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Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Wastelands of Time

Too much time on my hands.

That's what the Voice of Doubt said to me. Funny, i never think i have enough time. Life is what happens in the time it takes me to dismount the steam belching locomotive of work for the snorting, lathered bull ox of chores and back again. There's never a moment anymore when i don't hear either the scream of the steam whistle or the bellow and thud of chores kicking at its pen. Read a book? Lazy. Take a nap? Are you kidding me? Fishing, camping, Legos? Have you seen the house? Sit and write? You must have too much time on your hands.

Granted, i'm an escapist. i'm not a big fan of life as it come to me and i'm more than willing to find something else to do. Granted, the things i like to do while creative, do not generate income but then again, art wasn't created for practical purposes. Art, in whatever form it takes is worship, it is the created being, created in God's image, mimicking his or her Father. For God, while a real practical guy, is an eye-buggingly extravagant artist with an eye for detail that stretches from the quark to the quasar!

That's not to say that art cannot be practical. True art, art at its most beautiful is not abstract but purposeful, it has a reason to exist. Sometimes that reason is only to give glory back to the Author of Creation but then, that is our first calling and nothing to be scoffed. Continuing with the disclaimers, (for no bold statement in this world can be uttered without a disclaimer anymore* the author wishes it be known that the bold statement in parethesis is uttered while keeping in mind that a bold statement could be made without a disclaimer but the utterer would most likely be sued. Some disclaimers are inferred.) this is not to say that all art glorifies God. Art, like all of creation has been corrupted. "All things are open to me, in Christ but not all things are expedient." But even the most spiteful, God-hating egotist who puts pen to paper, oil to canvas, chisel to stone, smoke from his plane to sky, hot glue gun to sundries from the craft store, mouse to mousepad, dance shoe to hardwood, drumstick to skin, finger to piano key, lips pursed to whistle, eye to cloud formation, chalked hand to parallel bar, as soon as that most vehement atheist sets their mind to creating something that wasn't there before for any other reason outside of raw survival he or she is being true to the image they were created in and art has been done and to God be the glory.

Go forth and waste that time on your hands.

Monday, October 30, 2006

False Start

The first post.

Whoa. Heavy.

A responsibility, no, an opportunity not to be taken lightly. The opening song in the set list, the first line of the novel, the first impression, the foundation that all else shall be built upon.

Think i'll sleep on that.