Featured Artist :: Art House Dallas

arthousedallas2 I don't think of myself as an artist.

I should say, I don't always think of myself as an artist, but I am accepting of myself as an artist more and more these days.

I think it's because I haven't always thought of myself as a real writer.  Maybe a hobbyist at best, a pretender at worst.  Even half way through writing my first book, I'd tell others at art events, those who'd ask what I did, that I was in sales.  My response was a downplay, a deflect of attention.  After all, who wants to fail or come up short despite all effort given?  So I'd work tirelessly, part privately, on the manuscript of my first book while not admitting to being a writer - an artist.

Realizing (and admitting to) the value in my art and dream of being a writer began to surface after introduced to Art House Dallas.  Suddenly, I felt connected to plenty of other artsy folk who learned to not merely hear the echo of dreams within, but learned to esteem creative dreams within and wield creativity realized for a greater purpose.

A forged statement repeated often in the community of Art House captures its heart and meaning: "Cultivating creative community for the common good — encouraging everyone to live imaginative and meaningful lives."

I'm both thankful to be part of that community and honored to be this month's Featured Artist.  Read the Featured Artist interview below where I discuss my creative process, habits and upcoming book, "Earth & Sky."

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What is “Earth & Sky: a beautiful collision of grace and grief,” all about?  What inspired you to write it?

In a word: life.  The book is a memoir recounting the sudden, unexpected death of my wife nearly 3 years ago.  Far more than a somber story remembering a life passed in the wake of inexplicable tragedy, Earth & Sky journeys into the heart of grief, grace guiding into a new day.  The correlation of earth and sky lies in the connection between and interaction of human frailty (us - earth) with faith (God - sky).  Sinking in deep loss, God pursued me into the darkened depths of my heart wasting away in grief.

This story is not mine alone.  It belongs to my three little daughters as well.  One life that we knew together suddenly ended with no warning and left us dislodged from any sense of familiar belonging.  I was widowed and they were motherless and half-orphaned.  Both the story and journey belong to all four of us as we learned to live life anew and rediscover happiness, joy, meaning and reason. The inspiration to write Earth & Sky sprung up in desire to chronicle our path together through grief.

Writing about loss is obviously challenging.  C.S. Lewis', “A Grief Observed,” is a sometimes excruciating classic in the genre.  Were you influenced by any such works? Did you even plan to write a book at the start?

Lewis’ words echoed a strong sense of familiarity in the writing of my book.  Regarding pain, Lewis poignantly wrote, “It removes the veil; it plants the flag of truth within the fortress of a rebel soul.”  His words had a way of speaking life into my soul in the words giving witness to the dark treading through his own rebel heart.

I wrote as a means of bleeding out restless emotions swirling about my heart and head.  Initially, I captured raw emotions in poetry which gave me generous boundary lines to explore and confess darker fears, thoughts and prayers without worry of much sensible literary structure.  Many of these poems are built into the prose of the book.  The poetic spillings served as a cathartic exercise so I continued to write as I began to shape the content into story arch.

The most helpful influence in not only writing the book, but in healing and moving forward revealed itself in Kubler-Ross‘ book, “On Grief and Grieving.”  I found purpose in crafting my story after spending time in this particular book where she and David Kessler expand on her model of the 5 stages of grief.

// CONTINUE READING AT ART HOUSE DALLAS

 

love, its leaving and infinite sadness || A Deeper Story

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break. - William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Maybe, William, but maybe a heart broken isn’t all bad.

I’m one of three given to my parents.  Two of us remain and one lives forever.

Today, here, he would have aged to 39.  I was 5 years old when he left this life, three years his younger.  I often speculate life uninterrupted; to be fully sandwiched between siblings, not just in thought, dream and memory but in aging days shared.  Heated arguments burning selfish, fights against each other proving strength and stubbornness, fights alongside each other ending those set to prove themselves against one of us, long days lost in the woods, dares given and challenges accepted, our younger sister’s boyfriends enduring the intimidation of both not one of us; in life together, pocketed and adorned jointly.

A sadness crawls still aging in his stead.  Hearts broken, mended and torn open again in days aging.

I know my family still grieves today in every one of its passings. And now so do my daughters in their own terrible way of losing their mother.

 

continue reading my monthly feature at A Deeper Story . . .

on Boston, babies and tomorrow.

when will the day rest and settle soft, one day quietly leaning into another

fear forgotten  ...love remembered

words spoken gentle and without pay

lunatics, come home to a place forgotten in flames of somewhere once over-trodden set still, cease picking at scabs inherited leave dreams burning mad, and only you

    judgers listen to the sound of more than seen     Otherworld melody disturbing our peace carry lyrics that read like prayers of         repentance ...for both us and them     something so wrong, so horrid, so haunting, so hateful and treacherous     owning those to be brothers and fathers sold by fathers

sorrow whispers, all is not well Otherworld lowers itself more into our world bleeding out of control. on lonely streets crowded all remember at the hand of hatred,     no, all is not well.

. . . and the future cringes at today fast approaching; a Son bends low yesterday, spits in blinded eyes wanting to see yes son, the blind can still see.

 

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“There’s so much wrong in the world today.”  

It seems each generation says this with more emphasis and groan.  I listened to my grandparents talk about evil in the form of wars and armies fighting wicked men starved for control.  Men demonized because of their lust for power and domination stopping at nothing to reach for it.  I heard my parents talk about some of the same, but the enemy became some of them turned inward.  Wanting all they could get in independence and personal freedom, homes eroded to kingdoms abandoned by those who should have been kings.  Divorce rose common giving way for children devaluing home altogether while longing for what they never could have or keep.

One generation echoes the one before: so much wrong present today.

