During the second semester of my sophomore year, Elisabeth Dell and I escaped college in the deep South to visit our sisters in Washington D.C., for a long weekend. My major in art was particularly demanding that semester, and I had been struggling inwardly with conflicting feelings. While I waited for my sister to get off of work, I remember sitting in a coffee shop called Ebenezer’s, letting the soothing steam from my vanilla latte caress my cheek as well as help to clear my mind. For a moment, the overwhelming feeling I was experiencing temporarily evaporated, allowing me to pick up my book. I happened to be reading through Proverbs at the time, and I realized that, like Solomon, I needed to ask for wisdom. So, I asked, facing a window that displayed its white-collar contents on a continual-running conveyor belt of sidewalk cement in the snow.
The Skilled Craftsman
It’s hard to grasp wanting something that you’re told to want, yet not being able to pinpoint in exact words what it is. What is wisdom? I know that Solomon was wise in asking for it, but, I admit, I’m often lost to its meaning.
wis·dom/ˈwizdəm / Noun: The quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgment; the quality of being wise.
Recent editions of the dictionary have deluded the definition of wisdom to a sentence merely having to do with knowledge, evoking the notion of a fat owl with spectacles and a graduation cap, perched comfortably on a tree limb. I find it annoying that a word can reappear in so many of its own definitions. It’s the world and culture’s attempt to make sense of it all, I guess. This can only mean that, when truly defined, wisdom must be otherworldly.
My Sunday School class has been discussing a commentary on Proverbs by Jim Newheiser. At the beginning of the book, Newheiser writes that the essence of wisdom is skill, the ability to do a job. I had never quite understood wisdom to be so external. It is so often painted as a wellspring of unattainable knowledge that can only be reached through experience. But, the hard truth is, few people work to build upon and into an experience that truly counts.
The goal of wisdom is that you might achieve a life of beauty and significance so that at the end of your days you will have accomplished something worthwhile and lasting. – Jim Newheiser
On a certain afternoon in Cambridge, I was standing on a bridge that overlooked the Cam River in the Kings Backs. I had a perfect view, right before dusk, and was hurriedly sketching away. I’ll never forget the little British man who stopped to peep over my shoulder and said, “How clever!” The reason this comment struck me so much may have been because I had never thought of my artwork in that light. When I draw, I go into “the zone,” forgetting everything else that’s around me. I don’t ever recall any mental exertion when I pick up a pen. The ink just flows.
… the pencil will be steeped in the marrow of life. – Edmond Duranty
Newheiser talks of a time when his family attended an organ concert where the musician made his virtuoso performance seem effortless. I suddenly realized that all those countless hours of reckoning with my sketchbook– all those millions upon millions of controlled strokes– meant something. Paintings that defied the norm were the defining works of art throughout history, yet, any artist would tell you that, as with anything, one must exhaust the rules in order to break them successfully.
Being a person with a wide scope of interest, I often struggle with what to focus on. The predicament I found myself in during my sophomore year was questioning exactly how hard I should devote myself to my major. I didn’t work well holed-up in a studio for hours, yet my work suffered when I went through periods where I devoted more time to my other social hobbies. I would feel guilty for a while, but, whenever I plunged myself into an art project, it was difficult for me to remember the world outside of the art building. Newheiser writes that the book of Proverbs equips the reader with moral skill for holy living. If the word holy means “set apart,” shouldn’t my time be set apart as well? I am finding that the fight to prioritize is an exhausting yet worthy cause.
Discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness. – 1 Timothy 4:7
In his T4G sermon, Kevin DeYoung discussed the oxymoronic content of the term “workaholic.” So much of what the culture defines as a “hard work ethic” is really a lack of discipline in prioritizing. He went on to explain to pastors that it’s easy to spend all your time slaving away in your library. The hard part is really working when there is work to be done so that, when you clock-out, you can really invest yourself in the art of relaxing with your family. This statement struck a cord with me. Although I’d like to think that I’m well-rounded, the bulk of my time is spent feeling guilty doing a lot of things at the wrong times, while filling the void of not investing in the right thing at the right time. Instead of being multi-faceted, it’s actually a very one-sided existence.
Do you see a man skillful in his work? He will stand before kings; he will not stand before obscure men. – Proverbs 22:29
In Exodus, Bezalel and Oholiab were artisans who were put in charge of masterfully crafting the plans for the temple. God cared about how he wanted His dwelling place to look, but He also cared about how it was accomplished. Exodus 36:1 says that God put skill and intelligence in them so that they could know how to do any work in the construction of the sanctuary. In Ryken’s book, Art For God’s Sake, the author explains that it’s not enough to just have a heart for art. Skill is required. And yet, the skill required for the temple was not something that these craftsmen could conjure up themselves. It had to come from God.
