On Photography

This week, I received my very first DSLR camera. I have been waiting for quite awhile to buy a camera as my last one died two years ago, just before school started. At its core, photography is a simple process, but I wanted some time think a little more deeply about the camera and photography in general.

Disclaimer: I don't want to portray a glorified image of 'the artist' or of photography. Sometimes photography is just fun, and it is very wonderful just like that. But there's more to photography than simply pressing a button, and I want to acknowledge it as the art form that it truly is, regardless of whether or not I live up to being a good artist.

Initially, photography makes me think of slowing down. It takes time to see and to learn how to see. I am just now in my first photo class and am loving every minute of it. But I'm also grateful for the past four or so years that I have had learning photography outside of the classroom.

Photography gives the chance, that moment of grace, to stop, breathe, consider the world around you. More than simple consideration, the camera invites the photographer to see the world more clearly and go from mere thought to an opening of eyes. Of course, that clarity can go many ways - contemporary photographers in particular seem drawn to seeing the cynicism of this world rather than its beauty, to find the ugly, the pain, the tragedy because it is undeniably there. But that clarity can also be used towards finding the corners and shadows of light that fall between branches and in-between doors. It can help our eyes see the shadow of the image of God that is in every face around us. To see the beauty that is in every way as deep and real as the pain and tragedy around us.

Somedays, it helps to think of photography as a gentle insistence on beauty.

Photography has been means of grace in my daily life. It helps me see the beauty in the mundane rituals of life, in sweeping my house floors and doing my bed. And the more I learn this art and learn to love it, the more I realize what beautiful grace this is.

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Today

The raindrops form bright, clear pieces of glass on the dark branches of our trees. We have had strange weather lately: rain and grey skies for the mornings and most of the afternoons, but just around evening, it all clears up to reveal skies and colors that take my breath away. The sun causes a faint, gold glint in the windows of my neighbor's house. White clouds leave long trails on the hills, and hints of the snow-capped mountains can be seen. I watch as the sky slowly changes from the deep oranges, reds, and purples of sunset to the cold blue of dusk. My siblings are all home by now, either reading, emailing, or doing last-minute homework. There's a quiet around the house. I step outside for a moment and watch my breath make small clouds in the air around me. Here, at least, there's peace.

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Beautiful Things

There's something beautiful about baking and listening to this. Something about the flour mess on the wood table, the used wrappers of butter, and half-opened bag of sugar. And somehow this strange conglomeration of ingredients, thrown into an old, beige oven, creates a fresh, warm loaf of bread.

I love the reminder of being dust, like the flour on the table. And yet, and still, there's beauty.

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The Way I See It: Growth

It was The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring with live music. Live music! The film played through a projector on a huge screen, and right below it, the orchestra and choir played through the entire film. Pure beauty.

I've been thinking a lot about how beauty makes us grow. Seeing beauty is definitely a growing experience, but I struggle with how to explain it. It's a growing deeper into the world and ourselves, a type of becoming. The growth that beauty brings is unquantifiable. It pushes and pierces and prods us, until we reach a state of surprise and wonder. We become more human after encounters with beauty, after beauty makes us grow.

Just the day before the concert, I watched Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life with some friends. It is one of the most beautiful films I have ever seen (and actually deserves an entire post for itself). At the end of the film, there was a wordless wonder that we all felt and a growing of our friendship that we shared this piece of beauty together. I felt the same way after the Lord of the Rings concert. Beauty helps us grow together, as friends and as humans.

Growing in beauty is something that seems just out of reach for our words.

(The Way I See It is hosted by Molly at Close at Home.)

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The Way I See It: Evening

I always feel slightly guilty if I'm not outside during this time they call 'golden light'. I love the way the calm light settles over everything, turning yellows to golds and greens into emeralds. I would spend hours with this light. It only lasts for so long, though.

To the hedge on the side

And the light in your eyes

To the quiet long walks

Of fast-moving time

let evening come.

"Let it come, as it will, and don’t

be afraid. God does not leave us

comfortless, so let evening come."

(First verse is mine, then a direct quote from Jane Kenyon's Let Evening Come.)

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The Way I See It is hosted by Molly at Close to Home. This week's upcoming theme is peace.

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Last day of summer

Yesterday, I joined my Mom and brothers on their weekly beach trip. I knew this would probably be my last beach trip with family for the summer. School starts next week, and I have homework assignments ready to be read. So I counted this as my last day of summer.

On our way there, my Mom and I sang along to Queen, Journey, and Bonnie Tyler. MA sat in the back with a half-smile, ready to wince when we reached extended high notes. He only protested at Bohemian Rhapsody. He didn't think a song should be legally allowed to be that long.

We spent hours at the beach - sitting, watching the waves, occasionally jumping into the cold, clear water, and just talking. My two aunts and lots of cousins were with us. Together, we squeezed lots of adventures into that one day.

I left early with MA, both of us too exhausted to want any more beach adventures. As I began driving, a peace settled on us. We've had so many car rides together this summer, just us two. He sits in the back, and when it's a good day, we fall into a rhythm: a rhythm of silence, music, some talk, and then more silence. We drove through the Laguna canyon along windy roads and saw shadows pass in and out between the hills. The light fell with such a heavy weight, I wanted to pull over and just watch the light transform the brown scrub plants into a landscape of gold and emerald.

