Craig Colorusso’s “sun boxes” is an environmental instrument consisting of twenty solar-powered speakers that contain PC boards loaded with pre-programmed and pre-looped guitar notes. The rising and setting of the sun influences the music, as does the listener’s position amongst the boxes. Or, as Important Records puts it:

Sun Boxes are an environment to enter and exit. It’s comprised of twenty speakers operating independently each powered by solar panels. There is a different guitar sample in each box all playing together making the composition. The guitar samples are all of different lengths so the whole piece keeps evolving.

Participants are encouraged to walk amongst the speakers. It sounds different inside of the array. There is a different sense of space inside. Certain speakers will be closer and louder therefore the piece will sound different to different people in different positions throughout the array. Creating a unique experience for everyone.

There are no batteries involved. The Sun Boxes are reliant on the sun. When the sun sets the music stops. The piece changes as the length of the day changes. Making the participants aware of the cycle of the day.

More information can be found on Colorusso’s blog.

Michael Toscano on how the definition of artistic genius has changed throughout history:

When a modern person thinks of artistic genius, they imagine an individual. Some have quantified genius by standardized exams—for example, the I.Q. test—but most know a genius by his work. The Brothers Karamazov is proof that Fyodor Dostoyevsky is a genius. Be it Shakespeare, Mozart, or Michelangelo, the man of genius is epoch-making because his work acutely affects history and seems to redefine our basic categories of human potential.

Yet in our common imagination, the artistic genius is not only an individual of excellent output, but an individual of a certain disposition. The man of genius is exceptional in intelligence, originality, and creativity. While free from all that restrains the average person, he bears the greatest burden of all: the burden of being him.

What the modern person misses, however, is that this particular sort genius is but a newborn—and not just a newborn, but a bastard. The modern artist-genius, and the entire modern notion of art, was engineered in the cultural and philosophical laboratory of the Renaissance. The Renaissance assault on millenniums-old beliefs about genius gave birth to both the modern idea of Art and artist. History has forgotten what truly made the Renaissance radical—their re-writing of the classical world.

In the classical world, the genius was not a man at all. It was a god.

It can be a fun and very enlightening process to look at a painting or sculpture and “decode” the symbolism contained therein. We did this all the time in my art history classes and when done carefully, thoroughly, and responsibly, it not only fostered a deeper understanding and appreciation of the art in question, it often provided a unique window into the mores and traditions of societies now long gone.

But what Beck does reminds me less of art history class and more of those videos I watched in my high school youth group that “uncovered” the Satanic messages and symbols in the artwork of rock n’ roll records. “If you turn this Blue Öyster Cult album upside down, hold it at a 45° angle, and squint really hard, you’ll see that that tiny white blob in the corner is obviously a pentagram.”

At the 8:04 mark in the video, Beck references Mark 8:18a (“Do you have eyes but fail to see, and ears but fail to hear?”). It’s one thing to have “eyes but fail to see”; it’s quite another to have eyes that only see what you want to see.

If you look hard enough, you can find almost anything you want in a piece of art: communist imagery, Christian imagery, Satanic imagery, etc. That doesn’t mean that that imagery is actually there, or that that is what the artist intended to communicate. (And it’s especially easy to miss that if you begin exchanging the facts surrounding the art that you’re “decoding” for rabbit trails and non sequiturs.)

Imagine Genndy Tartakovsky directing a mix of Danger: Diabolik and You Only Live Twice, and you might come up with something close to this trailer for A Kiss From Tokyo (watch it in HD)—which is actually a promo for Seductive Espionage, The World of Yuki 7, an artbook chronicling the adventures of “swinging 60’s spy girl, Yuki 7”.

I’m a sucker for vintage and exotic spy cinema, so not surprisingly, I love how the trailer pays homage to that particular genre, from the grainy look and transitions to the background projected car chase and the John Barry-inspired soundtrack. I know Yuki 7 only exists within the pages of Seductive Espionage, The World of Yuki 7, but I wouldn’t mind seeing a full-length feature chronicling her adventures.

Scintillation is a gorgeous experimental film by Xavier Chassaing that is composed of 35,000+ photographs stitched together using stop motion and live projection mapping.

FYI, the song playing during the film is “Contre Coeur” by Fedaden.

Mr. Elastic—whose sporting a swank new design, BTW—linked to this video over on Jed Sundwall’s blog. It’s essentially Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” slathered in layers of distortion, and set to accompany footage from NASA’s archives.

