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scrawnytreedemon · 3 years

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Victor Frankenstein and Frustration: a Not-Essay, because I can’t structure for shit.

Alright, I’ll try to keep it as clean and concise as I can, but at the end of the day this is a sorta-heat-in-the-moment thing I’m writing while all the ideas and motivation are in me yet. I will be jumping around alot of topics, as this covers alot of ground, but I can’t say I’ll do it with grace: for this, I apologise.

I’ve noticed a trend in online lit fandom, not just on Tumblr, to condense Victor’s character to something roughly following “arrogant, ineffectual and selfish weenie who failed horribly at parenting, who ought not to be taken seriously in any significant way, largely in-due to his constant whining“ --In other words, a right twat.

And here’s the thing: largely, I agree.

However, what I take issue with, I suppose, is largely how this is all framed.

See, fandom has a tendency to sort characters into boxes, and then pick favourites or bête noires from that selection; this is helpful for the largely memetic(as in, shareable,) nature of online spaces; but where I think this thinking falls short is that it tends to divide casts into More Good or More Evil, with little room for nuance.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Victor Frankenstein, by all accounts, is an incredibly frustrating character to witness; he gets way in over his head, isolates himself from his loved ones, leaving them worried, deems those ambitions failed, hides from them, then when shit starts hitting the fan, he takes initial actions to try and mitigate the consequence, hits a roadblock, either stops their or chooses an even worse option, someone else gets hurt, he whines, rinse and repeat until the final act of the book, as the stakes get higher and higher and his mental state deteriorates more, and more, and more. If you look at this entirely from an outsiders’ perspective, as you, the audience, being subjected to his moaning time and time again, it can wear on you and your sympathies-- Needless to say, I Get It™.

I think, however, it needs be remarked that Victor is also just some guy.

What I feel is often missed, is that even before Victor goes to university, he has just suffered the loss of his mother, with little time to recover, and that all of this is being told in hindsight, on his deathbed.

When Victor took on, all by himself, at twenty-two years old, not even letting anyone else know what he was up to, the monumental task of creating life, and then finding that life horribly botched, he did not have the perspective that what he created was equivalent to a newborn child-- For all he knew, he might have animated an actual demon. It isn’t until two years later, after the death of his little brother at the hands of said demon, the he’s even remotely made aware of this.

Victor had worn himself out over the course of several months, physically and mentally, to this one task. He was not equipped to deal witht he consequences. I do not say this to downplay the weight of his actions, or the horrible mess of events that come afterwards, but to state perspective. Victor does not have the hindsight we have at the time of this act. I cannot stress this enough. As much as I enjoy Deadbeat Dad Vick jokes, I get the feeling many people actually view the story from this lens, and hold Victor up to that standard.

Then there’s the trial of Justine: a horrible, useless, unneeded and avoidable affair that ends in even more senseless death. This is where alot of people’s sympathy for Victor runs out-- For more than understandable reasons. He failed to act accordingly, to share the information he had, deeming it to be either dismissed instantly or for himself to be put under scrutiny; it’s clear he’s passionate about Justine’s innocence, but he cannot push himself past his fear and doubt, and ultimately, it ends in her death.

It is a horrible, horrible moment, and one that cements the tone of the story from there on out.

These are two key events that largely colour this image of Victor so prevelant online; and it certainly doesn’t help, what with fandom being almost aggressively left-leaning at times, that Victor comes from a place of privilege; he is almost tailor-made to push all the buttons of fandom sensitivities.

Let me elaborate.

A key feature of Victor’s character is his complete and utter inability to ask for help; no matter how dire the situation. Victor feels, that, despite and even because of his incompetence, that it is his cross and his cross alone to bear. Any inolvement from others, such as Clerval when he heads to England, is hesitant and highly discouraged, even when he wants nothing more than to partake in the company of his loved ones, after all he’s been through. While it is also heavily coloured by the anguished sentiment that borders on self-absorption so much of the time, I think it is also worthy to examine this too.

Victor’s tendency to indulge in self-pity and self-loathing is nigh, if not entirely, all-consuming; it pervades the narrative to a painful degree, particularly as it comes from his recollections; it is often exhausting to read through, and nigh unbearable if you already hold a disdane from his previous actions; but here’s the thing I think most people miss,

Victor is depressed.

