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On Ordinary Art

By

I tell my son to be careful not to paint the table.

I’ve laid out plastic and my four and eight year old have the watercolors and a collection of rocks to recreate into swirling florals and all manner of messiness.

My daughter has a paint by numbers that is sectioned into tiny slivers awaiting their chosen colors, the end result being a Panda.  I’ve unleashed their brushes and their tiny fingers lead them in pirouettes across the stones and canvas.

I open my laptop next to them and stare at the cursor flashing on the blank page.

And then my son has finished his first rock, a black swirl of paint on a smooth round stone. He tells me it’s a wabbit.

My daughter is leaning close to the canvas, hand steady trying to get the paint into the designated spots. I see the Panda’s face beginning to form. She bites her lip and tilts her head to the side inspecting her work.

“Mommy, I can’t get the yellow to mix right. I think I made it look weird.” She is becoming her own worst critic.

AliaJoy Art/writing

Meanwhile my son has cranked out several more rock paintings and has graduated to paper. He holds up a painting in hot pink, a large circle with two lines sticking out the bottom.

“This is you, mommy, ” he announces proudly. Although, I do have a potato-esque shape, I don’t  see the resemblance. I move it to the counter to dry alongside the line and two dots which is my husband and the green circle which is our house.

And I think about my blank screen and my inner critic and my need to make the words just right.

I think about my children’s fingers dappled with paint.

Young children lack the skill to create with precision but what they lack in ability they more than make up in confidence. Young children still see the world with every possibility because nothing is fantastical yet. Pioneers in their journey of discovery, everything is new, therefore everything holds equal fascination and monotony.

When we pause at the painted hills, the striated rock colorations etched golden-red like tiger stripes, we all stop to take in the glory. But the young child runs along merrily, picking up rocks without discrimination of their ordinariness. He squats down to watch an ant barrel along while the valley stretches wide beside him, unnoticed.

We learn to classify the ordinary and monotonous in direct contrast to the extraordinary and magnificent.

G.K. Chesterton states, “The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese…”  Yes, cheese may not inspire sonnets, although I do have a baked brie recipe that makes me believe there is a God who loves me. What I believe Chesterton is getting at is that we find ordinary things uninspiring.  Mundane things like diaper changes and Math lessons, grocery shopping, and spreadsheets.

We forget as writers, that eventually, everything becomes monotonous to those who can no longer see the simple and ordinary graces among us.

Yes, we all want to write that post. The profound one that goes viral. Yet we often lose the pure in the pursuit of the profound.

Simplicity comes before the numbers and the lines. Before you know what the picture is supposed to look like. When you have the ability to splash in the paint tray and mix the colors.

Because the Lord sees beauty in your words when they’re full of wonder and praise. When we silence the critic and let our fingertips dance on the keys without always knowing what picture we’re painting. When we make art in a world full of ordinary, we paint in God’s glory.

Alia Joy writing at Narrow Paths to Higher Places

 

Comments

  1. Oh how much time I’ve wasted staring at that blinking cursor, paralyzed to write. Starting then stopping, erasing, then starting again…wanting my words to matter. Thank you for these words to encourage me to let go….to trust my fingers to type what my heart is longing to say, whether it’s perfect or not. And whether I think it measures up against anyone else’s words or not, He has called ME, and I need to just obey…and maybe pure and profound can happen together, but sometimes the purity of the process matters most, because even if my words change no one else, they have changed me, and that is enough.

    • Oh yes, I absolutely believe that pure and profound go together.
      I always think of the parables. One would think Jesus would be giving intense monologues filled with big words and obscure passages of the Bible that no one really knows because He could’ve certainly done that, but He usually brings it down to a level where sand and seeds and water have depth of meaning beyond their simplicity.

      I think sometimes I’m surprised at how contrived my writing gets when I’m trying too hard to make it into something instead of letting it speak simple truth, whatever truth God is teaching me at the time. I know I’ve been changed by the process of letting go more and noticing the lessons of the mundane.

  2. First can I just say. To see your name here – well it made me smile. And thank you for the reminder friend that my ordinary is God’s extra-ordinary and that it is good. I spend so much time pondering, questioning and comparing my work to others that it paralyzes me into inaction. I need to just write – from where I am in the moment.