I’ll admit, that on a purely surface-y level, there is something quite haunting and beguiling about the video—tons of reverb and distortion will do that to you, I guess. However, while watching the video, and reading Mr. Sundwall’s thoughts, several questions came to mind:

• Does all of the distortion and reverb in the world really cover up the fact that you’re listening to a manufactured pop song by a manufactured pop idol?
• Does the fact that this sounds an awful lot like My Bloody Valentine (due to some fairly easily reproducible studio trickery) diminish or devalue My Bloody Valentine’s music, and the methods they used to produce it?
• Does the fact that the music is paired with NASA footage elevate the song above its roots? Or does it somehow devalue or cheapen the footage?
• Should the intentions of the video’s creator mean anything to you or influence your perceptions of the video as you watch it?
• If the video’s creator claims that there’s no rhyme or reason to it, does that matter? Can it still have any value?
• If postmodernism is, according to the Wikipedia entry that Sundwall references, a cultural, intellectual, or artistic state lacking a clear central hierarchy or organizing principle and embodying extreme complexity, contradiction, ambiguity, diversity, interconnectedness or interreferentiality, in a way that is often indistinguishable from a parody of itself. then can there be any room for criticism or evaluation of the piece in question? Or is artistic criticism and evaluation, which often references or appeals to some manner of objective standard, however incompletely, ultimately a pointless and foolish endeavor?
• And finally—and I ask this with all due respect and no snarkiness intended whatsover—if Mr. Sundwall thinks postmodernism is great, which I assume means that he approves of Wikipedia’s definition, than why does he bother asking the reader their opinion of his opinion? What does it matter if he’s right or not, or if we think he’s right or not? If the hallmarks of postmodernism are “extreme… contradiction, ambiguity, [and] diversity,” than whose to say what’s what?

These questions, and others like them, are certainly nothing new, and they’ve been debated and discussed for ages by folks who are far smarter than I.

I hesitate to say, when it comes to art, that this way or this definition or this method of interpretation is right, much less the only way. Art is a mysterious thing not bound by rational and logical rules. We can’t even come up with a good definition of what, exactly, art is, much less a truly objective way of evaluating it. Hence, at some point, any sort of evaluative system striving for pure objectivity will break down.

But at the same time, I most definitely hesitate to rejoice at the loss of any and all standards and objectivity, to say that “extreme… contradiction, ambiguity, [and] diversity” are the highest and best goals, or that the inability to make a distinction between a thing and a parody of that thing is good.

I’m reminded of a poetry class I took in college, where one of the students argued that it was perfectly fine to read any meaning you wanted into a poem because it’s art—and that’s what art lets you do.

Now, is that right? Or is asking whether that’s right or not, an exercise in futility?

About two weeks ago, I linked to an article on Boundless that called into question Christianity Today‘s review of Sex And The City, as well as CT‘s defense of their review. And one of the criticisms levelled at CT by Boundless (and some of Boundless’ commenters) was their use of a quote by C.S. Lewis from An Experiment in Criticism. You can read the full quote in the CT article, but here are a few snippets:

We therefore delight to enter into other men’s beliefs… even though we think them untrue. And into their passions, though we think them depraved. ...And also into their imaginations, though they lack all realism of content.

...My own eyes are not enough for me, I will see through the eyes of others. Reality, even seen through the eyes of many, is not enough. I will see what others have invented. ...In reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do.

Essentially, as CT points out, what Lewis is saying is that it is entirely natural to see through the eyes of others, and indeed necessary, in order to truly understand them. In the case of literature (or any of the arts, including movies), it allows the reader/viewer/critic to experience how the artist sees the world, to see the truths and views that they hold onto. And this is important because seeing through their eyes, however depraved their vision might be, lets us glimpse the reality of their existence.

Or, to use CT‘s words:

It’s good to sometimes enter into the minds and worldviews of others, even of those we completely disagree with. It’s good to see what the world looks like through the eyes of even the depraved.

Not surprisingly, this ruffles the feathers of many good Christians, which explains the recent Boundless/CT kerfluffle. On the surface, this approach does seem to fly in the face of such verses as Philippians 4:8:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

and Romans 16:19:

...I want you to be wise as to what is good and innocent as to what is evil.

However, we find evidence that this is exactly what someone like St. Paul did. In Acts 17:16-32, Paul is preaching in the city of Athens, a very pagan city. The city’s Epicurean and Stoic philosophers hear his teachings about Jesus and the resurrection and curious, they bring him to the Areopagus (aka “Mars Hill”), where the Athenian philosophers met to discuss the latest and greatest ideas of the day.

Paul begins to reason with them, and here’s where it gets interesting: his primary arguments come, not from Scripture, but from the pagan philosopher’s very own poets (verse 28).

It’s apparent that Paul, at some point, had become immersed in pagan/non-Christian culture and was familiar enough with it to lean on it when necessary. In other words, he had seen through the eyes of the depraved—to understand how they saw the world and find the Truth therein so as to minister to them more effectively. So, the question is, was Paul contradicting himself by exposing himself to pagan culture, in the form of their artwork? Had he somehow stopped being “innocent as to what is evil”?

(On a side note, I sometimes wonder if that word “innocent” is the best translation choice, as it’s a fairly loaded term. Is the innocence with regards to knowing about evil, or with regards to acting upon the knowledge of such evil. If it’s the former, than we are constantly living in error of that Scripture because it’s impossible, in this fallen world, to not know evil—we see and experience it everyday. But if it’s the latter, than whether we act upon that evil, or allow it to influence us and draw us down a darker path is another question.)

