Being a Duck

Recently,  I have read a few books. First was Matilda Bone by Karen Cushman. It took me a little bit to get into the story, probably because I related to Matilda a bit more than I care to admit. But once I owned up to my arrogance (and hers), I kept seeing how hard it is to change the way we think. It usually requires us changing the way we feel first. I especially liked this little conversation.

Walter looked puzzled, "You're a strange duck, Matilda."
"In truth I feel much like a duck, a duck living among chickens. I walk differently, cluck differently. I used to think it was the chickens who were strange, but now I do not know."
"My mum used to say, 'Ducks may be useless birds, but only a duck can lay a duck egg."

This kept ringing through my brain as Thomas was reading, How to be a Conservative by Roger Scruton, when he talked about valuing things that only have value in themselves. Like the value of friendship - we make friends simply to be friends; there is no other purpose or motivation, and in fact, when there is another motivation, it ceases to be friendship. Beauty also fits into this category, and he argued, so does Education. When we educate, ourselves or others, for any other reason than to be educated, we lose something very essential to education. Getting an education for a job or for grades destroys what education is at its very core.

That is not to deny that a good education may help a person do better at whatever job they end up having - one thing leads to another; actions have consequences; individuals and their actions play a part in the bigger picture. In The Invention of Hugo Cabret, by Brian Selznick, Hugo imagines the whole world is like a clock. In a clock there are no extra parts, so that must mean there are no extra parts in the world, which must mean there is a place for him. Hugo is worth something because he must have a job to do in the world; he must have a job to do in the world because he is there; so he must be worth something. But to me this seems to imply that a person must be useful to have a place in the world, or that everybody has a place, so no matter what they do it is useful. One side emphasizes use over value, the other emphasizes worth over personal responsibility - the effort to make the world a better place.

The age old question is still being wrestled with. Is value based on essence, or is value based on function? 

But perhaps it is neither. I remember a professor who once said, C. S. Lewis did not like dichotomies because usually there is a third option, or a fourth, or a multitude. ("You know she doesn't tell lies and it is obvious she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume she is telling the truth.") 

 Perhaps separating function, value, and essence is similar to separating the Godhead. To be, is to have worth. We live out that worth by fulfilling that which God has called us heavenward in Christ Jesus, thereby defining our essence.

Pondering Creativity

We have been created to create. We are, by nature, beauty revelers. There is a core part of us that comes alive in stories, and a way that the physical sound waves of music somehow touch the spiritual resonances of the heart. Science can explain so much, but no matter how hard we try, there is a part of humanity that cannot be fully understood. Creativity stands at the crossroads between the physical and the spiritual worlds, connecting and sometimes blurring the lines between the two.

Then why do I have such a hard time considering a life that revolves around creating for money? Is it the practical skepticism of how it works? Is it the doubt of people wanting to pay for what I create? Is it the fear of constant criticism - the more people who find my art means more people to find fault with it? Is it the feeling that the act of creativity would become an idol rather than a means of worship?

The boys asked me if I wanted to get my story published. I answered trivially, but the question nagged. The story isn't complete. It is flawed. And the more times I read it, the less I like it. Is it my insecurity with its quality that questions getting money for the creative work I have done? I remember sewing some skirts for someone in the church. They wanted to pay me for it, but I felt that I couldn't take any money because they weren't hard to make. I have donated some felt mice for a church bazaar, but didn't feel like I could charge much money for them, but people were willing to pay much more than I thought. The connection between creativity and compensation nags at me.

Not that it matters right now. I'm not going to be paid for singing while washing the dishes or the stories I tell in my head. The daily creativity of how to communicate the same old information in new and interesting ways as I home school is not going to bring in a pay check. But would I change that, even if I could? Isn't there something holy about creating, even if it never gets noticed? 

Now here is the sticky question: would the money demean the holiness, and take away from the purity of the creation? Part of me wants to make one way better more holy than the other, but I can't.

One of the interviews during Hutchmoot (Brown Bannister) mentioned the difference between an amateur and a professional; an amateur creates for the love of it, a professional creates to pay the bills. He was speaking to professionals, as a professional, but he commented various artists feel different pressures in their creative processes, but neither the amateur nor the professional is more holy or more righteous before God.

So here I am, writing a blog that three to six people read, speaking podcasts to my ever-patient husband, and writing a book that my sons keep asking me to read to them.

A Picture's Worth

 I have two blogs started, but they aren't saying what I want to say yet. In the meantime, I took this picture.

 

 

 

I think it says more about what I love and think about than anything I can write.