writing and meeting

I went to a party last night at the home of a very talented writer. I was a little hesitant o go to the party, worrying that I would not know very many people. Yesterday morning, I got a call from one of my friends who was throwing the party. He called just to make sure that I'd be there. His kind phone call reined me into their plans.

So I went. The writer was a very pleasant host with a beautifully decorated and inviting home. I was hesitant to talk to him. I think I was a wee bit intimidated by being new to the group and not knowing him well. Also, I was a bit overwhelmed, wanting to get to know him as the person that he is, aside from the writer that many know him to be. He has an unassuming but attractive air about him, and I did not find him intimidating at all once he began to talk to me. In fact, I found it very easy to be myself around him.

When he found me searching for something in his apartment, he quickly came to my assistance and showed me where I could leave my coat and scarf for the evening. Leading me into his bedroom, he pushed a wrinkly pile of clean laundry to one side of his bed and, taking my coat, laid it down on the other side. I liked him more for having a dishevled pile of unfolded laundry in full view. He was in the middle of opening a bottle of wine, but as we walked back to the kitchen, he seemed uninterested in continuing to open it. We walked into the living room and then he began asking me a few questions about myself. Before I knew it, we had entered into a very enjoyable conversation about our Texan backgrounds, our appreciation for the neighborhood he lives in (my favorite one in Portland!), and assorted topics related to church and women and culture and personal vocation.

It wasn't an intense conversation, but the topics weren't light. Admittedly, I was quite taken aback with how easily we conversed and ten minutes must have passed before I became aware that it was the writer I admire that I was conversing with. I found myself really appreciating the man I was getting to know, coincidently also the man behind the artfully juxtaposed words. In a way, I wished that he were two men and that I could befriend only the man I was conversing with, ignoring the well-known writer. I wondered if he sometimes desires this as well. If I were him, I might tire easily of being known as the talented writer and miss being known apart from that part of my life. While we were talking, however, it occurred to me that one of the reasons why the man in front of me was so pleasant in conversation was his proficiency as a writer.

I left the house last night marinating on questions he asked me in our little ten minute aside. They were great questions. It is a fantastic thing to talk about something which you are tired of talking about and because the person with whom you are talking thinks uniquely about things, the tiresome subject now somehow seems intriguing and perplexing and has a new depth to it. Great writers ask great questions. Great question askers are great conversationalists.

And so, I have renewed vigor as a life-long student of writing. I see anew the value in asking unique and daring questions. Why not?

And I have a new friend in my favorite Portland neighborhood. I'm thrilled! Perhaps his skill in asking great questions and telling artfully constructed stories will wear off on me.

the image and the visionary

Yesterday I had one of the most intellectually stimulating days I have had in a long time. It was a rich blessing!

I spent the afternoon with my friend, Alina, visiting the Trammell & Margaret Crow Asian Art Collection. To my delight, admission was free and the collection was beautiful. The true reason for our visit, however, was to see their current exhibit. A friend of mine who is a "starving artist" here in Dallas told me that it was "mind blowing!" and that I should make a point to view the exhibit.

He was right. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. The exhibit was by a Korean artist, U-Ram Choe, and it was called "New Media from Seoul." The exhibit was a robotic sculpture collection that depicted fictional creatures that the artist claimed dwell in today's urban cities. His vision was very unique and I found it a little futuristic for my taste, but I really admired his originality and the incredible expertise with which he utilized art, engineering, anthropology, biology, philosophy, and communication. The creatures had a curious and serene nature to them and it was soothing to be in their presence.

We happened upon a lecture led by the museum's director and I was given a quote to think about in the context of the exhibit:
"Art is a technique of communication. The image is the most complete technique of all communication." - Claes Oldenburg

Being in the midst of this artistic fantasy, I began to chew on the role the image plays in communication, especially in art. A lot of art is non-verbal (sculpture, painting...) and a lot of art is strictly verbal (poetry, prose...). Oftentimes I have a vision of something I want to communicate to someone else. I will need them to "get on board" with what I'm invisioning. It usually happens that my wordy explanations of my vision only get us so far. It is when they see it with their own eyes, when they can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear the sounds of the vision that they truly have that "aha!" moment and can say "This is great. Now I know what you were trying to show me!" The director explained that U-Ram Choe's exhibit would have been confusing were the verbal explanations not there. I was thinking of the artist, having a vision, writing about these creatures, and feeling alone in his vision until the image was materially created. Then, once others had the image with its movement and harmony, they would then begin to dip their toe into the pond of his fantasy. The image is the completion of the communication. On its own, it may be lacking. But I have realized lately that a communicator without an image to help the audience can be a lonely visionary.

St. Augustine said, "I can point the finger, but I cannot supply the vision." I often feel like I am pointing my finger for an audience, but I am unable to supply the vision. The audience must catch the vision on their own. And often the person pointing the finger can feel very estranged from the audience because she cannot supply the vision. She can only do so much.