I don’t mean “ooh, he’s so sad, leave him alone 🥺,“ I mean the guy is fucking depressed, stuck in a constant cycle of attempting to make do but failing, hating himself even more, letting it consume him because he at once feels like he deserves to be consumed and it’s the only thing he can do then and there to soothe to pain as shit gets worse and worse.

Victor Frankenstein’s internal monolgue is a prime example of deep-seated, far-gone depression, and I say this because I myself have experienced and do experience this. Depression is fucking soul-sucking, man; it turns you in on yourself, makes you feel entirely undeserving of love and compassion, leaves you feeling like you must, have to, deal with this entirely by yourself because it is your cross to bear.

Depression is so often self-flagellating and pointless, leaving the subject drained and often largely unable to experience the world outside their own miserable little bubble.

Victor is so wrapped up in this soul-sucking guilt, attempting to fight his own ineffectuality and in doing so only furthering his own ineffectuality, refusing to ask for help, that he ends up putting the ones he’s trying to protect in further danger as he tries to scramble a hodge-podge solution to the problem he created and couldn’t have even begun to forsee its consequences at twenty-two years old. It is a painful, painful example of how if only he reached out, if only he told someone, was honest, all of this could have been avoided, or at least mitigated.

And I think that’s the thing with Victor.

He’s a kind of banal evil-- If such continuous stumbling can even be considered so --He is an example of every day self-isolation and refusal to let anyone else in ballooning to such a degree it ends in distaster.

People are far, far more willing to forgive Adam for his transgressions-- And I say this as someone far more sympathetic to his plight, what with the absolute abandonment he faced at the hands of humanity --Despite their far more horrific consequences; in many ways, they’re attributed to Victor’s failing; which isn’t entirely untrue,

But I have to wonder, if alot of this also comes down to the fact that Victor’s wrongdoings are so human; leaving someone in your care behind; not speaking up in cases of injustice; being self-involved; again, the constant whining. In a way, it’s the sentiment that in stories a horrible person is often far more bearable than an annoying one.

That doesn’t even begin to touch on how much of the bemoaning might largely be and often is directly post-hoc regret colouring all his previous actions. This, above all else, is a cautionary tale to a fellow idealist in the hopes that Robert Walton doesn’t Fuck Up the way he did. Victor stresses his regret and his failings and his misery time and time again because he wants to protect Robert from a similar fate; a fate that ultimately ends in his death.

Victor Frankenstein is a study in frustration; in audience frustration, self-frustration, narrative frustration; it seeps into every corner of the story.

I am not trying to defend Victor Frankenstein as a person; he is flawed; and he’s meant to be flawed. Victor, at the end of the day, is a deconstruction of the Byronic hero-- Of Great and Powerful Men on the Fronteers of History™-- And most importantly, I think, a deconstruction he himself undergoes. Victor eventually alerts someone, a Genevan magistrate, is doubted just as he feared, and then runs off to take revenge into his own hands.

It takes the death of Elizabeth Lavenza to do so.

Victor is a flawed, miserable man, but not an evil one. That doesn’t mean he deserved to have his life crumble around him.

He could have done better. Should have done better.

And he knows this.

His entire arc is about how he knows this.

Victor dies knowing this.

Him being unlikable doesn’t make him a bad character. Him being unlikable is part of the character; and in a meaningful way.

God, I don’t know how to end this. I’ll probably come back and edit this many, many times.

I guess I’m just tired of people flattening characters just because they’re not particularly endearing.

#frankenstein #scrawny speaks #scrawny rambles #analysis #victor frankenstein #there's probably even more i want to say and will regret failing to touch on #and believe me i do see the irony in a thinkpiece about victor frankenstein so laser-focusing on him #i really do #but it's kinda all the energy i have for #point is i don't think victor is a particularly good person #or admirable in any way shape or form #but that doesn't mean his character doesn't have worth #and i guess i'm tired about all of this just getting... tossed out the window #fandom is fun but also exhausting #he's a weenie yes but he isn't j us t a weenie can we please acknowledge that?#he's a guy. some fucking guy who fucked up. like alot of fucking guys who fucked up.#i wonder how much of this is also The Protagonist Complex #wherein we insert ourselves and go 'i would have done this better!'#because BELIEVE ME i hope i'd be far more empathetic and far more... Less That #but i don't know and i won't pretend to know #and i do wonder if some of this comes down to people not wanting to sympathise with a Bad Person because then it means they could be Bad #spoiler alert: yes. all of us have the potential to be miserable weenies.#none of us are safe.#i want to stress *potential*#please don't leap down my throat #ughghjg i'll stop. hopefully this was... Okay. i guess.#long post

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cryptidcalling · 4 years

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I’m trying to develop Epon more so I did what I do best; make a list of bullet points

-Loyalty, of course, is one of his key traits. He’s loyal to Urik, but his loyalty isn’t specific to her. Once he’s grown close to someone he will stand by them. However, if it comes out that person has been doing bad things or lying/tricking him he will get very emotional and upset, and it will be very difficult for him to ever want to trust them again.

