Art and Soul

A sermon delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation (Blacksburg, VA), August 19, 2007, by the Reverend Christine Brownlie.

It’s wonderful to stand here before you all this morning, admiring your lovely faces, some smiling, some curious. Some of you look very peaceful — maybe even a little drowsy from the heat and feeling the after-effects of yesterday’s picnic.

Most of you know that for the past five and a half months I’ve been on sabbatical. During that time I undertook some study, I traveled, and plowed through some household projects. I also tackled what I jokingly refer to as my “phobia” of crayons, charcoal pencils, and paints. You might share this phobia, because it seems to affect a significant portion of the adult population. The current term for this work is “exploring my repressed creativity,” and yes, I too have the archetypal story of the heartless and cruel adult (in my case it was my first grade teacher) who spoke the words that crushed my tender artistic soul.

Several of you expressed an interest in this exploration, and those conversations are the seed-germ of this sermon. To date, no one has asked me if I’m going to put my work on exhibit in the foyer gallery. This is a relief, because my goal was not to create pictures to be displayed. But many of you have asked me to share what I experienced as I confronted the fears and anxieties that blocked my creative spirit. You are curious about what was I thinking — feeling — expecting as I engaged in this work of connecting to whatever it is in me that wants to come out through color and form.

Again, these conversations let me know that I’m not the only one who feels this urge, or long to pick up a pencil or a paint brush and capture the lovely essence of a flower or a landscape or simple common object like a slouchy bag of coffee. I’m not the only adult who is put off or held back from fulfilling this desire because of a childhood experience that hurt my feelings. I’m not alone in the battle with that powerful inner critic who reminds me that I’ll never be really good at this — and asks why I’m wasting my time.

I’ve noticed that the longing to connect with our own creativity is alive, well, and itchin’ these days. The books and adult enrichment courses abound. The how-to category is hot, and so are the books, courses, and Web sites that weave creativity with that aspect of our human nature that some call “soul” and that fuzzy-wuzzy stuff we call spirituality.

“Soul.” … “Spirituality” These are words that might give a reason-grounded Unitarian Universalist the vapors, or maybe heartburn. If you are one of those who suffers from a phobic reaction to such theological language, perhaps I can help.

More than once in my ten years of ministry, I’ve had someone point out to me that I won’t find something labeled “soul” on an anatomy chart. That’s true, but we don’t find anything called consciousness or imagination on an anatomy chart, and that doesn’t seem to bother most of us who consider ourselves to be conscious and imaginative beings.

To my way of thinking, soul is not an entity, but a capacity to go beyond the surface of life and to experience connections, deep meanings and longings. I find a reference to this understanding in our UU sources when we refer that “direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures.” Soul is that capacity that opens me to that direct experience of mystery and wonder, when I see the yellow-orange balloon of a moon float over the horizon, or a young robin fling itself of the branch of my hickory tress and fly-fall to the ground just — as billions of other robins have done over the eons.

Soul also allows me to make connections to the experiences and feeling of other people who have used a myriad of tools from words to notes to paint to trash they found on the street to make a statement or open my eyes and ears and heart to some truth about life that they feel they must express.

My current favorite description of spirituality comes from the author, Oriah Mountain Dreamer and I found it in her book called What We Ache For. She understands spirituality as “our direct experience of that which is paradoxically both the essence of what we are, the stuff of which everything is made, and that which is larger than us.” She calls this essence “the holy,” although she notes that some might prefer to use the word “God” and says that such experiences come from moments of becoming awakened to the divine within and around us. These experiences offer us a sense of purpose and meaning, and an appreciation for the wholeness of life even as what we experience in these moments may be impossible to articulate or explain. It’s no surprise that the descriptions of soul and spirituality echo each other.

My decision to face and conquer my phobias and fears connected to the visual arts was an important part of my Sabbatical plans. Over the years, I’d tried any number of approaches that were supposed to help free me and release my pent-up creativity. I bought books that were written to help people like me (and maybe you?) delve into and recover their creative abilities: The Artist’s Way, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, Painting from the Source and more. I read them and tried to follow the creative path the authors described but really couldn’t get past the very basic basics — I wasn’t making much progress, and I’d feel frustrated and discouraged. Why couldn’t I get past my old friend Resistance who pops up at any hint of change in my life?

