Photos of the Sanctuary

Here's the mirror at the back of the sanctuary. The mirror faces the screen like most of the congregation, so the idea that it is a symbol of our perception, hopefully occurs to congregants as they all file past the mirrors on the way out.



This view allows you to see the relative distance from the mirror to the front (where I was standing when I took the picture).



Here's the image I created by exporting a still from the film, before it achieved clarity (or before we have an epiphany) and then composited a shot of the mirror on it's side.



Here's how it looked on the liturgy covers.



And here's liturgy books spread across a pew.



Michele created the fabric transfer and sewed it to the altar cloth (two photos, here, one that contextualizes the altar with the baptismal font and the Christcandle):




I loved the slight modification Michele made to create the stohl Harry wears. You can see that she centered the flame and then extended the shattered lines in a way that emphasizes the arrival of light...

My Artist's Statement

(cross post from my inbetween blog)

Today marks the beginning of what some parts of the Christian church celebrate as the season of epiphany. I've been creating a video art installation for my church's celebration of epiphany (I'll blog about the process and include a video clip later), but here's the image on the cover of our liturgy books and my statement.



As I developed this epiphany installation, I tried to focus on two tensions/relationships.

The first tension is the relationship between Christmas and Epiphany. I’ve always been intrigued by the dialogue between these two church seasons which alternately focus upon:

the ARRIVAL of the Incarnation -- and -- the RECOGNITION of the Incarnation.

~both essential elements of our Christian Faith.


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The second tension is the disparity / relationship between:

seeing things -- and -- the emergence of Sight or Vision.

Cinema has always thrilled me because of its ability to provide Sight and Vision. The stories, the scale, the color, the projection, the mise en scene. Since the earliest movies I remember, cinema has always baptized my imagination and provided me with new eyes: a fresh VISION, a second SIGHT of my world.

Watching a movie includes all kinds of unconscious physiological and psychological labor. Our eyes need to limit their focus to a screen. Our brains must link disparate images together into a seamless flow. Our eyes and brains must together sort through a mish-mash of colors, tones, highlights and shadows, and distinguish between a constantly shifting figure and ground.


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I strain so hard to achieve Vision. I use my seeing to look up, but too often encounter the limits and fragmentation that prohibit me from catching Sight or Vision of the Hope I long for.


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For me, Epiphany occurs at the moment when Sight and Vision transcend all the limited and broken realities of seeing. Epiphany celebrates how even my broken perceptions of Incarnation can receive healing Light and reflect Hope-filled Vision.


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Advent Art

This wide shot shows a bit of how dramatic the scope of Michele's Advent vision was. These swaths of fabric eminated from the balcony, the windows and the front of the auditorium:



The place where the fabric came together opened almost like the inverted petals of a huge flower -- or the place where the sky opened to allow something to descend.



If you sat near the middle and front, you could see the glass globe and with the candle inside more clearly, and some felt a little trepidation that it could arrive with a vengeance and come crashing down on their heads.



Later in the advent season, the globe emerged from the fabric and hovered in mid air, just above the altar:

Gestation

Over coffee at Muggswigz, Michele and I talked about how we could work together to have our two liturgical seasons connect to one another.

She described the centerpiece of the advent art as including a descending globe made out of glass, with the burning Christcandle inside. The globe would descend throughout the season of Advent, until, at Christmas it would be at eye level -- God With Us.

My idea had been that the Epiphany video installation would center on an image that in some way signified Christ -- that would very slowly, very gradually become clearer throughout the course of the service.

I had been inspired by her description of the germ of her advent idea on Sunday when we chatted, and so had tried to combine the two ideas:

What if the image that gradually became clear was the candle descending in the globe.

As our coffee time progressed, we added the possibility of having the globe actually descend from the sky so that the blurry image would be beautiful even while it was blurry (a value that I always had about the idea was that the congregation would be looking at the screen for the first half of the service BOTH puzzled by it's hazy indistinctness AND quietly happy about how the indiscernible light looked beautiful).

Another idea that emerged during coffee came wholly out of our conversation, and since I had NONE of it going it, I suspect that Michele contributed more on this one, but... it was:

I had a concern that the video would be too front focused -- and not as inclusive or dialogical as much of the art in our church is.

So the idea emerged of having three banners hanging near the perimeters of where the congregation sits, all of which would be covered in mirror fragments.

During the scripture reading, we would invite a member of the congregation to go to these banners, which would be shrouded up to this point, and, while gazing at the clarifying screen image, remove the shroud.

In this version of our plan, the congregants would try to bring to mind an EPIPHANY that they had experienced in their lives as they removed the shrouds.

Influenced by Jonny...

Just after I discovered the blogosphere, I happened upon JonnyBaker's blog.

I was intrigued because the Ph.D. he was just finishing (had just finished) dovetailed with my own in several interesting ways:

we were both interested in popular culture performances,

we were both interested in the rhetorical dimension of these performances,

we were both making connections between ritual theory, performance theory and (me more than him) rhetorical theory.

Jonny was also clearly someone devoted to Christianity, keenly committed to the arts, and very interested in building genuine community in cutting edge ways. All these factors made me really interested in his blog.

I had done a gig as a "worship pastor" (many years ago) but was completely turned off by the formal disconnect between the artistic ghetto that my particular branch of Christianity had become. I spent a while at two conservative evangelical churches, trying to translate some cultural forms into the worship, but the interest level was nominal -- certainly not a priority, so I decided to focus my life energy and artistic interests elsewhere. (Obviously that story could be written in a much longer way, but it's a bit off track for this blog.)

It was, though, this vested interested in the the forms of church worship and their (dis/)connect to/from cultural forms in the cultural spheres that surround churches that really generated a lot of interest in reading Jonny's Tricks section.

He's been chronicling for years the formal devices used by artists and worship leaders to articulate meaningful and fresh expressions of worship.

Viewing Viola's art through this context, encouraged me to think about how something LIKE this might be used in a liturgical art setting.

The Seed of Video Art...

While visiting L.A., I checked out the Getty Museum for the first time.

The video installations of Bill Viola were just as breath-taking as the devastatingly beautiful architecture and vistas of the and Grounds.

In Passions, Viola constructed painterly scenes of actors experiencing the passions that medieval painters, artists and philosophers wrote so vigorouslyhttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif about. These scenes were shot in beautiful, dramatic light against severe dark backgrounds and then slowed down so completely that one had to stand and wait for what seemed like an eternity of patience before they would change.



The most jarring and exciting part of the exhibition, though was walking into a huge space where his installation called 5 Angels for the Millenium played: 5 cinema size screens simultaneously played images of a human diving into water (but filmed from inside the water, so...emerging into...?...the water), slowed down to a speed to make them look unrecognizable and otherworldly.



It was an unforgettable aesthetic experience: unmatched by any I had experienced before.

My interest in video art was piqued on that day. The most natural context for expressing it was, for me at that moment, shaped by some of the reading I had been doing, and the new church in which my family was becoming involved.



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Here's a documentary about Bill Viola's work