One way to think about art is to understand it as an attempt to use human creativity to help us see life and reality with greater clarity. Which is why setting aside time for unhurried visits to art museums and galleries is so essential to growth towards maturity. All the elements that come together in the visual arts—color, form, line, shape, depth, composition, light—are reflections on aspects of creation that somehow reflect the goodness of the Creator who called them into being as good gifts for his creatures. Just as God is the final source of Truth so is he the ultimate spring of Glory, and believing one is more essential than the other is to place our preferences over his revelation of himself. God’s revelation of truth is glorious, and his glory is true, world without end.

            Just as some aspects of truth are difficult to capture with words and arguments, some aspects of life and reality are so difficult to capture in art as to seem impossible: the flow of time, air, water; things that are real yet transient and ephemeral; living shapes in inanimate materials. Enter Andy Goldsworthy, an artist who lives in Scotland and whose work is lovingly embedded in nature even when it appears in urban settings.

            It is never easy to describe art in words. “Writing about art,” comedian, actor and painter Martin Mull noted, “is like dancing about architecture.” You can do it, and it can even be full of insight but the best plan is to simply receive the art itself. And if it difficult to write about art in general, the problem is compounded when talking about Goldsworthy’s art because often he is interested in capturing something that is natural.

            One good way to approach Goldsworthy’s work is in Rivers and Tides, a documentary film that simply follows the artist so we can watch him create and listen to him reflect on what he is doing. It also allows us a lovely glimpse into the creative process, at least as Goldsworthy experiences it, that is both accessible to non-visual artists as well as a fine study, for Christian viewers, of what it means to demonstrate one essential aspect of being made in the image of God.

            Goldsworthy makes his living by commissions, teaching, and by photographing his most ephemeral works to allow us to see them when they are too remote and too temporary for viewers to experience. The fact that he uses such simple, ordinary materials to produce such stunning pieces of art, and that his appreciation for nature is so unpretentious and tender is enough to render me speechless and grateful.

            I recommend Rivers and Tides to you

Rivers and Tides: Andy Goldsworthy Working with Time, directed by Thomas Riedelsheimer (2001, 90 minutes). Available on DVD and on YouTube.

            The appeal of detective stories includes our need for order when crime has introduced disorder (always a dangerous state), and our yearning for justice when something has gone wrong (which threatens our humanity). We are also drawn to them because we all live moment by moment with uncertainty and so desperately want a dependable hero.

            Somehow we know it is too much to ask that we escape the uncertainty. Even if the brokenness was removed we would remain finite. The uncertainty can be endured, however, if we have a hero who can sort things out, make things right, and keep us from tumbling into a pit from which there is no recovery.

            There is a reason why detective stories center around a particular detective. In the final analysis we are attracted to the stories not because of the variable crimes but because of the dependable detective. Even if he/she fails to solve the case, we know they tried their best and left no stone unturned.

            As a Christian I would argue that this archetype is imprinted in our consciousness because we are part of a story in which the hero becomes the savior. All is lost until the hero produces the solution, and in the end sheds light into the shadows where death has tried to hide.

Longmire

            Walt Longmire (played by Robert Taylor) is the sheriff of Absaroka County, Wyoming. It is a sprawling place, dominated by gorgeous peaks and wide lush landscapes that give the cinematographers ample opportunity to frame lovely background shots. (The series is filmed in New Mexico, but no matter—the landscape is so stunning that it is reason alone to watch it.) Assisted admirably by Deputy Vic (played by Katee Sackhoff) and by the duplicitous Deputy Branch (Bailey Chase), Longmire wrestles with the tragic death of his wife as he tries to keep law and order in a place where the citizens prize self-sufficiency and privacy. Walt’s best friend, Henry Standing Bear (Lou Diamond Phillips) helps bridge the sad chasm of distrust and prejudice between whites and the Native Americans who live on a reservation within the county.

            Good writing, superb cinematography, and fine character development makes me wonder why this A&E television series has not garnered more attention and awards. The filming of each episode includes a Native American consultant to assure the accuracy of what is depicted. One of the things I most appreciate about Longmire is that it keeps me interested but is never frenetic, maintaining a thoughtful pace that not only suits the setting but that seems to take me as viewer seriously.

            If I lived in Absaroka County, Wyoming, I’d want someone like Walt Longmire to be wearing the sheriff’s badge. In fact, I’d like someone like Walt Longmire to be the sheriff wherever I lived.

            (A&E, 3 seasons 2012, 2013, 2014; each episode 50 minutes)

Sherlock

            One of the primary reasons why Sherlock Holmes remains a perennial favorite is that he is a dependable hero. He may be cold-hearted and rational to a fault, he may have a drug problem and treat people abominably, he may play the violin horribly and have no friends for good reason, but we always know that when he is on the case, no better detective could be imagined.

            The recent BBC series that locates the famous detective (played with superb quirkiness by Benedict Cumberbatch) in 21^st century London is a fine addition to the Holmes legacy. Along with his sidekick Dr. Watson (played by Martin Freeman), Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft (played with great comic effect by Mark Gatiss), and Sherlock’s long suffering housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson (Una Stubbs), the stage is set for solving crimes in a way that only Sherlock Holmes could accomplish it.

            For all the changes this series brings to the classic detective, it allows Holmes to remain Holmes, and that is one reason the series succeeds. It is also produced with a clear love of Arthur Conan Doyle’s detective and stories, and that love is reflected in the sharp filming, editing, and dry wit that shines in every episode.

            (BBC, 4 seasons, each episode 90 minutes).

