the Stout Grove at Jedediah Smith State Park. The dirt trails were covered in gravel, so it wasn't too bad navigating the stroller even in the drizzle.

Ian and Alexandra in front of some of the large trees we came to see.

   The picture came out blurry, but we were just so impressed with the size of the base of this fallen tree. Impressive, isn't it?

The other amazing thing about the trip was the scenery. Below is the Smith River, which wound along next to the highway and was consistently this gorgeous turquoise color.

   We also drove north up the coast to Oregon and stopped at one of the beaches. It was a pretty beach, but my favorite thing was seeing Ian keeping his little girl warm in his jacket.

   See? The beach is nice, but not as heartwarming.

   The sunset in Crescent City was beautiful.

   On day three of our trip, we went to the Great Cats World Park near Cave Junction, Oregon. It was a zoo devoted entirely to wild cats, and our tour guide was their main trainer. He is apparently something like the Steve Erwin of cats.


   I love white tigers! Alexandra does, too.

   The trainer did not go in the cage with the lion. I guess lions are finicky, and unless you have another experienced trainer in there as backup, one wrong move could cost you your life...

   ...however, tigers are much more stable, and he not only got in the cage with this one, but also rode it.

      Later on we went to Big Tree Wayside, home of the Big Tree. While its name is not creative, it certainly was the biggest tree we saw.

   We also went to the parking lot of a place called Trees of Mystery, because I couldn't resist posing by Paul Bunyan and Babe. Now when Alexandra is old enough to learn about American legends, I can show her this picture.

   We had a great time!

Art Night and Pain: Part 2

So, after thinking about it a lot and reading the comments on my blog, here are my thoughts about art and pain. Many thanks to the people who gave me feedback, which really helped shape and clarify my own thoughts. I think it comes down to one particular theme for me, with a couple of sub-ideas feeding into it.

I think that art is a form of redemption for pain. Not, perhaps, in every sense of the word, but in the senses given to me based on the definition of "redeem" according to Dictionary.com: "to buy back" and "to recover." Dictionary.com, under "redemption," offers a definition from a Bible dictionary: "the purchase back of something that had been lost, the payment of a ransom." (Also, included in my idea is the Biblical sense that something is better and restored once it has been redeemed.)

I think that's what art does, at least when it comes to pain. Here's what I mean:

Art is typically aesthetically pleasing, or if not, is evocative of some emotion in a way that makes a statement. Through colors, shapes, words, pictures, or music, art constructs order and/or beauty and/or meaning. But even apart from the meaning, art is typically beautiful in and of itself, which in many cases is part of what makes it art. I remember being in a class once and listening to a poem written in a language I did not know. Listening to the poem stirred something in me because of the sounds and rhythms put together by the poet. I remember wondering that I could have an emotional reaction to something when I didn't even know what it was saying. But that's the case with many pieces of art. Somehow, because of the beauty and order they create or the emotion that they isolate and evoke, they become an object of value in and of themselves.

So, when an artist takes a painful emotion or experience and puts it into a piece of art, they are taking emotional wounds and redeeming them. The hurt, the pain, seems pointless; the effort of the artist pays the ransom and buys back the hurt, turning into something that has value in and of itself. In the case of extremely hurtful experiences, the beauty or value of the art may not be even close to what was paid in suffering. But something good has come out of something bad, redeeming it even if just a bit.

As I was coming to this conclusion, I questioned whether aesthetic objects alone are worth human suffering. After all, if you've been through something terrible, how could art ever begin to redeem your experience? I think there are two reasons beauty and order alone are worth it.



1) Soul scars (this term/idea was coined by my multi-talented friend Katie and I'm stealing it): People make art out of suffering because suffering shapes them. When people are betrayed, when natural disasters wipe out someone's home or town, when wars result in death, it seems that there is no good that can come out of such a thing.

Yet, without suffering, we don't become the people we are. There have been many times in my life where I have heard people, both religious and nonreligious, talk about a difficult time in their life. Sometimes they say they wish it had never happened, but they often say that they wouldn't be the people they are without the experience. Without the suffering, they wouldn't be as patient or compassionate or wise or loving or even just experienced. Most Christians I know agree that the worst times in their lives are the times when they are closest to God and feel His love the most, and that pain is what gets our spiritual attention.

And when people don't have any struggles, they tend to become shallow. I know that in my own life, difficult times give me a broader, better perspective. And so I think art reminds us of those difficult times that made us who we are. It reminds us that being cut off in traffic is not the end of the world, that there are worse things than those we've been worry about, that it's better to be grateful for what you have than to pine for what you don't have. Physical wounds leave scars; emotional and spiritual wounds also need scars so we can remember how we became who we are. Art redeems the experience by creating a soul scar for us.

2) Community: Art shows us we are not alone because it speaks to our souls. When you see a painting that moves you, or when you discuss the meaning of a novel with a good friend, or hear a piece of music that speaks to the despair you feel where a rational discussion never will, it gives you the sense that you are understood, comprehended. While you may not feel like the artist, writer, or composer is speaking to you directly, I think we've all seen, read, or heard something and had an inner reaction of "Yes! That's It!" It, referring to what we are feeling but cannot express. Knowing that someone else has created It helps us feel less alone. And so when we've had a painful experience, art relating to that experience becomes a way of communicating with others who've been there. It's too painful for words, but art lets us know we aren't alone. Art redeems that experience by giving us a deeper way to experience community.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. I'd love to hear any feedback/additions/perspectives any of you have. :)



Aside: I do not want to ignore the idea of art as an expression of the artist and a way of working through the pain. My goal in thinking about this was to examine why art that is about pain appeals not just to the artist, but to the audience as well.

