by J. Douglas Thompson | Apr 24, 2023 | General Information
Wondering while Wandering…
…an artist’s limp toward finding ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
‘May the Rain of Suffering Soften Our Hearts,
Seeping Radiance to Our Thirsty Places.’
J. Douglas Thompson© 2022
Gratitude… Memorial to Paris*
The artist comes
Hair-breadths advance of dawning’s light
Laid back saunter, goatee then
Long held desire, finally born
Seine’s left bank, awash in gilded morning’s light
Misty drizzle worked the night shift
Fades and heads for bed
Cobalt, yellow just arrived, punching in right on time.
Reflecting pools, splashing feet
Steam swirls up
Gossamer ballerinas off cobblestone
Breezes waft, scent of fresh croissant
Baked warm honey bronze, butter drips
Cafetière à piston forces drive, pressing down, toward French roast
Caffeine dark with fresh release
Grounded whiffs from Latin climes
Mornings bliss, again arrives
City of arts.
I stop, inhale, turn, then sniff
Market stirs
Purveyors amble near, from far
Leather classics bound, inlaid on canopied carts.
Floral constellations flash and blaze
Created brilliance radiates
Redemptive tear, it falls
Intricate, so eloquent
With great design it calls
Ignored by most
Day shouts to day, see wisdom here, and
Night by night shows knowledge deep, then
Florals curl and head to sleep.
Young love glides by
Their hands entwined
Others rowing on the Seine
Dripping drops like gilded stones
Circles of concentric float
Vanish into currents deep.
Piaf croons low
Old love she sighs
Long long since lost
Stumbling, shuffling sadness comes
Fiercely grasping warm baguette
Gauloises haze surrounds beret
Circling blue in upward draft
Gently turns and softly says
Seasons, ‘mon jeune homme,’ don’t lightly take
C’est la vie, but then again, it’s very short
So live them well
Each and every day
Today.
Notre Dame, her bells ring wake
Human’s day begins to stir
Chorus wafts cross abstract swells
Grandest organ growls bonjour
Sorbonne’s youth, French chic, blow in
Quickly stand and kisses give
Café au lait, a cigarette
Philosophize, then au revoir
To, live let live.
The artist wanders west then north
Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Élysées
Boulevard amour, at times
Concentric circles instead enshrine
Blowing mad cacophony
Passing fast, without a glance
Architectures high climax
They race, and miss, just feet away
Auguste Rodin his
‘Thinker’ waits, a quiet garden just aside
Bronze patinas smooth, amaze
Song of Solomon, carved in white
The Kiss, its deep embrace in marbles grace
Others dear, are worth a year, a month per chance
Time to give them but a glance.
The Louvre, she calls
Impressions wait
It’s not too late
Monet, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Suerat
Mona, Venus, and Versailles
Even Eiffel, don’t be shy
Across the ville toward Montmartre
To catch a glance of Sacré-Coeur
And peek as artists paint
Wet oil moments of fleeting dreams
Gone so far, gone too fast.
Mais Oui, a lingering lunch of French paté, a Bordeaux dry with warmth of bread, and then…too soon, Ah Paris, I leave you love, yes, once again.
Au revoir.
You stole and guard my painter’s soul
Yes there remains the broken piece
That left a longing ache too long.
Yet in mind’s eye, lives on so strong.
In early years, months of days were given to live within her strong French embrace, and then through decades long, I’ve circled back to come again, each time my heart rekindled with the spirit of true living free – a dance outside the lines – how rich and blessed I’ve been.
Desires wandering heart He gives
Again affords, a nonstop flow
Never once to be out done!
It’s impossible, you know!
I’m thankful, stirred through the rich sauce of nostalgias reminiscence, and yet somewhat thoughtful too, how oft in life I’ve buzz-sawed my mornings, leaving my mouth caked sawdust dry and spurned my months with only skin-deep encounter.
Depth demands circling back, hovering above, chewing well, swirling around and over, time after time, whether toward the sensual or spiritual. Art and spiritual disciplines have this common golden thread to know them well.
Time, silence, solitude, reflection, rest, repentance, practice, patience, repetitiveness and yes, surrender – all requirements of growth toward depth.
If I am to know intimately the one who calls me son, friend, brother and whom I gratefully call Abba or Aslan, the one who names me new, passionately and personally – the artist above all – (his claim, not mine) – I must go and sit in the garden, yes, alongside ‘The Thinker,’ not leaving my brain at the door.
This, a rational passionate journey in mystical relationship – not pie in the sky, by and by. If otherwise, like the man from Damascus, most miserable, deceived and devoid of hope, I might just as well take the ultimate step off the proverbial cliff and leap into cosmic darkness.