-He’s just really bad at forgiveness honestly, and it’s because he commits so hard even when no one asked him to.

-He doesn’t really get out much. It’s usually a cycle of go out, punish the lawbreaker, go home, work on finding a new lawbreaker to punish. He doesn’t spend much time in the mortal world, and because of that he doesn’t have many friends that aren’t work related.

-That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want friends, but he also doesn’t really seek them out. If he were to find himself in a situation where he’s actually getting along well with a new person he would be excited about the possibility of friendship. But he also has no idea how to gauge what’s friendship and what’s just friendly. He could have known this person for years, but without the verbal confirmation that they’re friends he won’t ever actually know.

-He spends a lot of his free time sparring and training his magical abilities. Not just because he needs to be prepared for quests, but also because he genuinely enjoys it. He finds a lot of excitement especially in no-magic sparring. He doesn’t get jealous of other people’s strengths and powers, but instead has great admiration for those who have great abilities. Unless, of course, they’re used for evil.

-Over all he’s a friendly individual, if a bit out of touch. He is fairly curious about the mortal realm and how things work there, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to explore much on his own terms.

-He dresses in a very minimalist way for the most part, but you can still tell his clothes and equipment are high class stuff. His boots have golden clasps, his sword is made of shining steal and the hilt is covered in decorative engravings, he wears those long gloves that go to halfway up his upper arm but also have no fingers (aka they’re completely useless and only for style), etc. This man got that goddess money.

-He is immune to most heat and light damage, including the sun. This means he can’t get sun burns, and he can stare directly at the sun as much as he wants.

-His sense of humor consists mostly of dry humor and dad jokes.

-He’s claustrophobic, and will panic in tightly enclosed spaces. Because of this, he avoids things like caves and even small shops that have shelves crammed together, and large crowded events where, in a case of emergency, he wouldn’t be able to easily escape the crowd.

-He never actually went to school as a child, instead staying home to help his family with their tavern/inn. Once he began serving under Urik, she taught him to read and write, as well as the important bits of history. Despite her efforts, he still can’t do math very well. He can handle addition and subtraction for the most part. Enough to handle the basics of life. But he struggles with anything more complicated than that, including multiplication and division.

-He’s very dependent upon Urik. His life’s purpose is tied to her, she supplies him with a home, clothes, and food, she’s his closest companion, she grants him with his increased strength and powers, basically everything stable in his life is from her. If something were to happen to their bond and he had to survive without her, even for just a week, he would be entirely hopeless and broken. He almost doesn’t know how to be a functioning person without her anymore.

-He definitely believes actions are more important than words, and that the sword is far mightier than the pen. This is both good and bad in some cases. On one hand, he doesn’t say things without doing them or proving that he means it. On the other hand, he often doesn’t think things through quite as thoroughly as he had ought to. He still wins in battles and the like, but there’s often extra unneeded damage or injury that could have been avoided with more careful planning.

-His favorite flavor of thing is red velvet, although he doesn’t have a favorite red velvet food in particular.

#epon tag #I hope this helps make him feel more defined!!#if you have questions feel free to ask!

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spaceorcs-blog · 6 years

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Officer log - 18945 Planet - Kor'Salva General Hasbing

A puff of a cigar can be heard

When the humans first arrived to help us in the war against a rogue AI, I thought they would be completely useless. They are soft and pink, they have no claws, no natural armor, not even any psionic abilities. In every way, they are weak and helpless. Yet, here I am smoking one of their poisonous plants, with two robotic limbs made by them, after being carried, me, a 9 foot beast of a Kor'thar, to safety by one of their medics. The galaxy is truly a strange place. Well, I should start from the beginning, shouldn't I?