This weekend Margie and I took a day away, to be together, to talk, and be refreshed. We determined not to hurry but to enjoy the leisureliness of the time, to let things unfold quietly. Our topics of conversation were only partially determined ahead of time—including some speaking and writing we are working on—but that consumed only a portion of the day. The rest of the time we talked about whatever came up, and enjoyed times of silence together.

We drove to Minneapolis, and so began talking on the hour’s drive from Toad Hall to our first destination: Black Sheep Coffee. We ordered lattes (Margie’s was soy) and as always, found the atmosphere lovely and refreshing. Then we drove to The Museum of Russian Art to see two shows: “Concerning the Spiritual in Russian Art” and “Jewish Life in the Russian Empire: Photographs from the Museum of Ethnography, St. Petersburg, Russia.” Lovely, poignant, moving. Before having dinner at the Himalayan Restaurant (very good), we wandered over to Lake Harriet, found a bench near the water and sat in the sun.

The bench near Lake Harriet was situated between walking and biking paths, so bikes swept by just behind us and people walked or jogged just in front of where we sat. All ages were represented, some strolling leisurely, some walking dogs or pushing baby strollers, others in pairs or little groups. After sitting there for a while we realized we were hearing snatches of conversations, so I started jotting down what we could make out.

(boy) …I didn’t know if you needed a drink…

(woman) …I just don’t feel like going to work tomorrow…

(woman) …they bought a new coffee table… (woman) …and they redid the tile, and they redid the bathroom, and the hall, and it looks wonderful…

(man) …Triska! Triska! No! No!...

(woman) …I said I was definitely concerned about the conversation…

(man) …You can go boating out there on this lake? (man) Sail boating.

(woman) …so far my white sheers go well enough…

(woman) …my friend and I were starry-eyed…

(woman) …my bike is really slow. I’ve got it in the highest gear though…

(man) …my flag holder in front has created…

(woman) …I’m going to start digging…

(man) …I didn’t really feel good but I’m doing it anyway…

(man) …is that an answer? (woman) What?...

(boy) …give me my bike back, c’mon, give me my bike back…

(man) …I didn’t know if that was the trade-in value…

(woman) …my shoulders are sore, but I don’t know…

(woman) …black and red, black, red dot, red dot…

(boy) …I need to go to the bathroom (woman) Well right now we are kind of moseying…

(man) … (laughs) I should probably creep down (laughs)…

(boy) …faster, Dad…

(man) …and why is that? (woman) It’s kind of cool. No…

(man) …no, we really do (woman) I thought your mother took care of it (man) Yeah, I did too…

(man) …another alternative is to say to the group…

(girl) …zippity zippity do…

(man) …I know it is so annoying (woman) Yeah, Heather watches people…

(woman) …is she celebrating Mother’s Day? (man) Yeah, my sister knows this seedy bar…

(woman) …my cousin won’t make a dessert…

(young woman on cell phone) …so it is, like, possible, and she said, oh gosh yes, and I was like, because I told her so, and she was like, literally overwhelmed…

And that’s the news from here.

            Both Keith Richards and Rodney Crowell have spent a lifetime in music, and both can look back on performing and recording legacies that have served to touch the imaginations of numerous fans. It’s true that Crowell has never achieved the fame of Richards and the Rolling Stones, but art is measured in reach as much as it is depth, and here Crowell has the edge. Both men know firsthand something of the devastation wrought by alcohol and drugs, and both can look back on relationships that were thrown away selfishly and of others that brought sweet rumors of grace.

            I read both books because I respect both men as musicians. I like the music of Crowell far more than that of Richards, but recognize that both men have honed their craft over many decades of dedicated practice, touring, and recording. Their styles are different, of course, very different, but both are part of the cultural world in which I grew up and still live. Both men are still active, making music and thus helping to both shape and reflect the culture in which I live and seek to understand.

            Yet, the books are very different. Keith Richard’s Life is massive and detailed, full of gossip and facts, reflections and anecdotes. Rodney Crowell’s Chinaberry Sidewalks is more modest, a childhood memoir of a home in a poor Texas community with an alcoholic, violent father and an unstable mother given to Pentecostal fervor. But there is a deeper and more vital difference as well. Richard’s reflections reek of self-satisfied self-centeredness, and seldom is grief or regret expressed over the excesses in which he indulged. Crowell’s story, in contrast, is imbued with a quiet honesty tinged with forgiveness, the thoughtfulness of a man who tells his story, warts and all, but does not think that all is fine simply because it is his story.

            I did not carefully read every word of Life, but scanned some sections because I was weary of the tone. When I finished Chinaberry Sidewalks, on the other hand, I purchased tickets to go see Crowell in concert—it was a wonderful evening. Recently Crowell has been collaborating with poet Mary Karr (I recommend the CD Kin, with Karr’s lyrics and Crowell’s music and performance), after being in Emmy Lou Harris’ band since 1975.

            One thing is certain: blatant excess does not necessarily mean an artist can not achieve excellence, and unless Richards has sources of which I am unaware, his memory is both remarkable and far better than mine. Those with a special interest in the Rolling Stones and their very long career at the top of the charts in popular music will want to read Life. Richards reflects on numerous concerts and recording sessions in the book in incredible detail.

            Listening to people’s stories is important if we want to hear something that gets past the surface details. Crowell uses the details of his childhood to tell a deeper story, while Richards amazes us with gossipy trivia in what seems to me to be primarily an ongoing exercise in self-aggrandizement. If you doubt that an artists’ deepest convictions and values—the world and life view that resides in their heart of hearts—shapes their music and their posture in life, read these two books, and then listen to some of Richards’ and Crowell’s music.

Life by Keith Richards with James Fox (New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company; 2010) 547 pages + index.

Chinaberry Sidewalks: a memoir by Rodney Crowell (New York, NY: Alfred Knopf; 2011) 259 pages.