An hour later, we drove through more hills and saw the sunset. The dirt and smog that had discolored the blue sky earlier now became brilliant shades of violet, orange, and blue. MA had fallen asleep, and I listened to a lecture on glory. Between the inspiring words coming from my speakers, the glorious sunset outside, and the quiet companionship of a sleeping brother, I could only smile and think a thousand thanks for the beauty of the moment.

I couldn't ask for a better way to end summer.

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Beautiful Words

"That the world is old and frayed is no surprise; that the world could ever become new beyond uncertainty was and is, such a surprise that I find myself referring all subsequent kinds of knowledge to it...I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty beats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them, under the wind-rent clouds, upstream and down.”

Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, (emphasis mine)

This post at the Image blog reminded me again of how much I love this quote.

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True Beauty

"Define true beauty."

...

"Without looking at Jacob, I said slowly, 'Well, it seeps into you. It doesn't make you forget yourself but totally the opposite.'

I chanced a glance at him. He was watching me intently. No glaze in his eye.

So I continued more bravely: 'It connects you with everything and fills you with awe that you share the same space with something glorious. Like a sunrise or a clear blue day or the most extraordinary piece of glass. And then suddenly -' my hands escaped their tight grip in my lap, and now my fingers splayed like fireworks in the air - 'you have this epiphany that there's more world than just you and what you want or even who you are."

North of Beautiful by Justina Chen

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Ordinary Beauty

The blue sky stands silent behind the wind. Wind breathes life into everything. The trees sway and move, birds dart and fly, even the dead leaves dance. What an image of resurrection and complete dependence. Without the wind, the leaves sit - dead, brown, dull - on a landscape of black asphalt. But with the wind, they float and dance in graceful ways that exult in movement and life. The asphalt becomes a stage for their beauty.

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The Impractical Life, Pt. 1

I love watching people's reactions when I tell them I'm an art major. Reactions range from passionate interest to supercilious dismissal. It's always a great conversation starter. One way or another, most people ask about the practicality of it all.

We have this unspoken assumption that education is inherently about practicality. If I said I was a pre-med student, reactions would be entirely different. But how healthy is this idea of education and practicality?

Education has changed so much in past two, maybe even three, hundred years. It used to be about the liberal arts, the education worthy of a free person. The point was to create people with whole souls. Education had one primary goal: to learn how to love and how to love rightly. But now, it is vocation-based not soul-based. We're more concerned about churning out practical, competent humans than humans who have developed souls.

In some sense, isn't practicality just a piece of selfishness? The American Dream has no place for impractical things like love and kindness. It's about beating the odds, building an empire of practical goods, making the cover of Time magazine. There are instances when practicality is not selfishness, but here in our society, I doubt it.

After all, we serve an impractical God. He's self-sufficient, yet He created an entire world for His pleasure. He created practical things like food and animals, but He also created so-called impractical things like dirt, butterflies, rainbows. He sent His son to die for us in the the most unpractical manner. And we are called to go and serve him in a similarly impractical manner.

Maybe we need a strong dose of impractically in our lives. Something like well, the pursuit of truth, beauty, and goodness.

For what good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?

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This. Is. Beautiful.

I pull the words out, forcing them and hoping that speaking is believing. I say them again. I'm curled tight on my side, pushing the words into my heart. But really? I don't think this is beautiful. I think this hurts. It hurts so much, it hurts too much. And as hard as I try, I can't blend my words with my feelings. They mix as well as oil and water. I am not thinking of beauty or trust or sanctification, I just feel pain of the open, raw skin all over me. This is not beautiful.

I'm scared now, and words come tumbling out: memorized verses, promises, quotes. The words fill the empty space of room around me, as if I hope to conquer my feelings with a sheer multitude of words. They don't work. I sit up. I'm surrounded by empty air, and the words batter against my heart. I'm exhausted. Maybe they're right. And then, some words begin to sink in...

Words: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. This isn't the valley of the shadow of death, and still I fear evil, I doubt Good. But Thou art with me. I repeat those words, over and over. Thou art with me. Maybe this is beautiful.

Words: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. In my weakness, in this weak pathetic body. I wrestle with those words. They break, bend, shatter my excuses. His power stands here, whether I admit it or not. His power and glory, I am just his whiskey priest.

And now the words make sense. They burst upon me as rushing water. This is beautiful. Because He who suffered death and wrath, He stands for me. This is beautiful. Because He comes to my weakness and sin. He doesn't heal me tonight, He restoreth my soul. And now I can say and believe, at least for tonight:

This. Is. Beautiful.

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My Beautiful Sister

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Glimpses of Beauty

First when we see them painted, things we have passed

Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see;

And so they are better, painted--better to us,

Which is the same thing. Art was given for that;

God uses us to help each other so,

Lending our minds out.

- Robert Browning, Fra Lippo Lippi -

One of the many reasons I love photography. A chance to see the world in an entirely different perspective, through the lens of a (hopeful) artist, a poet. Sometimes you forget yourself, many times you forget yourself, standing behind the camera. All you notice is the contrast of colors, the interplay of light and shadow, shining beauty poised from above.

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