Quickly, we rally to hurt with those in Boston and pray for healing and safety reset again.  We ring bells of alarm, disapproval and judgement in the Gosnell trial screaming, “monster” of man's damnable, predatory and atrocious acts against humanity.

And rightfully so, on both accounts.

I simply stand in your crowd, shoulder to shoulder together, but what’s on our collective mind connects us familial.  There’s so much wrong swirling.  When will it end?  Does it end?  If it doesn’t, how deep will it go and how close can it reach?

Friends, that is what frightens me and strips any apathy right off of my warm back.  Evil’s reach right into my world and closer - right into the world of those names I know, those necks I hug and hearts I love.  I pray for people I never knew compassionately and with a lonely pity, but fear and evil continue to billow out there in the distance away from those I love most.  It can be a fearful thing to raise a child in today’s savage context.  Evil lurks, broods and advances close seemingly with no fear of repercussion or boundary to stay it away leaving little safety or sacred in our lives.

Today a city wakes to a new day bathed in grief and unanswered questions.  Within its borders, right near its center, bombs exploded ripping not only through life and limb, but tomorrow.  And today a nation watches horror continue to unfold in the trial of a doctor who severed the heads of babies and performed late term abortions quietly for years.

I contemplate my position, pray for mercy and grace and gather myself to stand correctly.  If judgement be my only response, then evil possibly only begets evil.  The atrocious and ugly, the unholy and unjust, the wrong and evil - as a whole is much too large for me.  My responsibility is not to right wrong, but to hurt with those hurting, plead for safety and justice with those needing it and sow love, goodness and beauty in every opportunity given.

Within my family, I can fight to eradicate the generational echo of so much wrong in the world today.  Though I fear the world my daughters will stand to face and raise their kids in one day soon, I must remember that this day is theirs and trust that good will continue to buffet evil no matter how dark its clouds.  Above all and in the end, good will swallow evil and God will redemptively make all things new and somehow right.

The big struggle is His to manage and bandage for now.  Mine is to live these days given; to trust and live in response to trust in Him.

Much work needs to be done in each day grooming my daughters for all ahead.  How they see me respond to my days, the good, the bad and the ugly, will largely influence the days belonging to them and how they live them.

As evil distorts and dismantles future's still waiting day, I affect culture as a parent living and building little lives now; speaking into days ahead, “there will be those who stand ready to love in darkness growing until all returns to rest and peace.”

the loss of effective parenting.

I see their smiles now easy and free.  Peace quiets worry at this sight. And joy fills my heart in the deep of night.

Most days lived under our shared roof sprawl out without much difficulty.  Comfort and security exists again.  I remember the days burning hot and dry when we lived a million miles from one another exiled to our own island on fire.  How unending those days felt!  How unrelenting those waves beat against our shore while offering no respite.

The days, weeks and months following their mother's death, my wife then, will forever be immortalized as a graceful metamorphosis on the timeline of our family, the grand redesign of us now, then and ahead.  For nearly 3 years now, we have been learning life again, finding joy in mundane free from extraordinary ordeal.  Finding joy in day unfolding with boring, unassuming regularity; that’s how you know your heart is beating alive and not a shell of yesteryear.

To be clear, happiness is what we pull from the sky, the smiles we try to wear as long as we can bare, but joy ...joy finds us as the sky falls to find us.

Joy swells in white flags waving and in the end of the pursuit of happiness.  It glimmers rebelliously amidst darker days blanketed by fear, worry, doubt and is the praise of screw ups who know better than to trust the feeble strength of their own hand.

The light in each of their eyes dims, their faces hang in heavier moments, and I’m reminded again close to my chest I have no guarantees.  Nothing promised apart from the breath drawn right now; not even the next day as I once believed.

Belief, that’s all we have and the only choice ever really needed to be made.

And that’s what fuels joy: belief.

The folly of the proud is self-reliance, but the triumph of the humble is joy despite all things, anything, independent of day, night, struggle, ease and especially fairness.

Maybe you’re like me in that I worry often as a parent.  I push hard into most days and try to squeeze as much as I can out of it because there are no absolutes or guarantees that my effort put into my children will produce well - adjusted, loving people whose hearts belong to God and affections to the life given soon to them.  I know as many parents who do everything as right as one can do who sit up late at night wondering what went wrong as the others who stumbled about aimlessly trampling inconsistently in selfish and ignorant circles whose kids end up running an honorable bid for sainthood.

There are simply no guarantees in life as there are in parenting.  “Train up a child in the way he should go”* . . . and he may in fact stray.  He may return one day to God’s grace and goodness, but maybe he won’t.  No one saves, save for God.  That’s why we must only believe.

Then they said to him, "What must we do, to be doing the works of God?"  Jesus answered them, "This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent."**

And so in our quest and effort as parents, we must courageously believe in God’s love and plan more than our pocketed strategies and parenting techniques said to tame the heart of the unruliest, liveliest little child.  For when we trust in God’s ability in their lives and despite our parenting, we transcend human effort of dust trying to cover dust and allow Eternity to shape, form and guide into all ahead.

As a dad to three little beautiful girls, my heart winces a little more with each increasingly complex conversation.  I do good in my own effort as their dad, but soon we’ll travel hand in hand to an impasse where my foot will slip and my hand not able to hold.

Right there my heart better be ready to let go and grab hold of God’s grace and ability.  Right then, my heart must be able to believe or all that I’ve done is try diligently to look capable for as long as I could until my hand could hold no longer.

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“The law says, ‘do this,’ and it is never done.  Grace says, ‘believe in this,’ and everything is already done.” -Martin Luther

Believe in the future already owned by the One who purchased a day unable to be bought by impoverished hearts.  Be free.  Belong.  Trust.

 

image found @ www.ronitbaras.com  ||  *Proverbs 22:6  ||  **John 6:28-29