Revisit

I decided to revisit a post I stumbled upon a few days ago that I wrote a couple years back. I think it inspired me to continue exposing myself to accessible art when given the opportunity. If nothing other than for art's sake.

If you live near Forth Worth, Texas, I recommend visiting the current exhibit of Ron Mueck's hyperrealist sculptures of larger (and smaller) than life human beings.

The Human Torch and I went to the Modern Art Museum last Wednesday to experience the awe and eeriness of these plaster and silicone forms that, at different times, exude a quality so life-like that you think one will look you in the eye and tell you to stop staring at their privates. Reminiscent of entering a minimalistic wax-museum, Mueck's exhibit is actually more masterful and detailed than any wax creation I've ever seen. Any other time I have seen a realistic representation of human beings, I have always had to willingly suspend my disbelief, kind of like watching a ventriloquist with his puppet. You know that it isn't real so you must decide that you're going to allow this dummy to tell corny jokes. Mueck is different. Standing an inch from a fifteen-foot, giant mountain man, the spectator realizes that Mueck has paid attention to every detail, including goose bumps, honey-combed skin from chilling temperatures, and dirt under the fingernails. I'll stop writing...here are some pictures:

This last one is called Spooning Couple. They were my favorite. At about a foot long, even the smallest detail was intact. What was so interesting about this couple, aesthetically, was the stubble on the man's face and the glimmer in each of their eyes. I tried to get in the eyeline of each sculpture to see if it made a difference in how I viewed them - how I interpreted their emotions. This couple was the most impacting. I felt creepy, as if this guy was going to stand up and punch me in the nostril with his little fist for busting into his bedroom with his bedmate half-naked. I caught his eye and I saw a shimmer, the beginnings of a glass tear forming into a drop the size of a molecule on his apathetic face. Then again, I knew he was completely unaware that I was inspecting his seasoned boredom.

The old women directly above the spooning couple were about two feet tall. One's first instinct is to hold them and tell them they are cute and whatever is in the process of causing them stress is going to be alright. I think Mueck wants the viewer to get a sense of feux God-likeness.

When I was a child, I would pray every night that God would make my stuffed animals come to life. That's the one thing I wanted. I felt a desire rising in me again that if only these little humans were actually alive, I might be able to save them, rescue them, comfort them. As if size actually determines divinity. Then Mueck plays a mean joke - the sculptures don't come to life. You must leave them to sit, being stared at by other people who think they might get the chance to be gods or goddesses, only to realize that their own frail existence is not so much stronger than the three-foot dead man lying naked on the floor.

Here are some other pictures from the Modern:

Martin Puryear Ladder for Booker T. Washington, 1996

Barnaby Furnas The Other Way, 2007

A large iron sculpture on the MAM grounds.

The Human Torch and me.

Dominos Isn't Just a Game of Wooden Bricks

There was a guy named Aaron at my high school who was four years older than me and from the age of fourteen spent every year attempting to grow some genre of facial hair which only spurted out in sporadic, light-colored electrical wires across his chin and upper lip. Even though Aaron entertained himself by picking on younger pupils and hanging around the high school for years after graduation, his primary occupation was basketball. And while I couldn't tell you one memory of how his skills actually panned out on the court, the one thing I will always remember was that he nicknamed himself the "Pizza Man." Because he delivered. I'm not kidding - he responded every time with that quip when asked why he called himself the Pizza Man. Although, in the same sad trajectory of every self-induced-moniker story, the Pizza Man was only known to himself as such...everyone else just called him Aaron.

In order to eat and pay bills I've been working two jobs, the first as a substitute teacher for Austin ISD and the second as a pizza delivery man. Giving people fat pies for money is an unusually good-paying job for downtown Austin (and the surrounding neighborhoods). I actually really enjoy it and there are always interesting stories that come along with the driving around.

Just the other day I delivered a pie to a man at 2:00 am. He opened the door wearing black manties and a silk robe draped open. It's not uncommon for people to come to the door without dressing themselves first, especially in Waco where I delivered about six years ago. Waco is a terrible place to deliver pizzas because no one tips, you fear being assaulted about eighty-five percent of the time, and all the naked people that come to the door are fat. Not in Austin. It's one of the fittest cities in America.

In Austin, while out and about and taking pizzas to friendly homes, I'm not surprised to see a jogger pass by while pushing a $2000 Bugaboo baby jogging stroller. In Waco, a common occurrence would be seeing a 26 year-old man sprinting down a dark alley while shaking a handgun and screaming, "Get the f--- out of my way!!!"