If one seeks with the cup of one’s heart full and splashing over, or dry, cracked as dust, you will find, the call floats out, a promise proffered. Then He waits, asking, toasting, slow the pace, ponder, sip, swirl, drink long and deep – come weary one – rest awaits – thirst satiated.
What if?
What if His claims are really true?
Would it affect my vision of beauty and wonder?
Would I, should I, could I
Inhale with fuller anticipation
Taste and chew with greater intensity
Roll the velvet wine much longer
View with fuller wonder
Listen with greater clarity
Touch with softer tenderness
Wait with greater patience
Give with greater playfulness
Love with deeper sacrifice?
Worth a wonder and a wander, a look to see
Sure beats watchin’ bad TV
Provides a touch of hope in me!
And now to you, old friend Paris
Bonsoir – again – my – mon ami!
*Excerpt from ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
Paris in the Rain
by J. Douglas Thompson | Apr 11, 2023 | General Information
Wondering while Wandering…
…an artist’s limp toward finding ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
‘May the Rain of Suffering Soften Our Hearts,
Seeping Radiance to Our Thirsty Places.’
- Douglas Thompson© 2022
Opportunity knocks occasionally as requests arrive to speak at events regarding ‘Why I paint what I paint.’ The following are my notes from a short talk I gave at McMaster Divinity School, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, January 17, 2023. Various parts of this are found in my introductory sections here in this blog. Once again, in this and several blogs to come, I’m laying a foundation of my journey as a creative/painter. I will of course get into the actual acts of putting acrylic paint to canvas or board as we go along in future posts. I prefer to call these posts: ‘Thought Collections on Art and Life through an Artist’s Eyes’ rather than ‘blogs.’
McMaster Divinity School Talk
As I’ve quoted before on various occasions, C.S. Lewis, author of “The Chronicles of Narnia” and Oxford professor stated: “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen. Not only because I see it, but because I see everything by it.” Prolific author, artist, and apologist, G.K. Chesterton, friend and colleague of Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien have together given us the wonder of using artistic imagination as a means of pointing to truth with their nuanced writings! As you’ve no doubt picked up, this too is my chosen world-view.
Chesterton writes, “To be thankful is the highest form of thought and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. Thanklessness, then, must be the lowest form of thought, and ingratitude is discontentment, bankrupted of wonder.”
Welcome to my studio!
Here, working through a painting is physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding and for me a spiritual act. It is not a trite plaything, but involves intense involvement on many levels. This is why my wife warns me by ringing a little bell before entering the studio. I am off in a far country, wandering multiple paths and any sudden interruption can result in a tailspin of PTSD over-reaction. The bell helps me come back to a single point.
The actual act of putting paint to canvas is almost subconscious as simultaneously disparate thoughts and techniques dance their many forms from my imagination through my painting tools, brushes, towels or rags.
Some of those thoughts meander back to my childhood surrounded in institutional and family abuses that occurred living for over eleven years in an iron-fisted enclosed community in western Canada. The trauma from that time has affected my life and work until this day. My early paintings reflected that dark side and were an expression of unresolved issues that presented themselves with symptoms such as depression and anger. Today, after many years of hard work, my life and paintings attempt at presenting more light and hope.
John Ruskin, the famed British water colorist and artistic companion of JMW Turner said,“ The greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something, and tell what it saw in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see.”
My purpose therefore as an artist, is to ‘Make Aware’…to encourage people to take the time to truly savor and care for what they see. The thought that part of my personal act of making art is to be a conduit of pointing toward the Creator is humbling at best.
I personally am a follower of who C.S. Lewis describes as ‘Aslan’ or ‘the Word,’ one who was and yet still is. John 1:1-3 is chapter and verse from the New Testament part of the Bible.“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.” This of course refers to Jesus of Nazareth! The transcendent God becoming flesh to enter with us even now, into our deepest pain and joy!
Caring for the creation as good ecologists is a mandate given to all human kind. I stand with that as part of my faith, to see the natural world as something to be cherished and nurtured…we are to be good ‘gardeners’ in the broadest sense of the word.
I am a wanderer…
I am a broken struggler…
I am in process…
I am a fighter – I’ve chosen hope, when despair attempted complete desolation…
I am thoughtful – pushing back against the obnoxious simplistic…
I am an artist who observes and portrays beauty, both darkness and light…
I am a poet – a lover of all the senses and who gains freedom in savoring them well…
I am called to shed light – and there is light!
— Elizabeth Barrett Browning states, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God; but only he who sees, takes off his shoes — The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.”