How often do we adopt the workaholic mentality, trusting that our strong work ethic will produce certain results? We have no control over results. In the end, the real fight is about working hard to abide.
Abiding in the Process
I’m reminded of a sermon by Ligon Duncan, in which he discusses the prophet Elijah’s disappointment when things didn’t work out the way he expected them to. God patiently leads Elijah to the mountain…
The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” – I Kings 19:11-13
Just as God chose to whisper on the mountain to Elijah, so Jesus came to earth, whispering of the Kingdom of Heaven. There He was…the long-awaited Messiah…the fulfillment of the Old Testament. Jesus didn’t use forces of nature to establish an earthly kingdom, like many Jews expected Him to. In John 15, Jesus gives a simple command: “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me.” Christ reduced all the “wisdom” of the rabbinical laws to two commandments: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). Apart from Him, there is no existence. Apart from loving Him, there is no true wisdom… “Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).
We all have an Elijah complex that causes us to think our way is the best. We look for a concept in the storm, instead of listening to the whisper. The wisdom from the world is based purely upon mental acumen. But, Jesus is saying that the key to living beautifully is only through Him. Loving Him. Having communion with Him. Yes, it’s that simple. Just abide.
Duncan poses an interesting point. Elijah could have never foreseen the New Testament concept that God had fore-ordained. Centuries later, he would be called back to witness Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration.
If you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightning to strike you in the brain, you are not going to make an awful lot of work. All the best ideas come out of…the work itself. Things occur to you. If you’re sitting around trying to dream up a great art idea, you can sit there a long time before anything happens. But, if you just get to work, something will occur to you and something else will occur to you and something else that you reject will push you in another direction. Inspiration is absolutely unnecessary and somehow deceptive. – Chuck Close
The frustrating fundamental rule of all the arts is to do away with the notion of concepts. Concepts can only come after experimentation. And, unfortunately, experimentation means a lot of work. My teacher called this philosophy “the process.” I grew to hate that term because it meant that, no matter how many hours I had put into an almost-perfect drawing, I would always have to discard it before returning to my studio for the next draft. I was trusting myself to this process, waiting for results I could not control. To me, the process meant defeat, yet Bob knew that with each controlled stroke of my pen, I was learning and re-learning the fundamentals of composition and technique. When the time was right, I would feel freedom to be inspired in my craft.
My senior year of college was “crunch time.” I had all year to prepare for my senior art show, and yet, when faced with this daunting task, a year seemed like not enough. I aimlessly played around with materials in my studio here and there, searching hard for a concept. I thought back to the pen and ink drawings that I had slaved over a few semesters back and opted out of that avenue. At the end of my first semester, I realized that I was getting nowhere.
Although I lacked momentum, I came crashing into a brick wall, crumbling to my knees in prayer. I knew that the wisdom I needed was outside of myself. There was no way I could accomplish a meaningful show without devoting myself to “the process.” And, in doing so, devote myself to sustained amounts of incessantly working hard. I picked up my pen again and began drawing furiously, hardly coming up for air. At some point, it stopped being about my end goal and more about my process of discovering all the different types of things I could accomplish with the materials I was working with. Once I was willing to give up the notion of a concept, I could give up the need to control the outcome. The surprising thing was, I came to enjoy it.
If wisdom is achieving a life of beauty and significance, I’d like to think of my life as a blank canvas. More fittingly, a crisp, white piece of bristol board, ready to be inked. For the composition to work, every stroke in each area must be treated with equal care. I want my life to be beautiful, so why would I not go to the source of all wisdom? It’s crucial to remember that God is that source. If I abide in Him, the outcome will be beautiful. Throughout the Bible, He is faithful to describe Himself as the creator, potter, artisan, author, designer, craftsman… His wisdom is beyond anything we could ever imagine. I Corinthians 1:25 says, “For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.”
John Constable was a Romantic painter in England. He refused to follow after his contemporaries, who painted fabricated landscapes from setups in their dark studios. Instead, he painted from life, and his mantra said that the imagination could never compare to the realities of nature. He sought to imitate the highest form of craftsmanship. I wonder if he ever viewed it that way.
The LORD by wisdom founded the earth; by understanding he established the heavens. – Proverbs 3:19
This verse has always gripped me, because I never think of wisdom being required to create something. Proverbs 8:22 talks about God possessing wisdom at the beginning of His work, “the first of His acts of old.” In the following verses, God is described as a sculptor, shaping and crafting the world into existence, accompanied by His finest tool, wisdom. [Wisdom] was beside Him, like a master workman, and [wisdom] was His daily delight, rejoicing before Him always (Prov. 8:30).
So, what is wisdom, exactly? Or, more importantly, what is its purpose?
