At the start of October, I spent a weekend at the Catholic Imagination Conference hosted by the University of Dallas, and (though it has taken me an unconscionably long time to get started) I suspect it may be the topic of posts for the next several months as I unpack the many, many ideas I was exposed to over the two days of sessions. (It was a star-studded, tightly scheduled conference, so there’s a lot to unpack.)

One thing that struck me, as has been the case in other Catholic writing talks, essays, and conferences of my experience, was a bit of a doomsday view of our culture at large. (Though happily with the emergence of new small presses, journals, and National Book Award Winning-authors of a Catholic flavor, the laments of “Why aren’t there any more Flannerys?” seem to have died out a bit.)

By no means would I argue that our culture is flush with artistic expressions of the three transcendentals, but compare this distress to how Carey Wallace, author of The Blind Contessa’s New Machine (which I found rich and compelling), Stories of the Saints (which my kids love), and The Ghost in the Glass House (the first three chapters of which I have enjoyed to date), describes her thoughts on the “culture-making conversation” in her interview with Charlie Peacock:

…doomsday proclamations about the death of culture from both the right and left…seem blind to what I see as constant outbreaks of thoughtful culture from all kinds of unexpected quarters…

She continues:

I believe art doesn’t need to make an argument for itself, and that, outside of a small group of professionals whose livelihood depends on debate about the nature of art, everybody know this. One way or another, we all dance, sing, write, act. And when we’re done putting food on the table and a roof over our head, the first thing we do is reach for a book, turn on the radio, pick out a show. Art in all its forms is intimately connected with every aspect of all lives. We sing when people die. We dance when they get married. Even sports events and video games incorporate music, dance, images, theater. The things I make are only my participation in that constant, unstoppable swirl of creation. (emphasis added)

I, who hate conflict and always want everyone to get along, naturally prefer a middle ground, a nice Catholic “both/and” if you will. Art is not created in a vacuum, and thus an understanding of, engagement with, and (when appropriate) lamentation of the state of our culture at large can act as both a starting point and a stimulus for the creation of art. After all, it is difficult to enter into a conversation when one has not been listening. On the other hand, I believe it is wise not to spend so much time consuming (and, more particularly, lamenting) culture that little time is left for one’s own creative endeavors. Considering the saturation of our lives with media, and particularly digital media, this is a real danger.

If Wallace is correct, art doesn’t need our protection. It does, however, need our attention, as well as our intention to contribute beauty to our own cultures–whether they be as small as our own families or as large as the national literary scene. And I think we can all agree that the best way to create the culture we hope for is simply to create, and to create work that is so compelling in its truth, goodness, and beauty that it is nearly irresistible to viewers and auditors of goodwill, whatever their background or current creed.

I spent my snow-day laundry catch-up time watching this video of Malcom Guite’s book launch (if you haven’t experienced his beautiful poetry, check it out here), and I have some thoughts.

To give credit where credit is due, this video from Alastair Gordon and friends about art and faith (also laundry-folding entertainment in my house) started me thinking about some of these things. If you have time, both are worth watching.

Something that struck me about the artists (I’m lumping poets, writers, and other makers in to the group “artists” here) in both videos was their humble acceptance of the goodness of their work. I tend towards a shrug and a deflection on the odd occasion when someone complements my work. It still feels like an indulgence to take the time to “make” at all, and to think that my work is well done, or stranger yet, serves some greater purpose, feels arrogant.

So it was both jarring and illuminating to see artists discuss their methods, their motivations, and their finished work as if it were totally normal to spend a work-day sketching by the seashore or filling enormous canvases with paint or scribbling sonnets – and to do it intentionally for the glory of God.

At the same time, it was helpful for me to see people whose expertise is in different fields appreciating the art. Like maybe, just maybe, art isn’t some special language only accessible to people who have earned an MFA.

I love the idea of art being just another one of the many ways a person might be called to serve God and neighbor. I guess in my mind art has always been set apart – as if a special kind of people who lead a radical kind of life are the only ones who can make art. These chosen few have special studios and strange ideas and are often anti-social. (Although, by that standard, maybe I have two out of three – no room for a studio here!) They also have nearly unlimited time to work on their craft, perfect their style, and make lots of mistakes on the way to finished pieces.

It’s been hard to see myself as part of this world, however much I might enjoy creating in my spare moments. I suffer from a distinct lack of studio, precious little time, and a dread of mistakes.

So it was good for me to watch these artists be normal people with families and big ideas, and to see that they simply have made the choice to make art their lives, to hone the gifts they were given, and to think deeply about how to best share those gifts with the world. Not to say that that’s easy, but it’s so helpful to see both that it can be done, and a glimpse of how a person actually goes about doing it.

From today’s Morning Prayer:

“You strengthened Mary at the foot of the cross and filled her with joy at the resurrection of your Son,

through her intercession relieve our distress and strengthen our hope.”

(Saturday morning, Week III)

That was what I needed to hear this morning.