>from The Creative Gift by HR Rookmaaker
"Many fine Christians who have a talent or an interest in the arts are forced to defend their involvement by saying that art is an excellent means of evangelism. When art is used as a tool for evangelism, it is often insincere and second-rate, devaluated to the level of propaganda. I would call this a form of prostitution, a misuse of one's talent...Art has done its task when it provides the neighbor with things of beauty, a joy forever. Art has direct ties with life, living, joy, the depth of our being human, just by being art, and therefore it needs no external justification."
aeroplanes are the technologically beautiful.
in love with the new
the bravest boys
the latest steps
leaves a bittersweet taste on a tongue that should be kept in check more often
in love with the new
escape for the night
or wait until
the last flight out of here
sloppy promises of aeroplanes as the technologically beautiful
you make me dizzy
(i say with a sigh,
and turn from the mirror)
late june 2001.
already drawn into the family i am working for; being paid to teach, watch, play, listen. a pure occupation. looked on with almost a sense with ownership - a childish equation of love.
taking the kids to the pool on a hot afternoon, they are raw and incomplete and showcase it beautifully. i am also raw and incomplete. they look for attention unabashedly, draw me into conversations, put their being on display. easy distractions...turning a subtle head to ascertain just who is getting into trouble and why, savoring the drama. it's a nice play.
drums on the living room floor, announcing a life enveloped in motion, tasting of ownership and community and long breaths of clean, sharp air and coming home smelling of smoke.
sitting uncertainly behind the kit, listening to the music of low, singing along while accentuating with the simple yet powerful drumbeats of their starkly beautiful songs. joy and release.
the phone rings a few times and the weekend is filled. friends are solid these days. almost too many conversations and i cant process it all. please repeat.
cooking dinner and i cant escape the nearby reminder of my ridiculous lack of control in everything. bottles and bottles of pills, i never realised how many she has to take. a new routine is firmly cemented. things wont ever be the same, and the question is - how much further will they move from here?
i feel pale in comparison to everything. my confusion, feeling thick wrapped around my fingers, is really a vapor. a lot to look forward to but soon it will be done and i wont miss it too much, my eyes will be further down the road.
but ive taken a picture of the drumset, the telephone, the bottles. longer lasting than a camera. inverted like a negative, imprinted beneath my eyes.