"Mazār-e Sharīf," oil on canvas. A gift for my brother.
Hi, I’m Rebekah, and I’m a recovering stifled creative.
Rebekah, that’s not a real thing, you may say.
Oh yes, it is. I’ll explain.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love the arts. Music, theater, poetry, literature—I’ve yet to meet a form of creative expression I can’t at least appreciate. And studio art? Well, we have a special relationship.
You see, drawing is the one creative method I seem to be able to replicate with some consistency. Looking back at my earliest doodles, it’s a miracle that my parents recognized any potential in the distorted shapes and shaky lines. But, luckily for me, they did.
They always encouraged my efforts, and in high school, after the years had proven that it wasn’t a passing interest, they invested in art lessons.
That’s when my world expanded. Suddenly I had words to describe the techniques that captured my imagination. I learned the secrets of lost lines, negative space, contrast, and color. I was hooked.
When the time came for me to pick a college major, I went with—you guessed it—Business Administration.
Wait, what?
Well, I guess there’s more to the story.
I’ve lived nearly my whole life in a small, blue collar community. My mom grew up on a dairy farm, and most of my local relatives still make their living off the land. My dad’s parents—particularly my grandpa—grew up during the Depression and were poster children of frugality.
In short, I grew up surrounded by salt-of-the-earth, practical people. It’s not that creative pursuits were talked down, they just weren’t a conversation. Not when you had cows to milk three times a day or more essential things on which to spend your hard earned cash.
And when you’re surrounded by that much responsible industriousness—when creative interests are only ever destined to be hobbies you toss aside once “real life” hits—what’s the creative to do?
I picked Business Administration because I knew it could provide a job that would pay the bills. And honestly, I don’t regret that decision. The degree served its purpose! But now I’ve found myself in a different stage of life.
After a few years in the corporate world, I followed God’s call toward a career shift and found myself trying to wisely allocate newfound extra time. Suddenly I was once again face to face with the same looming questions: What is the purpose of the arts? And what is my purpose as one with artistic abilities? Can I justify investing my time and resources into something like this?
As a Christian, to answer any purpose-based question, I have to take a step back and revisit my foundation.
What is the purpose of anything?
Well, I know that God created the world for His glory, and as a redeemed child of God, my job is to glorify Him by declaring His dominion.
When I put pursuits like literature, theater, or poetry in that framework, it’s not hard to justify them. With those, you can, quite literally, proclaim the glory of God. But what about art? How do you proclaim the glory of God in a still, wordless image?
Andrew Peterson’s book, Adorning the Dark, was revolutionary in helping me ponder that question. On the very first page of the preface of his book, he described his calling as this:
“... to use whatever gifts I’ve been given to tell the truth as beautifully as I can.”
That definition struck me, because I’d always considered beauty to be nonessential.
You could probably argue that, if you’re going to pare it down to the bare minimum, our purpose is “to tell the truth.” And yet, when I look at the character of God displayed in the Bible and in His creation, isn't there an overwhelming amount of beauty?
After all, God is the source of beauty. He is the original Creative.
In Genesis 1:1, the phrase “God created the heavens and the earth,” doesn’t just inform my understanding of His power and sovereignty—although it certainly does that!—it also informs me of His creativity, His beauty, and His delight in creating beautiful things.
Our instinctive desire to create exists because we were made in His image (Gen. 1:27). Creativity is a means to reflect our God, and as we craft imitations of His creation, we echo nature’s praise of His glory in choosing to infuse the world with beauty.
Whether we realize it or not, this is the inspiration behind every landscape, every portrait, every shadow that adorns a surface in a particularly interesting way. It surges on the crest of waves, it reflects on the underbellies of clouds. It’s captured in the soft curve of a baby’s cheek and in the wandering crow’s feet that crinkle from a grandmother’s eye.
We have been generously given the ability to create. And maybe the superfluousness of the gift adds to its wonder. Because God didn’t have to open our eyes to see beauty—He didn’t have to give us the capacity to lose ourselves in brushstrokes or a crescendo. But He did. He chose to, because He is the God of abundant goodness, and He is glorified when we delight in His goodness.
In His perfect design, God has chosen to give some of us stewardship of gifts of artistic expression. If I have been graciously included in that number, and have found myself in a season in which I can pursue it, I think I ought to dig in.
So, as an act of worship to our Creator, the source of all beauty and truth, I will gratefully mimic His creativity. And since I happen to have the benefit of words at the moment, let me make it explicitly clear: I am here for this purpose.
Food for thought:
Adorning the Dark, by Andrew Peterson
Note: I am not affiliated with these resources, nor do I earn commission from sharing them. I'm just a big fan.
コメント