When would you want to travel to?

I nearly missed getting to vote on this year’s crop of Doodles 4 Google created by students around the country. As I was last year, I am impressed with the creativity and talent of these young artists.

I also find it interesting to see the variety of answers they give to this year’s them: “If I could travel in time, I’d visit…” Prehistoric times and frontier America are popular and unsurprising destinations, as are visits to the future. Specific cultures such as ancient Greece, Rome, and Egypt, and the Middle Ages are also well represented.

I wonder about the student who would like to visit the Titanic as it sank. What would ten-year-old Grace B think if she actually saw it happening?

I like the reasons Elizabeth C gives for wanting to see the construction of Stonehenge. “I would witness the will to do something thought impossible, something great, the drive to go above and beyond the expected.” I hope she does get to see such will and drive exhibited by people – without having to travel through time to see it.

Barbara M would like to visit the beginning of the French Revolution. That’s one time and place I’d want to steer clear of! But she offers an intriguing reason – “to see if Marie Antoinette was truly as blind to the troubles outside the palace as she is portrayed.”

Naturally I start wondering what time I would want to travel to, if I could. The first thought that comes to mind is the time of Jesus. I know the Bible says “Blessed are those who have not seen [Jesus] but believe.” But I would really like to see him, to hear his teaching from his own mouth and see how he interacted with people.

Of course, it could be that even if time travel existed, it would be very imprecise. Perhaps I would only be able to travel to somewhere in the Middle East, within fifty years of the time of Jesus. The chance of actually encountering him would be very low. Would I still choose that time and place to visit?

Even if I could be assured that my presence in the past or future would not affect the course of history – either the grand scheme of things or my personal history – I don’t think I would want to visit a time of great suffering. With modern communication systems, it is just about impossible to avoid awareness of suffering in other places while being unable to do much of anything about it. But it seems psychologically unhealthy to intentionally visit a time/place of suffering knowing that one cannot do a thing about it.

Certain practical matters might affect my choice. I am sure I could manage without modern plumbing. But I don’t think I would like to spend any length of time on a visit to a period prior to the invention of toilet paper.

And I doubt I would learn much without spending a significant amount of time there. I remember learning, when preparing to go study in Spain the first time, about the stages of adjustment to a new culture. First there is a period when everything seems exciting. Things that seem strange to us are seen as “quaint” rather than “idiotic.” Next there is a period of hostility to this strange, incomprehensible culture.

I’m not sure how long it takes to reach the stage of integration into the culture, but I wonder if it would take even longer in a different era. The differences between the U.S. and Spain today are probably pretty minor compared to the differences between modern U.S. culture and that of Renaissance Italy or ancient Greece. I enjoyed the year I spent in Spain very much, but I suspect that it has improved somewhat in my memories over what I actually experienced.

I think it would probably be difficult for most of us modern Americans to adjust to the slower tempo of life in most times and places in the past. I would be wanting to get out and see things and do things, and instead I would probably need to help with the (backbreaking) chores that have to get done every day, wait for very slow transportation, and avoid asking all kinds of questions that would only arouse suspicion.

At least I think I would get plenty of sleep. And plenty of exercise.

Religious art by non-believers

I read an interesting column in the Wall Street Journal yesterday, How Can Skeptics Make Convincing Religious Art? Terry Teachout wonders how it is that a non-believer can create such powerfully moving works of religious art. And for that matter, he asks, why does such an artist even want to make religious art?

It’s a fairly short column, and Teachout doesn’t attempt to give any kind of comprehensive answer to those questions. He only gives a few examples (and I have to admit that I don’t find Édouard Manet’s ”Jesus Mocked by the Soldiers” as “wrenchingly powerful” as Teachout does); I would be interested in a longer and more in-depth treatment of the subject.

In the end, Teachout simply concludes that when it comes to producing great art, even on religious topics, belief in God is optional. Belief in the power of faith (which clearly is life-shaping and sometimes life-changing, regardless of what you think of its validity) and in the power of art seems to matter much more.

Thinking it over, I decided it doesn’t seem all that strange that unbelievers should be able to create great religious art. Religious art, like any other art, reflects human experience. It doesn’t take belief in God to feel suffering, awe, fear, delight, zeal, or other feelings common to religious experience.