Resistance is a fascinating condition of mind and soul, especially when it lures us away from the destinations that we have set for ourselves. Resistance is devious — it can fool me by whispering seductive lies when I’m getting ready to “do art.” I’ve noticed that as the appointed hour approaches, I’m feeling unsettled, and a soft voice speaks, “You’ll have time for that later. You really need to cut the grass — and it’s such good exercise” or “Check your e-mail first, it will just take a minute.”

And if I manage to overcome resistance, I may still encounter my critical inner judge who will point out that what I’m drawing or painting doesn’t look like what’s on my table. I’ll never really be very good so why waste all this time and the money I spend on art supplies.

I found that reading about the struggles of some very well-known artists, musicians and writers helped me realize that resistance anxieties and other inner struggles were normal. As for being “good enough,” these very creative people revealed that for every poem, song, picture, page of dialogue that they declare to be “good enough,” there were many more that ended up in the trash. The reality is that even the most celebrated creators are often dissatisfied with their work.

I knew I needed help to get myself on track and learn some basic skills. I approached an artist in our congregation and set up a regular “play date.” This past January, we began to meet weekly.

I quickly discovered that learning to draw or paint required me to learn something more fundamental than how to shade a figure or mix colors. I had to learn how to see what was before me — the subject of my creative focus. I might think that I knew what a tulip or a banana or a bowl of eggs looked like, but I didn’t really know what a particular tulip or banana or bowl of eggs looked like. I assumed a lot and tended to draw what I thought the object looked like. When I did this, I was not being true to the unique and wonderful object that was before me; in fact I was being disrespectful of my subject. As I learned to see more accurately, I began to realize that this work of seeing could be an entry point into a spiritual practice that would enrich my life.

In true UU fashion, I began to look for books about seeing, and I discovered the writings of artist Frederick Franck. Frank writes about the importance of seeing with a passion that is inspiring and energizing. For him, the work of seeing and drawing is a profound spiritual practice. He calls this “Seeing/Drawing” practice

“a discipline of awareness, of unwavering attention to a world which is fully alive. It is not the pursuit of happiness, but stopping the pursuit and experiencing the awareness, the happiness of being ALL.”

He goes on to say

“Eye, heart, hand become one with what is seen and drawn, things are seen as the are — in their ‘isness.’ Seeing things thus, I know who I am.”

Reading these works, I began to ask myself how much I was missing of the world around me, how much I relied on my own assumptions and conditioned ideas about what things and people looked like — and what they were in their own uniqueness. Emerson tells us that the roses in our garden make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are, they exist with God today. I began to realize that I have an image in my head of rose, and I assume that this image is the reality of all roses

But if I cut one of those roses because I want to draw or paint it just as it is, then I have to look at it in a way that respects and accepts that rose. What do the petals look like? Where do they curve? Where are the ragged edges or tears? How do they curl and overlap against one another? How are the pistil and the stamen arranged? How is the flower connected to the stem? What is the shape of the leave,s and how are they attached to the stem? What are the colors and hues of the flowers? Deep pink here, fading to white toward the center. Why haven’t I noticed that until this very moment? I find that when I’m preparing to create an image, it’s as though I’m greeting the subject of my work for the first time in my life and then trying to love it, deeply, for exactly what it is: nothing less, and nothing more. “Namaste!” I think to the rose or the eggs or the combination of shapes and colors in a group of objects that I’e arranged. The unique and sacred in me acknowledges what is unique and sacred in you. This heightened way of seeing is not something that I can sustain constantly, but I’ve noticed that I’m much more visually aware. Colors, shapes, and the relationships of objects catch my attention even in the most mundane places. Parking lots, sidewalks, and shopping malls now hold delights that I would have missed before, as I revel in colors, shapes, and patterns.

This new practice of seeing awakens the soul and reminds us of our connections to the world we live in. It rescues us from our arrogant tendency to create the world in our own images. When I take the time to see with my artist’s eyes it’s as though I hear a voice within that says, “Look! Look! Look! Life is not what you think it is. You are both less and more than you assume yourself to be.”

I’m still a very beginning artist who has much to learn and experience. As I step back into my work of ministry, it may be difficult to make the time for this pursuit. But learning to see more clearly is a skill that I can practice while doing the necessary ordinary chores of everyday life: cooking, weeding the garden, shopping for food, sitting at a stop light. I think of the lyrics from the old hymn Amazing Grace: “I was blind, but now I see,” and I pray that seeing will continue to enrich my life and my relationship with the Great Mystery of Life.

May it be so.

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