Soli Deo Gloria (SDG) is Latin for ‘Glory to God alone.’ Used by artists such as Johann Sebastian Bach and George Frideric Handel, it is added, signifying the work was produced as an act of praising God. I’ve copied their idea and have had many who’ve asked what the letters SDG mean when placed near my signature.
For me, each painting is a small human attempt at reflecting light and expressing gratitude back to the light giver, Jesus Christ, the only incarnation of the creator God in human history.
My hope is that some of my ‘I am’s’ above will push through the rim of life’s mist with the gleam of atmospheric light. Maybe it will encourage some struggler in the darkest depths to persevere while seeking help. For others, it will at least give some insight into my purposes of ‘making aware.’
Part of this is journey was producing a 160 page full colour coffee table book, a compilation of some anecdotal life recollections – Psalms, if you will. There are 61 short essays and/or poems found on the facing pages from the over 100 paintings included in the book. This ‘blog’ has the same title as the book. ‘Radiance Through the Rain.‘
by J. Douglas Thompson | Mar 30, 2023 | General Information
Wondering while Wandering…
…an artist’s limp toward finding ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
‘May the Rain of Suffering Soften Our Hearts,
Seeping Radiance to Our Thirsty Places.’
J. Douglas Thompson© 2023
“By giving words to these intimate experiences I can make my life available to others…” Henri Nouwen*
I’m just a pilgrim, nothing fancy, a wandering artist. I think, ponder long and hard, enquire with difficult questions, listen well, pray fitfully and finally, give myself a chance to engage my will, to choose belief and or not. In my case it has been in the affirmative.
My desire in writing these disparate thoughts is to awaken awareness, encourage endurance, and bless beauty with wild creativity.
To get there however, it is foundational to raise the curtain and set the stage.
There is a backdrop of a dark soul’s night grasping pitons of evasive moving light. A cautious traverse into blue-black darkness. Scaling cumulous light cliffs of silver white gleaming and repelling cavernous thunders dark.
It screams aloud then sings poetic soft, rants honest doubt with hands raised high in simultaneous praise, gratitude, and back splashed worships wonder.
It is full-out conundrum!
It is wild Mustangs, fling of mane and immodest head shake snort as it races freedoms brow. It throws across life’s canvas, savage splashes painted full-out primary and softly, silently, exacts the joy of sepia’s single line.
Sorrow’s cup surges dams brim of broken years as tears flow turbulent heavy in lament while further down, laughter’s joy gurgles long forgotten throat, and calm’s soothing soft.
It is complex… and then to add to that how some theological achromatics are so often painted only as narrow primaries.
It pushes hard against being corralled, yet knows the value of love-directed bit and rein. It expresses sighs of lies, weary worn of legalistic rant. It smiles wide at full bodied, thick tongue-rolled flavor of life’s stolen wine. It is about passion, the aliveness of all that invites the capture of sensual’s five.
It feels dangerous!
It expresses crushing crucible living with painted silhouettes of tree twisted gale dancing, back lit wind living, that seep light as tangos move stage left to sun-dappled grace.
The valley’s struggle sticks sweaty back, tear-stained, years far too long, and finds this wrestler left with strength bereft, face held close in hands cupped warm in hollow soft… the cup of love itself.
This record… a personal journey of raw wounds and bandaged hope, includes the pus of dark abuse and the rim-light of love, affection, forgiveness, acceptance and freedom’s flirtations.
It could take it’s cue from the well-used title of the poem of St. John of the Cross on spiritual sand gravel living, ‘The Dark Night of the Soul.’ Light’s hope is perceived greatest when the backdrop is cave black.
Ultimately, thoughts of devotional gratitude lead along steep cliff paths of praise and joy. Beauty beheld, but not likely, days of cloudless skies and azure blue where care has skipped away, and daisies picked in thoughtless shallow. No, much more likely, it is about misty grey, wet dripping slate grey days that scheme again to take me down and cumulous heights and magic lights that wink warm pink just before darkness comes again.
It is about my push against personal darkness. A pushback at a lifetime struggle with depression, oppression and sometimes misguided spiritualization. My mentor master has the moniker, ‘A man of sorrow and acquainted with grief.’ This sojourner eternal was in the constant crosshairs of the pharisaical and politically expedient until perfection was murdered cold. That mentor, now, sits resurrection high and blows to and fro through Spirit’s soft winds care and chooses bleeding co-authored hands and feet with human skin on, obedience to rim-light hope again.
These are my realities. Just me, a simple struggling human artist. A painter who, in simplicity, perseverance and endurance attempts through the subtle metaphoric to reflect the wild face of his creator friend and his crucified redemptive care and love through the created and sustained cosmos.