Here in the capitol I wouldn't put it past anyone to try and give me a tip in Whole Foods gift cards or tickets to a UT football game. In Waco, the most valuable tip imaginable is a small plastic bag of funny-smelling grass "to make the pizza taste better."

You can say I'm looking forward to plenty more experiences as a pizza delivery expert. But from now on I demand only one thing: that you call me Pizza Man. Because I deliver.

Eric Clapton

Last night I had a dream that Eric Clapton was playing some music at a church. Apparently he was a closet believer in Jesus who had decided to write instrumental sacred songs and share them with my friends.

At one point he was playing the harmonica with his right hand and simultaneously, only in the magic of dream world, playing an intricate melody with his left hand on the guitar's neck.

I was mesmerized. And now I am listening to Eric.

Up...date

I don’t even know if people read this blog. Here are some updates to kick start my blog again after my recent arrival to the States, in case anyone's interested.

- I flew into Little Rock on May 21st where I surprised my family after an eight month stint working in the Middle East. We had a good time and the Jaksha’s took some pictures. The next day was my sister's graduation.




- After about four days, I transferred back down to Waco where I’ve been adjusting to a culture difference. I wouldn’t say it’s culture shock. I’ve heard stories about true culture shock…stories of visitors to other countries losing their mind and walking into the ocean wearing all their clothes, forgetting they were at the beach. I’ve heard other stories of people breaking down in Wal-Mart upon returning from a slightly less glamorous country than America and weeping because they weren’t used to having “so many choices”. Really? My Australian friend I lived with the past eight months said, “Culture shock is something you go through when you think your culture is better than everyone else’s.” Ha.

- I got a part time job. There is a middle-aged man at my church who has Bible study notes from the past thirty years, all handwritten, that he hired me to transcribe to a digital format. My office is wherever I want it to be. This is nice.

- In August I plan to move south to Austin, Texas. Over the next year I will complete my degree at the Texas State University in San Marcos, a BFA in Theatre Performance and Production. I’m really excited about finishing and getting the opportunity to spend time with fellow Theatre majors again.

- My new phone is a Samsung Jack. If you want the number, leave me a comment and I’ll email it to you or something.

- I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been. Not because my circumstances are strikingly different than before I moved overseas, but because my heart is different. I have never been at more peace about the reality of God’s provision and goodness. It is impossible to embellish his loving thoughts toward us because his loving thoughts are infinite and perfect.

Attachment to Captors

I've been a fan of Derek Webb for a long time. I recently found out about the controversy surrounding his latest album, set to release this month, entitled Stockholm Syndrome. Webb has never been one to avoid controversy, being one of the only voices in the CCM industry who refuses to be boxed in by the too-often prosaic standards of Christian music – music that usually tends to be a recipe of regurgitated messages and mere reactions to the “culture war” that so many well-meaning evangelicals actually believe exists.

I found myself connecting years ago with the piercing and brutal themes of his songs that never shied away from providing an honest commentary of how Christians live their lives. Derek has consistently adhered to a standard of artful and influential musical designs that the secular industry has picked up and also critically acclaimed. For those who don’t know, Webb is a former band member of Caedmon’s Call and the first time I heard his solo work was the song "Wedding Dress." This song caused a stir in the Christian retail business because in it, Webb describes the awful reality of the adulterous nature of believers as we go to other things for fulfillment outside of Jesus. He actually wrote that song as a response to hearing Bruce Wilkinson plug his then-new book The Prayer of Jabez. Derek continued to be on his label’s naughty list as he kept including controversial lyrics within his music, using strong language and commentaries on politics, social justice and the watered-down worldview of mainstream Christianity.

His desire to see the music industry transformed by using strategies which don’t compromise the singer/songwriter’s artistry and financial integrity, and his frank approach of asking the tough questions to a religious audience that usually opt for passive-aggressive dialogue (if there is such a thing), has personally been an inspiration to my growth as a believer and iconophile (re: Gene Edward Veith’s definition).

Anyway, I thought I would point out the latest controversy and, I think, intentional promotion of his new album that hasn’t been released do to an apparent conflict with his label. His first email posted on his website ended up including a code to another website called: www.paradiseisaparkinglot.com which includes the directions of how the album will be released. I recommend going to his official website and then visiting the latter.

I’m excited about this new album and hope that the CCM industry can realize that culture will never be rightly influenced by poor quality and reactionary moralism, but by humble excellence seeking to speak into culture by exposing misguided direction and debilitating hypocrisy. If you don’t know what I mean by that, then pick up any Derek Webb album…