abstract

I think I’ve been seeing it all wrong. I’ve never been one for abstract art, but it probably has to do with my depth perception. I’m nearsighted; I can’t see far away. But abstract things require the ability to see beyond, and most times well beyond. I like sensical smears and strokes. I really do. Please, let it lead me to a complete sentence or picture; don’t leave me open-ended. Yet, I think it’s time for me to settle into the mystery of inarticulate things. I doubt I’ll ever stop trying to put words to it, though. My soul will forever be hungry to plumb the depths, and find joints and connections. 

In this vein, I’ve started a bit of asemic writing. It’s basically incoherent scribbles and marks. I’m attempting to use my emotions as the scribe, and not so much my intellect. I know what I’m saying as I move my medium, but nobody else does. It’s the closest I’ve come to abstract renderings. There is a faint swell of personal liberation in letting go in this way, but facets of it are still bothersome to me. I believe it’s because I’m inherently a conveyer, and the notion that what I’m trying to say is not being understood is plain maddening. I have a profound need to communicate clearly, and to resonate. I want to know what it strikes in others, as much as I want it to be made known. So, the asemic art is merely for me, though it feels a bit neurotic. I’m not entirely at ease with this degree of naval-gazing without much bellybutton lint to show for it, but I’ll keep trying, even if just to perceive myself better. 

I often reflect back to an intriguing fact I heard years ago, about surrendering to wonder. It has never left me; it was that palpable. My paraphrase won’t do it justice, but I’ll try. When the Orthodox Jews would study the Torah, they had a notion for when they would reach the point of awe beyond human reasoning. Meaning, they had mined so deeply the vastness of God, they found the end of themselves, and the very beginning of Him. What they did in this place is profound: instead of banging fists in exasperation, they simply threw up their hands in worship. When reaching the precipice of God and man, they resigned themselves to admiration and awe. What a rightly humble approach to things well above our pay grade. There was no offense taken up that He is unsearchable in all of our searching; no qualms over how entirely other than He is. Just worship, in all the questions and unknowns. If I’m honest, I would tell you that I’m quite relieved that God is wider than my grip and deeper than my lunge. I would be sorely disappointed if I could fathom all of Him with my finite mind. I need a big God, and He needs a little me. 

If you find a soul that has made peace with itself and God, I’m sure you’ll also find it professes to know very little of Him. But it will possess an insatiable desire to know more. So maybe these scribbles I’m collecting look like my five year old’s artwork, but I’m beginning to believe there’s something incredibly wise in the unlearning, and primitive methods, and basic truths. We don’t have to know it all to succumb to the reality that He does: we simply allow our heads to sink back in awe-struck wonder and behold the One who is beholding us.