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Programming to Bring You...

Just to give you all an update... I have been thinking more about art and pain. I got good ideas from commenters on my last blog post (see Art Night and Pain: Part 1) and I am refining my own thoughts to put into the second-part blog post. In the meantime, life has been busy. This is the kind of topic that I like to mull over for a while before expressing myself. Hence, the long delay. Also, I am thinking that I should include more non-serious posts, since thinking things over for a month before you post doesn't lead to an interesting blog.

So, quickly, highlights of my life currently include:

1) Alexandra is ten months old. She is crawling and happy and she lights up my life. She loves to read books, hug her baby dolls, pull everything out of her toy boxes and diaper bag, and play both by herself and with others. She likes smiling and waving at and charming strangers at the grocery store, church, and restaurants. While she doesn't say any words yet, she clearly understands a variety, including "Mommy," "Daddy," "Jessica," "Petey," "Grandma," "baby," "clap," "big," "eat," and "milk."

2) I got to play the piano for Easter services at our church last weekend. I love using that skill for God, and the more difficult and challenging the song the better (don't know why that is). I also love rehearsals... not because they're long or anything but I love working with others for a greater cause. Team efforts are fun.

3) My husband. He's always patient with me and stays at home for long afternoons and evenings with the baby because I want to play the piano at church. Most importantly, he shows me love and support no matter what. I've learned a lot about love from him!

Art Night and Pain: Part 1

On Sunday evening just over a week ago, we had an Art Night at my church. I loved seeing the paintings and sketches, listening to songs and poems and fiction, and watching the artists speak passionately about their talents and passions that mean so much to them. And it got me thinking about pain and art.

One of the artists was explaining her (chalk, I think it was) drawing of a mother cuddling a newborn... in the painting it looks as if she is whispering her baby girl to sleep. She explained that the art was done at the request of a friend whose baby was born sleeping.

When she said "born sleeping," my stomach gave a momentary lurch; I had never heard the euphemism before but could guess what it meant. She went on to give more details about the piece, and someone asked, "Was the baby okay?"

"No." The artist spoke quickly. "She was not okay."

I started thinking about why the artist's friend wanted the drawing, exactly. Surely not just to remember what must have been one of the most painful days of her life, which could have been done with a photograph. It wasn't necessarily to express herself because she wasn't the one painting it. But she wanted a piece of art about it.

And then I realized how many of the other pieces of art dealt with pain, with the times in our lives that are "not okay." One person sang a song she had written about her struggle to deal with her own shortcomings. Another read a poem expressing the shame and sadness she felt after speaking harshly to her son. Another shared an excerpt from her novel manuscript, a story (based in her own life) about two sisters with a rough past.

So I started wondering to myself why so much of art deals with pain. It deals with hurt and ugliness and experiences people would rather forget. Artists are driven to create pieces based in wounds, and even those who don't express themselves artistically often desire to see their pain reflected in pieces of art. When people could turn to God or therapy or talk it out or walk away and forget it, why do so many of us have the impulse to create or see something created that has to do with our bad experience? Why does art offer more healing of our torments and afflictions than simple understanding? It's more than just expression... if that was the case we could just (prose) write or talk it out.

I have some ideas about why this is, but I was just curious what any readers out there think, and I wanted to get your ideas to help me reconsider and process mine. What connects art and pain? Why are we driven to create about things that are not okay?

Maybe I'm overthinking it, but I'd still love to hear any thoughts you have about it... I'll post my own thoughts later on.

Childhood Memories vs. Grown-Up Realities

I went to New Mexico March 1st-7th. My mom bought an airline ticket for me for my birthday, since she was going to visit family, and we took Alexandra. We had a great time; I hadn't been there since my great-grandmother died nine years ago.

It's interesting going back to some place you haven't been to since you were a kid. It makes you realize how much of memory and reality and even how you feel about things are based in childhood experiences. For example...

We spent most of the time in Las Cruces proper, at Mrs. Naul's house and at my grandma's house. (My mom lived with Mrs. Naul when she was in college, and Mrs. Naul had a huge impact on my mom's life and spiritual growth.) Since I am now an adult and was able to do some of the driving, I got to know parts of the city I had never really seen before. But I didn't quite feel like I had "gone home" until I got to see my mom's dad and stepmom. I realized it's because as a kid, most of the time I spent in Las Cruces was spent at their house, which was actually outside the city. It was on a large piece of property that included a rose garden and small orchard at the front and a junkyard at the back, since my grandpa was an appliance repair man and a collector of pieces and miscellany (<--these are what the thesaurus is giving me as nicer-sounding ways to say junk). With all that room and a variety of old broken-down cars, trailers, washing machines/dryers/refrigerators to play around (and in the case of the cars, in), it was a kid's paradise.

That's where I spent many Christmases and a few other holidays. That's where I played with my brothers and cousins and built statues out of old appliance parts. That's where my grandma made us countless delicious meals and desserts. That's where I spent time in the wind and dust and intense sunshine. And since technically my grandparents lived in Las Cruces, that's what I always thought of when I thought of Las Cruces.

So it was weird going back and discovering that most of Las Cruces isn't at all the image that I held in my mind for so long. And going back as an adult with my mom also reminded me that she has an entirely different image of the city. She grew up in the city; since she lived there in college, Mrs. Naul's house is like going home for her. My grandpa and step-grandma didn't get married until she was an adult, so their house isn't going home for her.

This is probably super obvious for anyone outside the family, but it was weird being confronted with the difference between my childhood idea of Las Cruces and what reality is.