    • “Comparison is the thief of joy.” I don’t know who said it but your comment reminded me of that. And I am an Olympic level comparison artist. 😉 I have to remind myself not to do that, every single day.

      • Kim… I’m staring at that quote right now… true story – it’s hanging on my bulletin board. Theodore Roosevelt said that…

      • I think of that a lot. I’ve had a lot of joy stolen in my lifetime over sizing up and finding myself lacking.

    • I do it too. I don’t want to waste words or write things that don’t mean anything but sometimes that is so paralyzing and it usually means I’m too worried about the wrong things instead of just trusting God to show up where He calls. Love you, friend!

  3. I love the image of the paint-by-numbers picture next to the colored-streaked rocks. Oh, for the freedom to create out of who we are.

    Thank you for this post. Even if it doesn’t go viral, you’ve made my morning better.

    • Thanks Jen. Yes, you can learn a lot by paint by numbers. It was an interesting afternoon watching my kids create in their own ways. Studying children gives one a lot of insight into human nature.

  4. Thanks for the conviction yet again. Just yesterday I was asking for forgiveness because my attention, desire, and writing focus had wandered again into the fast and viral lane of big numbers. 🙁

    Your words remind me of Beth Moore’s study “Living Beyond Yourself”: What God is doing changes constantly from our perspective. . . He will likely exalt you one year and humble you the next. But who He is will never change. . .I know Your heart is loving, good, and faithful. Somehow, some way, somewhere all these things are for good.

    My role is to continue to be faithful as I continue to make art in a world full of ordinary. Thanks for the reminder. 🙂

    • I think it’s one of the great problems with any kind of ministry. The balance between fear and insecurity (feeling that our words are nothing and we’re no good) and pride (feeling like we should be bigger, better, more recognized than we are.) Either one trips a person up because God’s glory is so much bigger than our stats and even our talents and abilities.
      Faithful is the path by which God chooses to demonstrate his majesty.

  5. “the question is not what you look at, but what you see.” – Thoreau

    oh Alia. this is glory and grace and so refreshes my soul. thank you, thank you.

    • Love that quote, Kelli. So true. I will expect a sonnet about cheese very soon. 😉

  6. Excellent reminder! This literally took my breath away, in a good way.

    I don’t ever want to lose the message God has given me in pursuit of numbers, or likes, or followers, or comments. It’s so easy to take our eyes off the path and get distracted with what the world considers “success” when for some of us success is simply writing a post, any post, out of obedience. Oh, that we could have the confidence that children have in our skills without the weight of self-criticism!

  7. We forget as writers, that eventually, everything becomes monotonous to those who can no longer see the simple and ordinary graces among us. Yes, that we would always be people who see. You encourage me in this life and writerly walk. I am grateful for your voice and friendship!

  10. “Simplicity comes before the numbers and the lines. Before you know what the picture is supposed to look like.”

    I love that! But my favorite is:

    “Yes, cheese may not inspire sonnets, although I do have a baked brie recipe that makes me believe there is a God who loves me.”
    Made me smile! 🙂

    • Yes, between baked brie and coffee, how could I not believe in a loving God? Right? And then I think of the millions of different tastes and unique likes and pleasures each individual in the world has and I kind of have to sit back and think, our God is good and loving and kind to us. And that makes the simple things like eating cheese, feel like worship. Thanks for sharing your favorite parts, I’m glad they brought a smile to your face.

  12. Alia Joy – your words always seem to pour out like so many beautiful shades on a painting. I can’t imagine you feeling like your inner critic was holding you back – so to read this was an encouragement to silence my own. Thank you for painting such a beautiful and encouraging picture with your words.

  13. Beautiful encouraging words. Thank you. I cherish the art of children, and so this resonates deep here. Bless you!

  15. Love these words: “Because the Lord sees beauty in your words when they’re full of wonder and praise. When we silence the critic and let our fingertips dance on the keys without always knowing what picture we’re painting. When we make art in a world full of ordinary, we paint in God’s glory.”

    Oh, may we paint in God’s glory!!!

    Deb Weaver
    http://www.thewordweaver.com

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