To be called devotional may be a stretch. I reflect on Psalms past long, anecdotes of adjacent dark to juxtaposed light, struggle thrashed against conflicted rest, lust, and fragrant bouquets of grace. I’m attempting here to scumble and stroke with words instead of paint, the back-and-forth swing of prose to poetry, with a heart that longs towards redemptions long-lost longings to bring wishful encouragement to fellow stumblers and sojourners.
And yet through it all…Yes, I will praise Him!
“By giving words to these intimate experiences, I can make my life available to others…” Henri Nouwen, Seeds of Hope, Image books December 1997 pp32*
by J. Douglas Thompson | Mar 13, 2023 | General Information
Wondering while Wandering…
…an artist’s limp toward finding ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
‘May the Rain of Suffering Soften Our Hearts,
Seeping Radiance to Our Thirsty Places.’
- Douglas Thompson© 2023
On Sagan and Snow
A close friend of mine recently posted the words of the thoughtful, profound writer and scientist Carl Sagan, along with recent NASA images looking back from space showing our little blue dot in context to the ever-expanding cosmos.
When beginning this ‘blog’ or ‘Thoughts on Art, Life, Philosophy, and Faith from my Studio…’, I said that I might ask more questions than attempt to provide answers. These questions crossed my mind today regarding a recent snowfall last night and the post I read this morning.
In another essay, Sagan makes a statement worth consideration.
‘Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.’ Carl Sagan
Hmmm….? I wonder what or who that might be? Has it, or have they arrived already?
He writes in the post I mentioned…
“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.
The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.
Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.
The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand.
It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”
― Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space
Among those thousands of confident religions, he refers to, a founder of one, (which may or may not actually be in this category) claimed something far greater than just being a person in history who provided great teachings for humanity to follow. In fact, as esteemed author C.S. Lewis stated, and I paraphrase, he must have been a lunatic to claim what he did unless, of course, he was the real deal…hmmm. Was he?
Just maybe we do hold a privileged position in the universe. Let’s take, for instance, his statement ‘mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.’ Why does this ‘mote of dust’ blue look like a rich blueberry floating? Yes, the undergirding of our planet is made of dusty minerals, as are the others, but what covers it here that gives it cosmological uniqueness? Water and its reflective nature. And, of course, the ‘sunbeam.’ Not too close, not too far. Those of us who live in northern climates know that the winter access to that sun is tenuous, both in the amount of light we receive and the amount of warmth. We and all other living things are primarily made of water.
Certainly, we have air to breathe, beauty to behold, love to share, and all of our senses to absorb all the richness of good things. That, to me, to name just a couple, seems ‘like a privilege’ in comparison to the blinding heat or intense cold with bleak dusty death everywhere you look in cosmic deep, if, in fact, you had the miracle of sight to see with. Just maybe we were chosen to belong here, to love here, create here, and to recognize, yes indeed, our puniness in relation to most things, let alone the universe. We also have individual value. Who would have given us that idea? Are we cared for? Do we belong? Is there an ultimate home, or do we drift into the dark cosmic dust forever?
Is our planet just a lonely speck of dust, as is suggested, or something created for existential value and sustained from a source far beyond our puny selves? That whacko lunatic from Palestine that everyone seems to use his name disparagingly in their idle chatter seemed to think so. At least, he claimed to be. Yes, and history informs me well with far more hints than any other historical figure, that indeed, ‘someone was coming to save us from ourselves.’ Hmmm?
Yes, here, I fully agree with Sagan. ‘The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand…and yes, ‘it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.’
Again, interestingly if one studies that one, that lunatic, who claims to have begun it all, from let’s say, ‘The Big Bang’ outward and even now, ever-expanding from one possible multiverse to yet another, or, in the other direction, to the ‘micro-cosmos’ found within each living thing as science discovers the wonders of life itself. Both have the same intrinsic design elements showing us that there are existing galaxies both very near and yet to be explored far beyond.
We humans, however, often, when, through our minds, we have been given to rationally think and ask questions and make choices, have given ourselves too much credit for the discoveries and results we enjoy. We as humans unpeel the onionskins of what has been laid in mystery before us like the ultimate Russian doll.
For instance, last night on this ‘dusty lonely blue dot,’ in Ontario, Canada, along with other areas of North America, a Texas low blew through where we all received millions of tons of snow that blanketed our properties and provided incredible beauty when left untouched. Thankfully, I finally got shoveled out after two days.