One month ago, our newly made allies offered to help us in defense of our homeworld. A rogue AI decided that we were not efficient enough, had deemed us unneeded. It started a war. Initially, it looked like we would win. Then it started deploying robots faster than we could fire our plasma rifles. We were pushed back off that continent in only three days. So when the offer from the humans came in, we accepted, knowing it wouldn't do us any good.

A soft chuckle could be heard

The first day they arrived they dropped almost a million bombs from their ships. Destroyed almost all of the factories producing the robots. The AI could only get it’s shields up at the last moment, or the war would have ended then and there. Unlike our ships, all controlled by an AI, thus deemed useless as they turned on us, the human's pilot their own. They shove hundreds of their own inside the metal coffin and hope no one fucks up. One wrong button pressed and it's all over, yet they do it anyway.

Then they landed. They didn't even have plasma weapons. Just little balls of metal and explosives. Yet those balls of metal cut through the shields like they didn't exist. Although they didn't do much to the robots themselves. Yet, they keep shooting. Their weapons shot so fast that they literally cut the robots into pieces. I could only stare in horror as I imagined what those things would do to a living being. A slow, painful death. Never had I been gladder that someone was on our side.

I marched with these humans. I told them of the landscape and what to expect. They merely laughed and pulled out a small metal plate that had everything already on it. Apparently, they already set up satellites above us. Again, with no AI to assist them. They had their best and brightest doing calculations constantly to adjust to the new atmosphere and gravitational pull. All within an hour of our alliance. Why not use an AI I asked. They merely laughed and said they did once. It was wrong and caused a satellite to crash into a city. The humans then regulated them, restricted their use, then slowly phased them out. Even now, using what had happened with this rogue AI, they are at the intergalactic senate demanding the restriction of their usage. We are right there behind them, as they are here behind us right now.

The first battle went well. The humans used explosives to take out the hovertanks, placing them underground as to disable their movement. They then cut them down with their metal firing weapons. Someone even flaked them from behind and used fire, YES FIRE, to melt the internal components of the robots and cause them to shut down. We were practically useless in that fight. They sustained only a few casualties, using their smaller frames to hide behind broken walls and rocks, something that our species are too large to fully hide behind.

There were even shots that took the enemy out in only one 'Bullet' as they called the metal balls. They were so far away I couldn't even hear the roar of their fire. It cut the robot in half. They called in an Anti-Tank Rifle, or something along those lines. The rest was lost in translation, as we do not have an appropriate word of the rest of what was said.

From there, things went well. The humans cut through the robots like a scythe through wheat, as the human saying goes. Then we got to the final factory. The one where the AI was being stored. It was hell. Some human that called himself, Aus-train-an, said it was 'Fucking gallipoli all over again', this seemed to cause another human, one from, New-ze-land to laugh. It was not a happy laugh.

The assault took five days. The longest fight this world had ever seen. The AI seemed to have adapted their shields, meaning the human 'Bullets' were no longer as effective. So they attached metal shards to their guns and charged. Thousands died that day. The sand was mixed with human red blood, green Kor'thar blood, and black oil. The humans dubbed that day, R-Day. We have accepted that name.

I was in the first wave. Alongside my fifty royal guards and a platoon of humans. The robots had started making human weapons. They were not as effective as what the humans had, but they still bleed us. Our personal shields were useless, many throwing them off to the side as so they are not weighted down by junk.

The factory had large AA guns, meaning we had no air support. But that didn't stop the humans. They tried over and over, again and again, to bomb that factory. They had to fly low, almost touching the factory, to get inside the shield. When they took a hit they could not recover from, they simply drove their aircraft into the factory, killing themselves in the prosses. Those airmen are the only reason we even took the factory. They will not be forgotten.

On the ground, we were cut to pieces. Men and women falling in a hailstorm of bullets. Yet still, we pushed on. Never stopping. The medics were the bravest of all. They ran headfirst into the line of fire, again and again, to drag the wounded out. The doctors were setting up their medical tents well in range of the factory to help people quicker. It was one of these brave souls that saved my life.

My royal guard was cut down in seconds, most the platoon charing with me also died in the initial firefight. Yet somehow, I survived. I received many cuts from the bullets fired my way, I was later told that I took three to the chest and kept going. That I was mad with bloodlust. It was when I finally reached the walls of that factory, a bomb specialist right behind me, that I was finally taken down. A robot, one of many sent out to stop the charge, saw us. The bomb specialist was busy setting up his charges. It was my job to protect him. So I did what was needed to be done.