Appreciating art

I took a required class in college that included some art history and art appreciation (along with what should be a Christian view of the arts). But it was so brief that I didn’t feel I gained anything much in my ability to appreciate art.

When I have visited art museums (something I did a lot when I was a student in Spain, but not much since then), I have always found some works of art that I really liked, but couldn’t really say why. And I’ve usually seen a lot that left me indifferent (including some that I probably should appreciate but didn’t).

I’m sure I could find some books (or, these days, websites) to educate me further on appreciating art. But I’ve generally been content with being able to like what I like, even if I don’t really know why. And at one of the websites I found through a link at GOOD, I found lots of art that I like.

An assemblage artist

My cousin shared this on facebook, with the comment “Too good not to share…” The thumbnail picture looked like a Monet painting, but when you see the detail, it’s not a painting at all. And if you go to the artist’s own website, you can see a video zooming in on the details from various angles. From some angles, it looks like the mess on my son’s floor before he cleans up all his toys. But from the right perspective, it does look like a Monet painting again.

I’m always fascinated by artwork that uses unconventional materials. There’s a lot of junk art out there that is more junk than art, and I’m not equally impressed by all of Tom Deininger’s work. But how many people could make such realistic-looking eyes? And how about this cute bunny? I like collecting bunny figurines, but I wouldn’t want this one around my house because of the stink – it’s made from used cigarette butts.

What does God look like?

“What does God look like?” That was the question asked during the children’s sermon at the church my son and I attended Sunday (where our family often visits when my husband is not preaching elsewhere, though on this occasion he was filling in for a pastor who does two services on Sunday morning, at different locations, which is why we didn’t go with him).

It’s a question I imagine most children have wondered about, at least those who grew up with some kind of religious faith. I don’t remember ever having a specific mental picture of God, because one of the earliest lessons I remember learning was that “God is everywhere.” I don’t know if I also was told that God is invisible, but I know I always thought of God that way – after all, if a God who is everywhere were not invisible, how could I possible see anything else?

I don’t know what other children think when being told God is everywhere, but I concluded that it meant God inhabited every cubic inch of the universe. As a young adult I puzzled over what meaning there could be for the Holy Spirit to live in the hearts of believers in Jesus Christ. If God was already everywhere, how could He not be in every person, as well as every tree, rock, and single-celled organism?

Because I had been taught that God is specially present in believers, I believed it, but I couldn’t make logical sense out of it. My husband was the one who finally pointed out that saying God is omnipresent does not mean He is literally present everywhere. It means that there is no limit to where He can be, no place too far away or too hidden for Him.

Folding paper cranes

I hadn’t planned on doing origami today. I liked doing origami as a girl, though I never made anything very complicated. I don’t remember much about what I made, other than the origami cup, which I liked because it was both easy and useful (you can actually drink from it, though you’d better do so quickly after filling it). For a long time I had a mobile hanging in my room, made of various origami animals. I think I remember a whale (I remember drawing the eye on it), perhaps a penguin, and I’m pretty sure a swan. But I never tried a crane – it looked way too complicated.

When I entered the public library today to return some books, I couldn’t help noticing a sign about making paper cranes. I took note of the date and time and made a mental note to possibly come back then – and then realized the date was today and the event was going on as I stood there. Well, I figured I had to take a look, see how many people were making cranes and how difficult it looked. There was no indication on the poster where the event was being held, but I figured it would be somewhere on the second floor.

Approaching the meeting rooms, I saw a woman sitting at a table with a boy and a girl who appeared to be middle school age. There was an array of paper on the table, though not origami paper. I had expected to see a larger group, perhaps a number of samples to copy, and a diagram of how to fold the crane. I was wondering if this really could be the right group, when the woman invited me to sit down and join them making paper cranes. I sat down.

What makes dragons so popular?

Friday evening, as we settled into our motel room after taking our older son back to college, our younger son asked me something that I had been wondering about myself. Why are dragons so popular?

He had brought home a “free reading” book from school (they are required to read three books during the term, though I’m sure Al will read far more than that), and I started reading it after I realized that it was about dragons. As soon as I finished it, I got the sequel from the public library, which we both read during the trip to Michigan. (He read while I drove, I read it in the motel.) Now we’re taking turns reading the third book.

