Teach2Fish's Xanga

And now for some completely shameless advertising...

Sun, 26 Feb 2006 21:27:40 GMT

I was at Eyekons gallery this past Friday, registering for their workshop, and got a sneak preview of one of Kevin Rolly's pieces. This show is going to be outstanding, and is not to be missed! It will be especially relevant to those of us from Mars Hill who are going through Lenten rituals for the first time and desire a visual way to connect with the ancient mystery of it all. Kevin's Stations of the Cross pieces were described as being about 3'x3', dark, visceral, and deeply moving. He used lived models for his photography, made silver gelatin prints which he then affixed to backing and painted over with heavy dark-colored oils, covering the entire surface. The images you see appeared after he wiped off the oil paint in some spots to reveal the photograph, now tinted from the oils used. The textures and images are amazing.

This gallery houses fabulous artwork, and is worth more than one visit. I strongly encourage you to experience their upcoming Lenten show.

The Fifteenth Station : a Lenten Celebration

March 10 thru April 28
Featuring - Kevin Rolly's "The Stations of the Cross"
Including work by Tim Botts, James Fissel, Wayne Forte, Makoto Fujimura, Peter Gordon,
Laura James, Eric Nykamp, Steve Prince, Susan Seavitt, Chris Stoffel Overvoorde & Rachael Van Dyke.

Artist Reception		Friday, March 10 \| 5 - 11pm Come meet the artists and see their work. Free and open to the public. See Kevin Rolly's Stations of the Cross see the lent exhibit Check back soon - More art will be added as the Lent exhibit evolves
Workshop		Saturday, March 11 \| 8:30am - 5pm Visual Devotion: Listening with Your Eyes A workshop on aesthetic prayer Workshop fee is $15 more info / Registration
Open House/Artist Talk		Sunday, March 12 \| 11am - 4pm Kevin Rolly talks about the making of "The Stations of the Cross." Free and open to the public.

co-sponsored by:

www.calvin.edu/worship

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
the eyekons gallery | 210 East Fulton | Grand Rapids, MI 49503 | Tues - Fri 11am - 6pm, Sat 10am - 3pm

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Sun, 11 Dec 2005 14:17:24 GMT

Currently Reading: Room Full of Mirrors: A Biography of Jimi Hendrix by Charles R. Cross

On Deck: Eating Stone: Imagination and the Loss of the Wild by Ellen Meloy, and Concerning the Spiritual in Art by Wassily Kandinsky

Yes, I deleted my last post. I was sick of it hanging out there. It was a lovely little journal entry, but to be fully understood in all it's depth, you really needed to be me at the moment I wrote it. Since that's impossible, I felt like it could be viewed more as a piece of Pharisean proselytizing sullying my xanga real estate. Thank you much to xanga for the ease at which one can delete a niggling post.

What have I been doing with my personal life? Read the poem in the previous entry for your answer.

Too distracted to write more at the moment....

Monday, May 16, 2005

Mon, 16 May 2005 11:28:27 GMT

Music currently playing: Disc 2 of the dusty Beatles Blue collection

Currently reading:

1) The Connecting Church: Beyond small groups to authentic community by Randy Frazee (so far...very easy read, very interesting)

2) Captivating by John & Stasi Eldredge

Forgive me, friends, for I have sloughed off—it’s been almost 2 months since my last profession. In that time, Diane started her own blog, Steve reviewed books, Troy posted ten thousand entries, Brad posted ten thousand pages, and John began preparations to come home from his first year of college. And what have I been doing? Wasting time.

So, to celebrate my enlightenment and my re-entry to blogworld, I would like to recite a poem I wrote. It’s called…I Waste My Time.

I Waste My Time

Instead of making my own art

Following the desires of my heart

My creative drive I sit and shirk

While I look at someone else’s work

On ebay

All day

I waste my time

Instead of cleaning my art room

Uncluttering the floor of doom

And organizing that hellacious pit

I put more stuff where I can see it

Because “I’m visual”

My habit is residual

I waste my time

I watch TV

My brain is in decay

I think during the commercials

Because it’s easier that way

I waste my time

Instead of writing my own line

Crafting words to intertwine

I adventurously surf online

And read somebody else’s

I waste my time

I waste my time...