Like the planets, which I assume, is maybe named by someone somewhere, we here on planet earth, each of us has our own unique ‘named’ fingerprints. Each snowflake has a completely unique design—trillions of them, even across the acres out my window. All of our eight billion humans and, yes, counting also have special uniqueness in multiple ways. We are not delusional as is suggested; just lost accidental dust balls running to-and-fro until we add to the ‘dusty blue dot.’ Rather we are individually cherished, somewhere by someone, but with greater value than the snowflakes.
I have my own beliefs, obviously, having studied theology for decades. They are not based on mindless random brain chatter, but rather on solid historicity that blows away with a great quantity of other historical documented reality that we accept without question as having complete veracity.
To me, it’s much more a thing of joy to at least have a source for which to say ‘thank you’ when I see the snow through my camera lens or mix paint on my palette as I attempt to mimic on one-dimensional canvas the three-dimensional (at least) objects that pound with the beat of watery life and yes, a little dust. I am constantly grateful.
by J. Douglas Thompson | Feb 27, 2023 | General Information
Wondering while Wandering…
…an artist’s limp toward finding ‘Radiance Through the Rain’
‘May the Rain of Suffering Soften Our Hearts,
Seeping Radiance to Our Thirsty Places.
J. Douglas Thompson© 2022
Mark Making…from mind to reality
An artist paints and displays their work. An engineer designs and oversees construction of a complex bridge. An architect thinks and produces amazing feats of anti-gravitational beauty and grandeur. A chef initially stirs together the delectable sauces in the kitchen of his mind, then, later, mixing and folding actual layers of texture and taste, he or she presents the art to delight the guests palettes with innumerable delicacies.
Art is everywhere!
Why do designer’s design and chefs create?
One grand difference between humans and all other species is the ability to consciously create, making marks, and with those marks, communicating to others. Even our spoken words have their foundation in marks having been previously made.
These marks invite others to swirl and savor their joys or sorrows around the tongues of their minds as they become infused into their lives. The use of line, color, texture, taste, reflection and design bring us up short, causing us to respond to human endeavor and what it does for our souls growth and wellbeing. Out of interest, the ‘human soul’ consists of the ‘mind, will and emotion.’ All of nature is calling us to think beyond just their deep biological structures, asking us to consider the other deeper ‘Why’ questions, including ‘why beauty?’
There are societal segments that demand that beauty is a misnomer and that all is just meaningless, mindless, coincidental, random purposeless particle populating.
There are those of us however given the mantle of producing something from the mind to touch other’s sensibility. This is not simply brain synapses firing randomly but personal soul savoring sharing. These are those responding to their inner gifts with deep creative action based on a hope or dream of an actuality.
As a painter, I spend months each year designing and producing works of fine art. Each piece is carefully completed with the introduction of a more or less abstract underpinning and then the building up layer after layer of paint passages and glazing thin layers over each. Most of those layers eventually lay virtually hidden from view but are held in the depths of the piece and provide the foundation it was built upon. People are often fascinated to see while looking at x-rays of old master’s pieces, where the mind of the artist wandered before settling on his final idea. In the last few days I added a small island with three small trees to a painting, thinking it would enhance the composition. Later, I felt it had done exactly the opposite and so they were covered over. The x-rays would show what I had had in mind and then ultimately decided a different direction.
There is one season of the year that I step aside from my production, carefully placing each piece on my gallery wall, ready for a viewer. My gallery is commercial in the sense that I sell my work from there as well as through other galleries. It is however a place of ‘free exploration’ for anyone who passes my way wishing to indulge their personal senses. These close encounters often bring thoughtful conversation and even sometimes an emotional connection to the art. Sometimes further is the event where someone wants to exchange hard-earned cash for a piece of paint-layered canvas. Why indeed would anyone want to exchange blood, sweat and tears for that?
One reason would be that the artist’s inner soul has leaked and spread out as marks, and is laid bare on that canvas. It invites a soul interaction with the other, who in fact is relating, not necessarily to the art directly but rather a previous life experience that the marks trigger. Somehow it brings back a memory or emotion from their personal life. The soul of the artist and viewer have collided and meshed. The purchaser wants to cherish the memory and thus a transaction happens to anchor the memory permanently on their wall. The ‘marks’ of one’s soul expression leaves the studio to become and to reflect another’s.
The fields clap their hands and flowers bloom with raucous vibrancy to at least attract a bee, but surely there is more. Each marked layer in creation and each mark made by his counterparts made in his image points back to the Creator. The Creator, by his own declaration (John 1:1) has filled the globe with a vast collaboration of his direct input by giving us myriad things to enjoy, touch and taste and also incorporating into our humanness the desire to create further using materials at our finger tips. Like it or not we are expressing our image bearing likeness through those creations and our reactions of them!
“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it.” (Psalm 24:1 NIV)
Mark Making…
