For as devout as Georgia O’Keeffe was to northern New Mexico, it’s incredible she painted only five pieces of the Ranchos de Taos Church, the oldest church in America. This church, more formally referred to as the San Francisco de Asis Church, was built by the Spanish who traveled into America. It’s a very sacred place and even for people not religious, can have a spiritual quality to it. Visually, the adobe building is very aesthetically pleasing in composition and form. It’s hard to explain with words, but a photograph or physical presence can illuminate this quality instantly. I was fortunate to attend two services, and was pleased to see it still functioning as a church. The service was in part Spanish, and in part English. But back to O’Keeffe, I think it’s incredible she produced only five works from it. Her reasoning was this: She found that the presence of the church is so magnificent and spiritually charged that it could not be reproduced on canvas, and in fact, doing so would be disrespectful. O’Keeffe did not think she was worthy enough to try to capture it. This is ironic because the church has become the most photographed in the United States, and is an important destination for many plein air painters and painters who sell to the Taos tourist market – their idea of sacred is far from O’Keeffe’s.

I produced a few studies of the church and this aquatint etching on a copper plate.

Below is a graduation speech I gave back in high school. I'd like to share this message again, even though it was tailored to my classmates. It also ties into my blog's Crayola inspired title.

Class of 2007, “How many of you are artists? Would you please raise your hand? No, really, if you think you are an artist, raise your hand.” Hmmm. That’s disappointing. (Few raise their hand)

A Hallmark graphic designer, Gordon MacKenzie, posed this same question when he visited elementary schools to discuss his profession. In first grade, the entire class would enthusiastically shoot up their hands to claim they were artists. In second grade, about three-fourths of the students raised their hands, somewhat less energetically. And by sixth grade, the entire class fell silent, and everyone turned their heads to see who would admit to such “deviant behavior.” This is a disappointing realization.

Because the definition of an artist is one who expresses him or herself through media such as writing, dance, drama, painting, film, and music. And although I know not everyone is an artist by this definition, we will all become artists in areas such as science or law, using either the human body or the constitution as our Crayola crayon.

Graduates, up to this point, our teachers, counselors, and parents have provided us with coloring books complete with dark, black lines within which we have been told to neatly color. If Mr. Deuger or Mrs. Metcalf told us to color Mickey Mouse’s shoes yellow, then we colored those shoes with the perfect yellow crayon.

But starting tomorrow, life is going to provide us with a new coloring book. And this time the lines are going to fade throughout college until blank pages present themselves before us and our little crayon. We will now need to create our own lines to color in between. And life is going to demand we produce a masterpiece.

Pablo Picasso was one of the most prolific artists. He produced many abstract masterpieces with multi-colored people missing an eye, or perhaps sprouting an extra leg. It is a shame that so many people today do not understand his style. Many of us claim that our stick figures fare better than his creations, and that Picasso simply paints like a child. Ironically, Picasso possessed some of the finest technical skills. He had already learned how to draw perfect human figures and color within the lines. Picasso claimed he learned these skills in his youth, but it took him a lifetime to learn how to draw like a child. Now these “childlike” pieces are some of the most valued in the world.

They hang on the museum walls next to those paintings of which one makes fun. The entire canvas is painted blue, for example, with a small red dot in the middle. And the viewer standing next to you will whip out her checkbook for a quarter of a million dollars because she sees something you don’t.

Graduates, what kind of masterpiece will you paint in your life beyond high school? With what style, college, or career will you paint it? And is it going to be worth enough to you personally, to proudly raise your hand in a room full of people with different interests? If not, then tear out that blank sheet of paper, crumple it up, throw it away, and start new on clean paper, just as we will do tomorrow. Class of 2007, let’s paint our world!

Old and Still Cool

I typically see my grandparents twice each year on their cotton farm in Littlefield, Texas. It’s flat, dusty, and just outside of Lubbock. Does this paint any picture for you? Well, if you’ve been fortunate to see Lubbock, then enough’s been said. But regardless, it’s a place I look forward to visiting because my grandparents, possibly out of a mindset from the Great Depression, keep everything: cleaned used foil, Zip-lock bags, every National Geographic since the ‘40s, broken tools in the shop that may be melted down someday, and a collection of mousetraps. The experience is similar to that of an antique mall. The ones that have select vendors who place meaningless crap in their booths like their son or daughter’s first pair of shoes, or Johnny’s rusted, red tricycle that looks kinda cool, but not appropriate for an antique show. Their old farm house is ready to explode with stuff. Stuff – this is the only word I can think to describe it. Some, if not most, sentimental stuff - but this is relative. And each time I visit, I explore like I’m Alice in her Wonderland. But out in the barn alongside a line of vintage and new John Deer tractors rest five refrigerators from my grandparents’ lifetime in their farmhouse. Many of us have found it funny. They’re lined up like a firing squad, and hold inside of them old tools, scrap metal, and various other pieces no one would call their treasure. Oh, and these refrigerators don’t work – of course. That’s why they’re relocated to the barn.

My small watercolor above was completed when I had to move inside the barn after west Texas winds tore apart my easel. They quickly became a fascinating subject and took on personalities like a live model would in a life drawing class. And I think it’s one of my favorite pieces because the personal connection is so strong, and it conjures up many stories. This one I won’t part with just as my grandparents wouldn’t part with a used sandwich bag – cleaned of course.