My weapon was useless, so I took the humans. I did not know how to use it, but that did not matter. I ran at that creature, being shot again and again by its weapon, yet I could not care. I drove that shard of metal right through its core and emptied the weapon into it, destroying it. I charged another, then another. I lost count of how many I speared with that weapon. All I remember is that I was too close to the bomb. The specialist tackled me to the side, taking the brunt of the explosion for me. Unfortunately, my left arm and left leg were caught in it. The human shielded my body with his corpse, saving me once more as the hoard walked past us.

Eventually, the humans pushed up to us again, and a human medic, a young girl who barely looked of age, grabbed me, put me over her shoulders, and ran back to safety. Even after being shot in the leg, she continued to run with me on her shoulders. I owe my life to that young human and my planet to the human race.

Apparently, I was out for the rest of the battle. Humans operated on me day and night. They were not familiar with our body structure, so they had to work slow. Luckily, my men, ever loyal, offered their own blood so I would not bleed out. They replaced my limbs with cold metal, they taught me how to walk on them, how to write with them, how to live with them.

I am not sure what I will do next. This is my last day of active duty. I am too broken to be of use anymore. Apparently, the humans want me to go with them. To learn from them. To help them learn. I think it will be a good change of pace.

General Hasbing, signing off.

#humans are space orcs

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acarnivalofstars · 7 years

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Ensemble Stars Scout Translation: Eccentric “Year End Party with Old Friends” Part 2

Shu confirmed the Mom Friend of the Oddballs.

Special thanks to both Shoe and Dreamy for proofreading!

Shu and Wataru are walking through the shopping district when they run into Kanata. Shu may or may not give them both lectures on how to spend money.

[Shopping District]

Shu: Wataru. I have wished to tell you this for some time, but what you lack is something called "shame."

Drawing people`s attention with gaudy gestures and a loud, idiotic voice...It’s embarrassing to even walk with you.

Wataru: Fufufu! By the course of these events, it feels as if you will start perusing the Bible and start lecturing me. Won’t you talk about something more enjoyable?

I do not think the reason why our ancestors Adam and Eve bit into the fruit of wisdom was to increase the vocabulary of my old friend so that he could preach to me forever, yes?

Yes, everything is for the sake of love…...☆

Shu: To think that you would make reference to the Bible. You should think a bit more before composing phrases.

And besides, I dislike that tendency of people thinking if they put love in a package then they will be forgiven for anything.

The things that vulgar people refer to as love and such are usually simple excuses to justify their cliched desires.

Love should be regarded as a more elevated, unshakable truth.

Wataru: Ahaha! To hear Shu say “love” makes me very happy for some reason! Although, I do take you to be a “person of love,” however ♪

Shu: Hmph…...In the same vein, although you cry out about “love, love, love,” even now I don’t think you correctly understand what it means.

I can only feel pity towards you. Aah, this world is overflowing with structural defects today as well.

Wataru: That is exactly why it is interesting! It is also what gives living worth! Do you not think so as well?

Amazing! It is because it is incomplete that it is of great interest! This world is a pleasant box of surprises…...☆

Kanata: Wataru~♪ Shu~......♪

Wataru: Oh, oh, oh? I hear the voice of a nostalgic old friend’s voice from somewhere! Although I can hear their voice their figure is concealed. Where are you~? Are you over here~?

Shu: Wataru. I am tired of seeing that magic trick of yours where you increase the size of your ears. Although it is rather admirable, just how many magic tricks do you have stored up?

Wataru: That number is equal to how many worldly desires exist!

In order to deliver Amazing to anyone wherever and whenever, this Wataru Hibiki is always ready! Ahahahahahaha…...☆

Kanata: Fufufu. You’re lively as usual, aren’t you~......♪

Wataru: Ohh, we have found you! Hello there, Kanata. To meet you outside is rare!

I am your very own Wataru Hibiki…...☆ And your very own Shu Itsuki is here as well…...♪

Shu: I am not anyone’s possession.

…...What is the matter, Kanata? You seem to be crouching down. Is your condition not well perhaps? If you’d like, shall I arrange for an ambulance?

Kanata: I’m alright~ Thank you. You’re a “kind person,” aren’t you?

Shu: This is the first time I have ever been called something like that since I was born.