Okay, all of you poetry heads out there--don't bother telling me that I've got a limp in my iambic pentameter. This is just free-form stuff.

Thought for the day, again on the idea of fear:

We fear what we cannot explain. So, to conquer the fear, we hold in contempt that which is a mystery to us, thus putting us back in control. Why is "I don't know" such a scary answer for some people? Is mystery something for you to conquer, or something to revel in??

Friday, April 01, 2005

Fri, 01 Apr 2005 01:18:50 GMT

Currently Playing: An awesome homebrew by Brad Nelson. Thank you, Brad, for sharing these beautiful sounds and words with me. I have been playing the cd continually for the last 90 minutes and I feel so very peaceful.

Have you ever been to a swampy park in the early spring and heard tree frogs singing? The spring peepers are starting to emerge around here and offer up their "come hither" music. When you find thousands gathered in one spot, as you do at Aman Park in the spring, their singing weaves itself together into one deafening tapestry--like a thousand jingle bells shaking their way into your skin cells. It's totally amazing when they're in full swing. I'll have to go there with some recording instruments and make a cd that I can play next winter. Incredible, the sounds you forget about during the snowy hibernation: peepers, red-wing blackbirds, crickets, robins, kids' shouts and laughter echoing off bare concrete.

Reading material: Just finishing No Horizon Is So Far: two women and their extraordinary journey across Antarctica by Liv Arnesen and Ann Bancroft.

On deck: The Gospel in Dostoyevsky by Dostoyevsky (edited by the Bruderhof), A Third Testament by Malcolm Muggeridge, and Dangerous Wonder: the adventure of childlike faith by Michael Yaconelli. If my pre-ordered library books do not arrive before I'm done with those three, then I shall fill in the gap with The Vagabond by one of my favorite authors: Colette.

John--I have offered up commentary on your treatise regarding the reason one should not consume aforementioned sprout. Check that comment section. Seasoning overcomes reasoning...

Wishing you a glimpse of beauty that fills you with awe and wonder...

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Sat, 26 Mar 2005 02:25:12 GMT

In Praise of the Brussels Sprout

I used to hate Brussels sprouts. In fact, I downright loathed them. How in the world anyone could willingly consume this abhorrent little excuse for a cabbage was beyond me. Its very appearance defies botanical logic, for when you gaze upon the Brussels sprout you are actually looking at the decapitated head of a plant from the mustard family. My mom could have been steaming a stinkweed, for all I knew. Boiling hot water and Brussels sprouts—definitely a combination to avoid or you may find yourself trying to remove your own olfactory nerve with a dull butter knife.

But then, one day, I had an epiphany: a bizarre yet brilliant culinary suggestion popped into my head pertaining to the combination of the Brussels sprout and the seldom-used aromatic fennel seed. I have learned not to question these revelations, but to submit. And so, to the store I went.

I was on a mission. I made my way to the produce aisle and perused the sea of greens. What a curious little compact ball of vegetation is the Brussels sprout, packed by the pound in a little mesh bag. The bag is a lovely shade of purple, a perfect complement to the bright verdure of its contents. With bag in hand, I strode bravely to the checkout line and made my purchase.

Following is the preparation instruction that will lead you to discover that the Brussels sprout is a delicacy disguised as a diminutive cabbage. Throw caution to the wind, roll up your sleeves, and prepare for greatness.

Elements:

Half pound of Brussels sprouts (smaller, compact heads, free of black spots)

1-3 cloves of garlic, chopped (or garlic powder, for more sensitive constitutions)

2-3 T. Extra Virgin Olive Oil (as dark as it gets)

Approx. 1 tsp. Whole Fennel Seeds

Salt

A stellar baguette (don’t give me the “I’m on a diet” crap—it’s worth it)

Prep:

Peel a few outer layers of the leaves off each sprout. Cut off the white base, and slice each sprout in half, top to bottom, like you’d slice an apple in half. Set aside. Peel each garlic clove and cut the bottom end off. Either slice the cloves or smash them with the side of the chopping knife. Coarsely chop and set aside (don’t make the pieces too small or they’ll burn). Crush the fennel seed using a mortar and pestle to prevent biting down on any whole seeds. If you don’t have a mortar and pestle, you can put the seeds in a bag and crush them with a hammer, I suppose. Set them aside.