What a life.

Most Thursday nights back home, I can be found strolling the streets of Old Town Scottsdale during their weekly art walks. Jazz bands, wine (for those of age, of course), cheese, and the Scottsdale socialites are also along these streets. But there is a particular gallery I stepped into which showed a generous variety of impressionist work from contemporary artists. The colors in each painting were most striking. And close attention to brushstrokes that respond to the subject matter and forms, not the artist’s overpowering style, was evident. Before leaving the gallery the manager asked me which caught my attention most. I pointed out a grouping of paintings of landscapes and cityscapes, interiors too, done in a style similar to John Singer Sargent. They were simply beautiful. Composition, color, brush quality, everything. Then the manager asked how old I was. 19 years old. Then he explained that the artist who I called attention to had just graduated college and is traveling Europe on a painting tour. She’s highly successful and is sought after by many galleries. Wow. Truly incredible – what an experience she is having! I’ve dreamed for a long time to live a bohemian life during the late 19^th century and paint my days away. But our 21^st century doesn’t allow for this lifestyle. However, this artist (whose name I can’t recall – her information is back home in a file I keep of artists’ postcards and contact info) is leading an altered form of this life. She travels to Europe, paints, sends her paintings back to the States, sells them, gets money, puts this money towards more travel expenses and living overseas, and continues the cycle over again. Now, she’s young and just graduated college, so I’m not so sure how long this experience will continue, but for the meantime is pretty cool. I admire her career. It’s not something I want to do for the rest of my life, but fantasize about traveling by safari in Kenya and Tanzania, trekking across the Sahara, or “gypsying” around Latin America – these are the places I’d go to paint. The colors and culture fascinate me and would provide fantastic subject matter and opportunities for my paint and brushes. And in the midst of my painting I could live like Karen Dinesen in Out of Africa on a plantation aiding the locals, or like Hemingway. By the way, let me point out that Out of Africa is my favorite book, and the movie’s a classic for me too. Enough daydreaming. I really respect this artist whose work I came across back in Scottsdale. She’s ambitious and leading a life not set by a cookie cutter like many who graduate and find a job and apartment. The idea of it is refreshing and inspirational.

I didn't need to see that.

I’d like to comment on the Pluckers billboard advertisement on the west side of Lover’s Lane and North Central Expressway. It’s gross. And almost entirely because of it I have chosen not to eat there. My roommate adores it, however. And when he has it delivered to our room the smell is enough to make me gag – truly – and I can’t stop thinking about their revolting advertisement. For those of you readers who have no idea what I’m talking about, just picture three pale, middle-aged men carrying beer-bellies that droop slightly over their whitey-tighties. Thank God we don’t see their faces. The copy below reads, “body by Pluckers.” Am I supposed to be amused by this?? Yes, I remember their restaurant/product, but not in good light. Take a look for yourself next time you cruise down the 75.

Rolls-Royce yesterday and today

In my marketing class we watched a selection of car advertisements – Rolls-Royce, Porsche, Hummer H2, Mercedes GL Class, Saab, Hyundai, and Kia – and compared their advertising approaches. Rolls Royce was filmed in a night-time setting through some tunnel or dimly-lit bridge that reflected small hints of the black car her and there – just enough information to understand the maker of the car and the aesthetic beauty that even a glimmer on the paintjob can have. Only a glint of the hood ornament is necessary to communicate the car gliding by. People who consider buying a car of this type are not interested in price, practicality, or miles-per-gallon compared to Kia buyers. They will be more motivated by an ad that suggests status, glamour, and luxury.

But it’s interesting because I recently flipped through Phaidon’s Advertising Today and came across a Rolls-Royce print ad from the 1950s (price then offered at $15,655!) The advertising approach is 180 degrees opposite. A list of their 16 top qualities about the product is listed below a perfect profile-angled picture of the sleek car. Copy is:

“At 60 miles an hour the loudest noise in this new Rolls-Royce comes from the electric clock.

What makes Rolls-Royce the best car in the world? ‘There is really no magic about it – it is merely patient attention to detail,’ says an eminent Rolls-Royce engineer.”

An illustration is even included to distinguish Rolls-Royce’s massive grill from Bentley’s. The text accompanying it is funny:

“The Bentley is made by Rolls-Royce. Except for the radiator shells, they are identical motor cars, manufactured by the same engineers in the same works. The Bentley costs $300 less, because it’s radiator is simpler to make. People who feel diffident about driving a Rolls-Royce can buy a Bentley.” Seriously?!

Sin

I have found this entry in my devotional from Hebrews 4:15 very encouraging, and would like to share it.

When his accusers called him a servant of Satan, Jesus demanded to see their evidence. “Which one of you convicts Me of sin?” he dared (John 8:46). Ask my circle of friends to point out my sin, and watch the hands shoot up. When those who knew Jesus were asked this same question, no one spoke. Christ was followed by disciples, analyzed by crowds, criticized by family, and scrutinized by enemies, yet not one sin. He was never found in the wrong place. Never said the wrong word. Never acted the wrong way. He never sinned. Not that he wasn’t tempted, mind you. He was “tempted in every way that we are, but he did not sin.”

Lust wooed him. Greed lured him. Power called him. Jesus-the human-was tempted. But Jesus, the holy God-resisted.

Max Lucado