Wataru: Is that true? This is a surprise. Can the people around you not see with their eyes perhaps?

Kanata…...If you cannot move then I shall carry you with a “piggyback.” I have faith in my arm strength!

Shu: Wataru, you are reckless so you shouldn’t. I will carry you on my back, Kanata.

Kanata: Uwaah~......♪ I’m happy, but I really am “okay”~

I just don’t have enough “water,” so I am all dried-up and about to “wither up completely” is all.

Wataru: The winter air is dry after all!

Aah, is that why you are squatting in front of a vending machine? You intended to buy a drink, so you used up all your strength while on the edge?

Kanata: No, no~ When I went to go buy a “drink,” I realized that I didn’t have any “money.”

I spent a “little too much” at the “aqua shop”......♪

Shu: Aah, there’s fish tanks piled up near you…...you bought all of these?

But even if you couldn’t carry them all home with you, wouldn’t it have been fine to let them mail it to you?

Kanata: H~m. If I “mail” them to my “home,” they end up getting “confiscated” so~

I intended to carry them all on my own to the “clubroom” for the “Marine Life Club.”

It is already “winter break,” so there is no one in the “club room”......

Even if I “mailed” it there, I can’t “pick it up,” so I had no other choice but to “carry” them, you see?

Shu: Hmph…...I understand, but if that is the situation then you should have held back from buying large goods. For goodness sake, no one here thinks about the consequences.

Kanata: Ufufu~ Whenever you think “I want to buy this” is the “time to buy” ♪

Wataru: Fuhaha! Allow me to agree with you! Impulsive shopping enriches one’s life!

If I were to think about it sensibly, there is a great pile of unneeded things in my room as well. It is a mountain range of possibility and destiny…...☆

Shu: Both money and room space are limited are they not? Caarefully examine and think about it before purchasing your possessions.

…...But anyhow, let us get Kanata something to drink.

Wataru: I agree! If Kanata were to become a dried fish at this rate then it would be painful!

Let us go, let us go, a drink for Kanata we shall buy, oh! The water of life!

Kanata is bad with hot drinks, yes? Shall we go with mineral water, then? ♪

Kanata: Thank you very much~ Please splash water onto me ♪

Shu: No, no, if you were to bathe in water under this cold weather you would catch a cold or even worse freeze to death. Just stick to drinking it.

This is a street full of people. You should refrain from such eccentric behavior, yes?

Well, even if I try to preach common sense to you lot it’s useless. In truth, it feels as if I’m pouring water with a ladle that’s lost its bottom.

#ensemble stars #enstars #あんさんぶるスターズ！#あんスタ #karen tries to translate

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feed-our-souls-too · 7 years

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An Open Letter to the Christians and Christian Artists In My Life

Please read this short post first.

“ Over the last year I have found myself struggling greatly with how God, art, the church, and I are meant to mesh. Almost as often as I’ve thought about it, I’ve also stayed silent about it, for a variety of reasons. Mainly they were because I did not feel like I had people to talk to about it and because I felt unsure of my own thoughts… and, well, because I might just talk your ear off if you get me going on the topic, haha.

Maybe I should rewind a little bit and first discuss how I’ve come to view art.

I’m not completely sure how, but as I was growing up the message I received about art was that it was ultimately not important. Somehow I learned that people consider art to be frivolous and that often the church has little use for art and artists. So many little comments have stuck with me, things people said that they never realized told me such a message: the people who talked about the importance of creative gifts like carpentry (but not things like drawing) told me my art was only valuable if it had practical uses; the girl who commented about how “every song Christians write should explicitly mention Jesus” told me my art was only valuable if I was painting Biblical things; those people who’ve said things like “art is nice, but it’s not what people in third world countries need” told me that beauty, that my art is a waste of time; those people who argued over church décor have told me that beauty just creates conflict; and so go the comments that rarely talked directly about art and the comments that didn’t talk about art at all. Yet together they formed my rough picture of what art is. Frivolous. Of little value.

This might help you non-artists to understand a little what it feels like: http://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/how-to-discourage-artists-in-the-church

The thing is, I’ve realized that I need it.