As Christians, we “see through the eyes of the depraved” every day. For starters, let us never forget that we’re always seeing through our own eyes, and as Scripture says pointedly in 1 John 1:8, we ourselves are depraved and sinful—even in the midst of our sanctification. Sounds cheesy I suppose, but it’s absolutely true (and the sooner we realize that fact, perhaps the humbler and more gracious we’ll become, Lord willing).

Furthermore, when we interact with someone who is not a Christian on any sort of meaningful level, we are seeing through their eyes—regardless of how depraved we think they might be. We must, to some extent, in order to understand who they are and what their story is.

When I discuss Christianity with my atheist friends, I must see through their eyes—I enter into their worldview even though I completely disagree with it. I do so out of respect, to ensure that I fully understand where they are coming from and don’t mischaracterize their statements, and in order to better address their criticisms. And I would argue that every Christian does the same, in countless ways every day.

This is especially true when analyzing and critiquing art, when seeking to understand books, movies, music, etc. in a meaningful way. In his recent Trinity Arts Conference lecture, Andy Whitman gives several examples of people who, by all indications, lived rather screwed up lives and yet, even in the midst of their depravity, have created music that is rife with Beauty and Truth.

And while it’s certainly possible to appreciate the Beauty and Truth without knowing the backstories, doing so gives a deeper appreciation for the reality that, as Whitman puts it:

It’s touched by God, it’s true, and it reminds me that in the midst of the wreckage and the carnage there are human beings who are infinitely loved. And, when I let it, it can shake me from my self-imprisonment and release me from the captivity of the Kingdom of Me.

Granted, going through this may not require witnessing gross depravity—as some state is the case when watching movies like Sex And The City. But the basic principle is the same, as are the implications.

Doing so doesn’t mean we are acting irresponsibly, or relishing sinful behavior. But it can mean that as Christians, we are attempting to engage people and culture in a meaningful and honorable manner—so long as we are operating within the confines of our conscience and the convictions given to us individually by the Holy Spirit.

Yes, I mentioned the “C” word, because it dovetails so nicely into this topic. As Christians “enter into other men’s beliefs”, to use Lewis’ verbiage, we must keep in mind the fact each Christian carries with them a different set of convictions. And part of that means that we are able to tolerate different things to different extents. This is what Paul writes about in Romans 14.

What may cause my brother or sister in Christ to stumble or sin may have no effect on me, and vice versa. As such, we must approach such things carefully, so that the “stronger” brother—the brother who is not convicted—doesn’t cause the “weaker” brother—the brother who is convicted—to stumble (and while one might be the stronger brother in one situation, they must remain humble because they are almost certainly the weaker brother in a different situation). At the same time, the weaker brother must not force his conviction onto the stronger brother out of hand, or in a reactionary manner.

(For a better analysis of this, check out Christ and Pop Culture’s article “Is this Web Site in Sin?”.)

I am, of course, talking about grace at this point because it is to critical in these stronger/weaker brother situations. We require the grace to understand that we are all wired differently, that we all see things differently even though we are guided by the same Spirit. And when we feel the need to correct one another, our first response must be in grace, and not with reactionary moral outrage and indignation. And we must listen to such correction in grace, so as to take to heart the words of our brothers and sisters and not respond in self-righteousness or pride.

It’s a tricky, convoluted, and messy process to be sure, so much so that some just might not see the value in it (I know that I don’t all of the time). It’s so much easier to respond quickly and off-the-cuff, to make righteous pronouncements that have the weight of Holy Scripture backing them up. And such tactics may have their place, just as a fire and brimstone sermon might be useful from time to time. And while it might get attention, will it really be fruitful in the long run?

I’d argue that 99% of the time, a gentler and subtler tactic—and a potentially messier and more difficult one—is ultimately the better way to go. Again, it requires seeing through the eyes of someone else, but this time, it’s not a “depraved” individual somewhere “out there”, but a fellow brother or sister in Christ—someone on the same “team”. And if you can’t respond to a fellow Christian with grace and understanding, if you can’t speak the truth to a fellow believer in love—if you can’t see through their eyes—than maybe you have no business doing it at all to anyone.

My friend Jared has been living in Romania for the last few years, working with For God’s Children International. One of FCGI’s outreaches is the Fundeni Hospital Playroom, an organization that ministers to children who are at the hospital for extended stays and treatment. The purpose is to provide the children, many of whom are suffering from terrible diseases and ailments, with inspiration, friendship, and emotional support during their long stay.

To help raise funds for the Playroom, Jared and FCGI have put together Hope Illustrated, a book that features artwork, stories, and poems by the children who have been part of the Playroom, as well as photos and stories about the children themselves.

Hope Illustrated is now available for a minimum donation of $15 (US)—click here for more info—with all proceeds going to the Playroom.