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.

One of the greatest things about the Cornerstone Festival is hanging out with all manner of cool and interesting folks from all over the world, and this year’s festival was no different.

Part of that was due to my status as a speaker this year: folks naturally come up to you after seminars and screenings with questions and additional thoughts. However, I also got a chance to meet up again with some familiar faces, as well as several of the other speakers from Imaginarium and Flickerings, such as Mike Hertenstein (the man behind Flickerings) and Paul Nethercott (a missionary in Japan who is working with the hikikomori there).

John Morehead (no relation) is another. Unfortunately, I was only able to make it to one of his sessions—a Q&A session with several missionaries on how the Church needs to adapt its message to reach fringe groups and whatnot. (The other session of his, on role-playing games, was sort of nixed due to the post-film discussion for Darkon).

John recently sent me the URL for his blog TheoFantastique, and while I’ve only had a small amount of time to make my way through it, it’s already shot to the top of my reading list. TheoFantastique is, as the subtitle suggests, “a blog devoted to the enjoyment and exploration of the imagination and creativity as expressed through science fiction, fantasy, and horror.” However, these aren’t just fanboy rants and raves. Rather, John gets serious about his pop culture… real serious.

Not only will you find academic explorations on topics ranging from depictions of Satan in cinema (including a review of a book by Nikolas Schreck, son-in-law of Church Of Satan founder Anton LaVey) to the exploration of horror in video games, but you’ll find interviews interviews with folks like comic artist Richard Moore (creator of Far West and Boneyard) and Arnold Kunert (who was involved with Ray Harryhausen’s classic films).

John’s also a fan of anime, as this recent interview with Bill Ellis—an associate professor of English and American Studies at Penn State—shows. The interview is very fascinating, and delves into the increasing popularity of anime in America as well as the spiritual underpinnings of the artform—underpinnings that many Americans are ignorant of, but once understood, can add a whole new level of detail to titles like Haibane Renmei and Hellsing.

All in all, a highly recommended blog to bookmark/subscribe to—especially if you’re like me, a Christian who is heavily interested in the various permutations of pop culture and takes such things seriously, but is often frustrated by the rest of the Church’s reactions to such things.

In addition to TheoFantastique, John is also part of the Neighboring Faiths Project (which seeks to find effective ways of communicating the Gospel to other religions and alternative spiritualities such as neo-paganism) and has written several books such as Encountering New Religious Movements (which won a Christianity Today Book Award in 2005).

While we were on vacation, we learned that Madeleine L’Engle died at the age of 88. I’ll admit to not being as familiar with her acclaimed fiction as I probably should be, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the impact her nonfiction, specifically Walking On Water, had on me.

I read Walking On Water at a fairly critical time in my life, when I was first attempting to figure out what it meant to be a Christian and an artist (or at least, one who was deeply interested in art). And I still recommend it mightily.

Even just a casual skimming reveals thoughts and ideas that are charitable, gracious, and above all, filled with a sense of delight and wonder at the creative spirit with which God has gifted all of us. Here are a few random passages:

If I cannot see evidence of incarnation in a painting of a bridge in the rain by Hokusai, a book by Chaim Potok or Isaac Bashevis Singer, music by Bloch or Bernstein, then I will miss its significance in an Annunciation by Franciabigio, the final chorus of the St. Matthew Passion, the words of a sermon by John Donne.

Stories, no matter how simple, can be vehicles of truth; can be, in fact, icons… Stories are able to help us to become more whole, to become Named. And Naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos we see despite all the chaos… When we look at a painting or hear a symphony or read a book and feel more Named, then, for us, that work is a work of Christian art. But to look at a work of art and then to make a judgment as to whether or not it is art, and whether or not it is Christian, is presumptuous. It is not something we can know in any conclusive way. We can know only if it speaks within our own hearts and leads us to living more deeply with Christ in God.

I need not belabour the point that to retain our childlike openness does not mean to be childish. Only the most mature of us are able to be childlike. And to be able to be childlike involves memory; we must never forget any part of ourselves. As of this writing, I am sixty-one years old in chronology. But I am not an isolated, chronological numerical statistic. I am sixty-one, and I am also four, and twelve, and fifteen, and twenty-three, and thirty-one, and forty-five, and… and… and…

If we lose any part of ourselves, we are thereby diminished. If I cannot be thirteen and sixty-one simultaneously, part of me has been taken away.

The painters and writers who see the abuse and misuse of freedom and cry out for justice for the helpless poor, the defenseless old, give me more hope. As long as anybody cares, all is not lost. As long as anybody cares, it may be possible for something to be done about it; there are still choices open to us; all doors are not closed. As long as anybody cares, it is an icon of God’s caring, and we know that the light is stronger than the dark.

It is not easy for me to be a Christian, to believe twenty-four hours a day all that I want to believe. I stray, and then my stories pull me back if I listen to them carefully. I have often been asked in my Christianity affects my stories, and surely it is the other way around; my stories affect my Christianity, restore me, shake me by the scruff of the neck, and pull this straying sinner into an awed faith.

Jeffrey Overstreet has posted his thoughts. Much more information can be found on L’Engle’s website.

Renae and I finally got around to catching Once last night, and we enjoyed it quite a bit. The film caused quite a stir on the festival circuit, garnering the “Audience” award at this year’s Sundance Festival, and it’s easy to see why. It’s a very fetching little film, a musical romance that eschews the usual tropes associated with both musicals and romances, instead opting for a much more subdued, realistic, and sympathetic approach.

Since walking out of The Ross, the movie’s been on my mind, so I thought I’d jot down a few random thoughts and observations on the film (and I’ll try to avoid spoilers).

Continue reading…

I shouldn’t have to say this anymore, but you’d do well to consider making every Andy Whitman writes required reading.  Case in point, his latest entry, entitled “Pulling Up the Drawbridge”:

The problem isn’t movies, or rock ‘n roll. You can retreat from all media influence (or limit that influence solely to the “wholesome” Christian cultural ghetto), hole up in the fortress, pull up the drawbridge, fill the moat with pirahnas, and still find evil, because we cannot escape from ourselves. The problem is “in here,” not “out there,” and until we start to address that we’re focused on the wrong things.

But I think it would be disingenuous to claim that the culture doesn’t influence us, sometimes in negative ways. I love rock ‘n roll, and I write about it for my living (or at least part of my living). I obviously find value in that, and yes, I find value as a Christian. But I’ve also struggled with some addiction issues in my life, including some years when I was a Christian. How did that happen? Because of my own inherent weakness and proclivity to sin, because of genetic disposition, because of peer pressure, because of the lure of idolotry and the promise of an instantaneous buzz instead of the hard work of spiritual transformation. Take your pick. Probably all of the above. But also because I listened to Grace Slick telling me to “feed my head,” and because I watched a bunch of crazy hippies in Michael Wadleigh’s documentary of the original Woodstock Music Festival and thought to myself, “hey, I think I’d like to do that the rest of my life.”