I’ve long felt that art was pretty, but unneeded. And I’m afraid the church has unintentionally taught me that. Here I come to what I opened with, that I felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I have realized that I have unintentionally split my close friends into two groups: the Christians and the artists. I have my close Christian friends, who I go to when I need help with God stuff, and my close artist friends, who I go to when I need help with art stuff. Now I know some of you claim both as parts of your identity, so don’t think that I’m ignoring that. The thing is, my artist friends, I don’t know much about your relationships with God. When we talk, it’s rarely about such things. Is Christianity something you just label yourself with? Or do you really want Him? Does He really matter to you? Then again, I could be just as much at fault. I think far more than I act and often I speak even less. I don’t know what you could say you know about my relationship with God. Either way, I have been hesitant to start a conversation about art and faith with friends whose faith I knew so little about.

As for those select few I regularly go to concerning my walk with God, I will be blunt for the sake of honesty: I did not expect you to understand. I’ve wanted to ask for your help, but sometimes I haven’t had the clarity of vision to tell if I am trying to persuade you to tell me to prioritize art when I should actually be acting more practically, or if you actually understand me and how God feels about it. Maybe I didn’t expect you to understand because I felt that no matter how much you supported me, your underlying attitude couldn’t be much different than those Christians I’d encountered through books and the internet and in my own churches. I can’t blame them much though. They just saw art as something that the hungry couldn’t eat and the homeless couldn’t find shelter under. They were just being practical and asking that I be practical too.

But then, you all know me. I’m a bothersome contradiction. I have a need to be practical, yet art isn’t inherently practical (unfortunately, neither is my artistically inclined mind)–but I need art nonetheless.

You know, that’s actually a really scary thing to say… because if I spout all this stuff about the value of art and my need for it, more over the world’s need for it, I feel a lot of pressure to do something great with it. Maybe that’s the reason for writing this, to convince myself to not give up, to work toward something great and whether or not it ends up great in the eyes of anyone besides God is left up to Him. This matters because creating art has always been hard. I lack discipline many days. But these days, I am also discouraged. In my ear, a shadow of myself, the me who is supposed to be practical and responsible and a very good Christian girl–that Good Girl–whispers. She tells me art is impractical and useless in God’s Kingdom. She tells me how I haven’t done a good enough time with my other responsibilities and so I don’t deserve to do art yet, because that’s just an extra in my life. She tells me I’m not good enough anyway and I’ll never be good enough. She asks me unanswerable questions about “What happens if I fail?” She drags me around and get’s me tired with all the things I’m not doing well enough, so that there’s no desire to be creative left.

You see, I’ve also only recently come to realize that I don’t value my own art.

That’s also a hard thing to say. I think it’s because saying that feels like I’m saying I don’t value me. Ultimately, as sad as the idea is now, I know I could be content with life if God led me elsewhere and art was not in that direction, because it would be God’s leading. But I feel that God has woven art deeply into my soul. It takes a lot of me to create things. Art is personal. I guess it has to be if God put some of Himself into us (the breathing into), that we too put some of ourselves into our creations.

That Good Girl-me, though, also whispers lies into my ears about how I fit into the church. I worry about the Christian culture of art. I wonder if my art is has a place there sometimes, a place in the eyes of my Christian family. Who then can I go to for encouragement in art? I need it, I’ve realized. I need so greatly to be pushed to keep creating, to finish things, to explore new possibilities. And I know God cares about art.

Yet, I see a complacent Christian attitude towards art. No, it’s not the most pressing issue out there by a long shot, but the Church did once understand that art was important on some level (and at times they even valued it too much). Today I see Christian films and books and other “creative” media with pat answers and cliché endings. We used to be known for our quality, beautiful crafts. Now, I see a severe lack of raw, honest things and instead a real push to display only one well-groomed side of Christianity. Where are the things that mirror my reality? The things that challenge me to think about God in new ways? The things that tell the brokenness of this world that it is ok to feel broken? Where do I belong in this largely fakey Christian culture? Thankfully, it seems that Christian media is beginning to awake to something better, slowly…

I’m so glad for those few people who have guided me to where I am now on this topic, enabling me to begin to see the value of art. People like pastors who gave me opportunities to use my talents in the church. People like professors: the theology teacher who had us do a project that involved analyzing or creating art; or the art and design teachers who talked openly of struggling creatively and praying over it, or who talked about regarding the time working on their art as sacred time. People like Makoto Fujimura, whose lecture I attended as part of an assignment, where he talked about finding in Jesus the framework, the only worthy justification for the beauty he creates. And when the whole of my university reeled in the aftermath of the shooting, I saw all sorts of people turn to art for help, hope, and healing, to guide them in seeing beauty–with the intention of seeing God–in the midst of horrible tragedy. It is quite possible that it will forever remain the most beautiful and vivid expression of the Body of Christ that I have ever seen. Through these things, I am beginning “to find in Christ Himself an integrating premise behind beauty.”