A Means of Understanding
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom …
{Throughout the Psalms and Proverbs, wisdom is consistently accompanied by understanding. Our culture was brought up to think that knowledge precedes wisdom. Just have enough knowledge about the world, and you’ll make “wise” choices. This entire notion is devoid of the discipline involved in the process of abiding moment-by-moment. The internal is said to precede the external. However, the opposite is true. If the essence of wisdom is skill, then it is the fruit of something internal, understanding.}
… And the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding. -Proverbs 9:10
There is a certain movement in the Christian fine art world that I am very wary of. Art is often seen as the savior of the modern church. Because it is more obviously linked to the skillful, creative attributes of God, it is defined as being more iconic in nature, rather than representational. Christians everywhere are weeping over the loss of the Eastern intent of the power in a beautiful piece of art to transport or transcend. Therefore, the intent of art is seen to be purely intrinsic, rather than extrinsic. Just as the venerated icon was supposed to transport a hopeful follower to a heavenly realm, so the arts are sought after in order to break through the barriers of this world.
C.S. Lewis has some interesting thoughts on the subject in his book, A Grief Observed. In it, he discusses the pain of losing his wife. I need Christ, not something that resembles Him. I want H., not something that is like her. A really good photograph might become in the end a snare, a horror, and an obstacle. Images, I must suppose, have their use or they would not have been so popular. (It makes little difference whether they are pictures and statues outside the mind or imaginative constructions within it.) To me, however, their danger is more obvious. Images of the Holy easily become holy images–sacrosanct. My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of His presence? The Incarnation is the supreme example; it leaves all previous ideas of the Messiah in ruins. And most are ‘offended’ by the iconoclasm; and blessed are those who are not. But the same thing happens in our private prayers. All reality is iconoclastic.
As an artist, the problem that I must come to terms with is that my sketches will never look as real or be as glorious as the actual thing that I am drawing. The nature of the process is to work skillfully in order to achieve understanding. The artist doesn’t draw to create something better than the original, but rather he draws in order to understand better what he is trying to depict. I love going to see the real-life version of a house after I’ve drawn it from a photograph. I feel as if I’m meeting someone I’ve known all my life for the first time. Yet, upon approaching it, it’s infinitely better than what I had pictured in my head. The jump from paper to three-dimensionality is so jolting, that the sensation is almost like looking at a giant doll house. Lewis saw that the significance of art lay not in its power to transcend or present a higher wisdom, but in its ability to transpose.
He writes: Let us construct a fable. Let us picture a woman thrown into a dungeon. There she bears and rears a son. He grows up seeing nothing but the dungeon walls, the straw on the floor, and a little patch of the sky seen through the grating, which is too high up to show anything except sky. This unfortunate woman was an artist, and when they imprisoned her she managed to bring with her a drawing pad and a box of pencils. As she never loses the hope of deliverance, she is constantly teaching her son about that outer world which he has never seen. She does it very largely by drawing him pictures. With her pencil she attempts to show him what fields, rivers, mountains, cities, and waves on a beach are like. He is a dutiful boy and he does his best to believe her when she tells him that that outer world is far more interesting and glorious than anything in the dungeon. At times he succeeds. On the whole he gets on tolerably well until, one day, he says something that gives his mother pause. For a minute or two they are at cross-purposes. Finally it dawns on her that he has, all these years, lived under a misconception. “But,” she gasps, “you didn’t think that the real world was full of lines drawn in lead pencil?” “What?” says the boy. “No pencil marks there?” And instantly his whole notion of the outer world becomes blank. For the lines, by which alone he was imagining it, have now been denied it. He has no idea of that which will exclude and dispense with the lines, that of tops, the light dancing on the weir, the coloured three-dimensional realities which are not enclosed in lines but define their own shapes at every moment with a delicacy and multiplicity which no drawing could ever achieve. The child will get the idea that the real world is somehow less visible than his mother’s pictures. In reality it lacks lines because it is incomparably more visible.
So with us. “We know not what we shall be”; but we may be sure we shall be more, not less, than we were on earth. Our natural experiences (sensory, emotional, imaginative) are only like the drawing, like pencilled lines on flat paper. If they vanish in the risen life, they will vanish only as pencil lines vanish from the real landscape, not as a candle flame that is put out but as a candle flame which becomes invisible because someone has pulled up the blind, thrown up open the shutters, and let in the blaze of the risen sun. [The Weight of Glory, Transposition]
I love the arts because they transpose, not because they transport. I love God because He is bigger than my artistic attempts to fashion Him. The blessing of a life lived beautifully is to gain understanding– to know the Holy One more intimately. Therefore, practice wisdom not only by drawing often, but by drawing well.
This post is devoted to my dad. Thanks for teaching
me how to pursue true wisdom.
Happy Father’s Day!
Pilgrimage 