I can’t remember the first book I ever read about dragons, but I remember getting a book on the “natural history” of dragons back when I was a young adult. I loved the idea of a book that tried to examine dragons in the same way a non-fiction book would examine any other animal – its physiology, mating habits, habitat, history, etc. Some of my favorite novels that deal with dragons are Anne McCaffrey’s books about the dragons of Pern, and the Dragon Knight books by Gordon R. Dickson.

A fresh look at the Bible

Reading a familiar passage of Scripture in a different translation than what you are used to can make it seem fresh and alive. I remember reading books by J.B. Phillips and being amazed how the verses he quoted – in his own translation – seemed so relevant to me, in a way that they did not when I read them in my usual translation. (And my usual translation at the time was the NIV, which had the same effect as Phillips’ translation the first time I read it.)

For a really fresh look, take a look at a graphic designer’s interpretation of Scripture – in graphic form, of course. In Jim LePage’s blog post on “An Idiot’s Guide to Reading the Bible,” he explains how he came to start his Word project, in which he creates a design for each book of the Bible. The designs aren’t intended to represent the entire book, just some aspect of it that particularly struck him.

A modern medievalist

This isn’t the post I planned on writing today. (That’s OK, because that gives me more time to work on the other one I started.) But when I saw a picture of “Möbius Ship” in a post at First Thoughts, I happily followed the rabbit trail that it presented.

I never heard of Tim Hawkinson before, but I am intrigued by what I read about him in this review. It’s hard to judge art by seeing small photos on a computer screen, yet I think I would be just as intrigued in person. I particularly like “Wall Chart of World History From Earliest Times to the Present.” I do not believe history to be a meaningless series of events, because God is working through it. But from a human perspective, it probably could well be represented by Hawkinson’s drawing.

I like his use of found objects. I saw one comment, at the Indianapolis Museum of Art website, complaining that the bar code labels left on the dowels used in “Möbius Ship” detract from the effect. Not having seen it except in the photo, I can’t say. But found objects do tend to have at least some traces of their original function. That is part of what makes them appealing to me – the fact that they can still be identified as “non-art” objects makes their contribution to an objet d’art (assuming it’s good art) all that more impressive.  

I also like his versatility. There is a wide variety to the materials, themes, size, and looks to the various works shown in the review (to which I linked in the second paragraph). Some are purely visual, others include sound. Some include movement. All, apparently, include a certain playfulness, yet also something serious wrapped in humor.

I’m not sure I would figure out the hidden serious message in all of them. (I didn’t even notice the connection between “Möbius Ship” and Moby Dick on my own, since Möbius doesn’t start with the same vowel sound as Moby.) The “Balloon Self-Portrait,” for instance, just looks kind of strange.

But if I had the chance to go see some of Hawkinson’s works in person (without having to travel very far, that is), I would like to.

The art of doodles

Lots of people doodle, but it takes some special ability to make a Doodle. Like many people, I like Google’s occasional Doodles to mark special days. Sometimes it’s the artwork itself that appeals to me; sometimes it’s what I learn when I find out what’s behind the day’s Doodle.

Today what I saw awed me. The Google homepage has no doodle, but it has a link to the Doodle 4 Google contest. Over 100,000 students across the country drew Doodles (which like all Google Doodles include the word Google) based on the theme “What I’d like to do someday…”

Among the finalists, there are children whose dreams are as varied as oceanographer, dentist, astronaut, engineer, paleontologist, and baker. There are several future teachers and artists – though looking at the Doodles I’d have to say they’re all budding artists, no matter what their future careers.

Some drew not their career aspirations per se but how they hope to make the world a better place. School supplies for all students, food and clean water for everyone, saving endangered animals, developing green technology, helping all children fulfill their dreams.

A panel of thirteen guest judges (including the creator of the “Garfield” comic strip, the producer of “SpongeBob SquarePants,” two Olympic gold medalists, and an astronaut) selected winners from each state, then narrowed them down to the forty finalists. Now we get to vote on our favorites!

It’s hard to choose, there are so many good ones. (It must have been a difficult job, picking out the finalists.) But I finally picked one in each age group. (Note: at one point the computer gave an error message and wouldn’t record my choice, but after I refreshed the page and tried again it worked.)

Take some time to see the creativity and aspirations of our country’s young people.