Till now, in my limited view of God I have not had a wide enough field of vision to see that sometimes those things which appear to be “extra” and “extravagant” and “not truly needed” are desperately needed. Jon Forman from Switchfoot puts it perfectly by saying, “What is more Christ-like: feeding the poor, making furniture, cleaning bathrooms, or painting a sunset? There is a schism between the sacred and the secular in all of our modern minds.” Maybe, in spite of that desperate need though, I won’t do something “great.” But I think I’m learning to see the greatness in what God might do in me with it. I can see the ways He will force me out of my comfort zone and at the same time the ways that He will require me to learn to make my faith and my art my own. I can see the ways He might grow my trust in Him.

Sometimes I think about not trying to pursue a career in art. I think about how I’ve dreamed big but could fall short. I fear I won’t be good enough, and I don’t even mean just how well I can draw. I mean in God’s eyes. I think it’s impossible that I’ll ever so anything with it, even small, but I realize it’s just the fear talking. I realize that as much as I hate job hunting and would possibly loath having to work random jobs, it’s possible that being an artist could be scarier. For a long time, I thought–though I did not realize it–that my art was an excuse to hide from my fears. Won’t it be easier to pursue a job you want than it was to accept that position as a cashier you hated? Or apply for that job as a receptionist you think you won’t be any good at? It’s not any easier. Rarely is my art an excuse for me. No, I have to fight to create. Some days, it terrifies me.

As I type these things, I feel such a strong need. It’s an ache that sits in the deepest part of soul, asking for beautiful things to be needed. Maybe part of it is because I have long struggled with feeling needed myself. Maybe part of me fears that I am not needed by His church because my talents are “extra” and “extravagant” and “not truly needed.” Under all these thoughts, there’s little light left to see the paper. Under the weight of all these things, there’s little strength left to lift my pencil.

Then I guess that says something about me. About my unwillingness to trust Him with it. My “need” to worry. My unwillingness to be seen stumbling, to embrace that things about me that aren’t “good enough” yet. My unwillingness to see that not all mistakes are sins and that God made me as I am, mistake-making abilities and all. Not because He made a mistake in how He made me but because I made a mistake in my understanding: that mistakes are always bad things and that they must be hidden. That does no one any good. Instead it is the reverse: mistakes are not always bad and they must not be hidden. The depth of my emotions about all these things does not give me license to not trust Him with my mistakes and weaknesses.

Fujimura’s words resonate with me on such a deep level. What could justify such creation? What can justify the beauty and the extravagance? Long have I been /among the ranks of those who scoffed when a “bouquet” was brought in. Like the disciples said of the woman who anointed Jesus, I’ve murmured such comments as, “Why waste this perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s pay. The money could have been given to poor people."

But if God is beautiful and good and the creator, then I guess beauty and good things and creation must be needed here. ”

“The artisan puts flesh on the work of the Spirit, and makes that reality visible for others to experience.”

T. M. tells a wonderful story about Johann Sebastian Bach, the great eighteenth-century composer. Now Bach loved his coffee. And in honor of his passion, he wrote the “Coffee Cantata,” which involved a funny drama about a father and daughter arguing over the daughter’s love for the bean. The music itself, T. M. says, is as rich and beautiful as any of Bach’s famous sacred pieces.

And that was on purpose. “For Bach,” T. M. writes, “even the most ordinary things of life could convey a message of divine glory and pleasure, even your morning cup of coffee. Great art functions like this, taking as its focus common … subjects and using them, in the setting of a big, sweeping vision, to communicate a simple message.

“In Christian art,” T. M. continues “whether the images are saints and martyrs or a parental dispute with a daughter over the supposed evils of coffee, the message remains the same: Life has meaning and beauty when it is lived within the framework of the overarching majesty, goodness, and love of God.”

From https://www.breakpoint.org/bpcommentaries/entry/13/22905

Author’s Note: This is a post I wrote about a year and a half ago for some friends. It has been edited to share with the general public.

#god and art #an open letter #christianity #artists and fear #artist encouragement #Christian artists #faith and art #how the church taught me to see art

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