Cook:

Heat the olive oil in a skillet over med-high heat for about 20 seconds. Add the Brussels sprouts, cut side down, to the oil. A few of the leaves may fall off in the pan, which is totally fine. Don’t remove them—they’ll cook up nice and crispy. When the sprouts start to sizzle, reduce heat a little. Sprinkle fennel seed over sprouts. Add the garlic (if using powder, sprinkle to taste), a stir a little, trying to keep the sprouts on their cut side. Cover skillet for about 3 minutes, which will help sprouts cook through faster.

Uncover, stir a bit, and keep cooking until the bottoms of the sprouts start to get brown and crispy. Keep an eye on the garlic—don’t let it burn! When the sprouts look sufficiently caramelized and crispy, they’re done. Pour the whole works into a bowl and salt liberally. Use the baguette to sop up the extra olive oil. You may want to toss back a glass of your favorite wine with it for extra enjoyment.

I made this last night and I actually had to use garlic powder because, to my great horror, I discovered during preparation that I was out of fresh garlic. Oh the humanity! But it was still a delectable dish. I had a religious experience while consuming it.

Even if you’re certain you’ll never like this recipe, try it anyway. You never know…you, too, might fall prey to the siren song of the Brussels sprout.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Sat, 19 Mar 2005 18:01:45 GMT

I am writing my first post in response to the 3/15/05 post of a friend of mine: desertfather. The subject of my response to his post is the same reason I have yet to make the first entry on my own page.

Fear.

The fear pertaining to my own entries stems from wanting to post something worthy of reading, but worrying that anything I have to say will lack substance, credibility, or intelligent dialogue. I toss around subject matter, yet nothing seems quite right. Or, more honestly, nothing seems good enough to post where I know scholarly eyes wander. I find it easier to build commentary on pre-posted prose than to have to choose one of the thousand things running through my mind at any given time. Perhaps I can blame that on my ADD.

Perhaps, it’s just fear of being thought of as dumb and uninteresting…

Fear.

Because of our church’s emerging vision of doing community within our own neighborhoods, I’ve been contemplating what that means for me—a former loner with a good deal of walls built up to keep people out and keep relationships in surface mode. If we decide to let people that we don’t know so well into our little worlds, we run the risk of no longer being in control of our environment, our time, our space. There are awkward moments when someone crosses into that space we call our own without being invited. Are we prepared to deal with it, or do we pull down the emotional shades, act like no one is home, and for goodness sake don’t answer the door—they might want something from us that we’re not sure we’re prepared to give.

I have been in the same apartment situation Desertfather speaks of in his post. Many times. People up till all hours, music so loud your mitochondria are dancing to the beat. Yelling, carousing, tires squealing, total disrespect, no thoughts of those around them not wanting to take part in their cacophonous lives. I have spent many wee hours being livid. And I DID call the cops. I had a very short fuse. But I never would have approached that type of situation myself. I feared their reaction. Would they hurt me? Would they respect my request, my need for sleep—my need for sanity? Or would they laugh and slam the door?

If a tragedy happens in the neighborhood—death, break-in, house fire, etc.—how would I react? Would I show up with a meal? Would I offer them a place to stay for a while? Would I be able to just sit with them? This would be hard for me to do. I’m not used to caring for people outside my own four walls. My fear has been that I will be a burden to people if I show up unexpectedly. I would fear the rejection of my attempt to reach out. I would fear the unexpected. I would fear.

But what if, just WHAT IF, fear of this type didn’t exist? WHAT IF it was okay to be uncomfortable? WHAT IF I just decided to be fearless and reach out? WHAT IF other people tried it too? And WHAT IF it worked?