Untilled Soil

Wednesday Writing: "A Euphoric Massage"

Wed, 15 May 2013 11:00:47 -0700

This year at Cornish, I was fortunate enough to be able to take a fiction writing class. Turns out I’m not too bad at it. I got nominated for a scholarship to a writing workshop over the summer. I didn’t get the scholarship, but being nominated for such an honor helped fuel my desire to write. My hope is to spend much of the summer writing stories as well as music.

This short story is the final story I wrote for my class. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

A Euphoric Massage

My roommate came home late that day from whatever nonsense he did during the daylight hours. He tends to smell of empty bottles of Sour, and his shape is similar to one as well, so I’ve resorted to calling him Glass. Generally giants smell atrocious, but my other roommate Roseblood has a habit of spraying herself with a bottle of digested flower juice that made her smell pleasantly, although often too strong. Despite Glass’s stench, I needed food; so I reminded him immediately that it was the proper time for breakfast to be served. Of course, being the stupid creature that Glass was, I would have to ask him more than once. He tended to forget I was there, and I much preferred it when Roseblood would come home first. Not only would she serve me promptly, but she would treat me to one of her glorious massages. My wishes were wasted that day. Glass was taking an unusually long time in feeding me, and I was still upset from the events of the day before.

On the previous morning before I went to bed for the day, Roseblood had mated with a large, muscular male with black fur on his face and head. Long ago during my captivity in prison, the other inmates told me some balderdash about giants being loyal, and mating for life, like geese. This turned out to be extremely incorrect. Every ten moons or so Roseblood spends time with a new mate, seemingly unbeknownst to Glass. Sometimes out of sheer curiosity I observe the giant mating rituals. They seem to revolve around removal of the strange, ever-changing replaceable furs they always have. That would be nice to have I think. There are days where it is so hot, I would love to remove my fur. The giants are stupid however, and even on the hottest days they still wear some of those furs. But I digress; I don’t particularly mind who my roommates mate with or how often. What I do mind is that Roseblood pays less attention to me when her additional mates come by. That makes me ill-content.

Glass seemed distracted that evening. In one of his spidery looking paws, he held an off-white rectangular leaf with blue stripes and black swirls. Most white leaves I see come out of that insufferable and noisy box that sits next to Glass’s lightning window; and they usually have a very orderly pattern of lines and dots, but the lines on this leaf were swirling and messy. For some reason, this particular leaf was affecting Glass very strangely. His paw began to shake, almost as if he had burned it. His normally pasty-white skin was turning red. This was behavior I had never seen from a giant, but I couldn’t be expected to help him without my breakfast. I reminded him again of his duty. He ignored me and crossed into the sitting room and I had to jump out of his path to keep from getting stepped on. I often wonder if he has lost his hearing or his sense of smell. He is not as keenly aware of his surroundings as Roseblood is.

I followed him into the sitting room. I was shouting now in hopes that he would recognize my presence. He was not sitting on the couch. He was still standing in the middle of the room, looking at the leaf. I kept shouting. Finally, trembling, he turned around and looked at me. Then, with a look I can only interpret as anger, swiped at me with one of his lower legs.

I jumped back and narrowly avoided getting hit. I was startled. I often had to avoid being stepped on by Glass due to his ignorance, but this was the first time it seemed he was intentionally trying to harm me. I retreated to the corner and waited, trying to make sense of his actions. Eventually my angry stomach outweighed my fears and I emerged to again remind him of his duty.

Again he was looking at the leaf. I was closer this time and thought I smelled Roseblood, but it seemed her scent was coming from the leaf. Perhaps the scent was confusing Glass, but that was no excuse for his incompetence. I shouted at him again. Upon hearing my protests he crumpled up the leaf and threw it against the wall and stormed into the food room. I heard a loud ripping sound, followed by what I thought was an intense indoor hail-storm. I ran to the food room. To my amazement, the buffoon had emptied the entire contents of my rations bag onto my serving dish, covering it completely, and most of the water dish next to it. I was thrilled to be fed of course, but I was quite upset at my roommate’s clumsiness. There was no way I could eat all of this tonight, and on top of that he had completely spoiled my water. I decided to speak to him after I had eaten. It seemed we could communicate better after I had a full belly and he’d had time to calm himself. He still needed to clean my bathroom. I figure if the giants get to make waste in self-cleaning bowls while I have to shit in a sandbox, the very least they could do is keep it free of dung. Perhaps I could get a short massage from Glass afterward. His sessions weren’t near as good as those with Roseblood, but I was in a bad mood, and he owed me something for my trouble.

After dinner I strolled back into the sitting room to see how he was doing. I found him collapsed in his chair with three bottles of Sour. Two were on the stump next to him, one empty one full. The third he had in his front paws, and was drinking straight from the mouth of it instead of using one of those stemmed dishes they usually use.

Sour seems to be another major factor in giants’ mating rituals. Well… I take that back. It only seems to be a major factor for Glass. On the rare occasions when he mates with Roseblood, he always drinks a bottle’s worth before doing the deed. I’m not entirely sure why he is so fond of the stuff. It seems to make him less coherent and more apt to stumble and fall. Does that help with breeding I wonder? It doesn’t make any sense to me, but giant’s mating habits never seem to be logical. They seem to be the most inefficient breeders in the animal kingdom. Roseblood mates often with many different males, and yet she has yet to give birth. It’s a sad state of affairs really. They seem to work so hard at it. The males seem especially dense. Glass keeps a lightning window on the desk in his room. Sometimes I’ve seen him looking at images of females without their furs on. Sometimes he even mates with his front paws while doing it. It is completely asinine for him to think that’s going to be effective. He’s never going to get a female pregnant that way. It’s no wonder Roseblood has to look for other males for breeding.

I sighed. I knew there would be no sense talking to him now. He was clumsy enough on average, but Sour seemed to make the giants even more clumsy, stupid and nonsensical than usual, and on top of that I had never seen him drink so much Sour. I decided to nap until Roseblood came home. Perhaps I could talk her into giving me a massage. She was far more skilled than he was anyway.

When Roseblood finally came home, I bounded to the door and started yelling for my bathroom to be cleaned and for my back to be scratched. She had been gone longer than usual today and I was irritated by her neglect. The weird thing about Roseblood was that she seemed to like it when I yelled at her. She would always respond to my demands with a short neck massage, even If I was asking for food or passage outside. I tend to forgive her lack of understanding due to her exceptional abilities with those long, pink, dull claws of hers. I thrive on smelling flowery mist she produces while her flexible pads work out all my worries and cares from my head and back.

I was baffled that she was not responding in the usual way. She just stared at Glass for a long time, and Glass stared right back. I was completely flummoxed. Never had my roommates behaved in such an odd manner. The absurdities were gnawing at my patience, and I was tired of being ignored. I sulked over to the couch and hopped onto its’ back. I figured I’d just perch here and wait patiently until my roommates ceased being hopelessly nonsensical. Perhaps I would take a nap while I was at it.

Glass began to growl. His eyes were leaking. His face was red as the Sour he was drinking. Roseblood simply looked at him sheepishly. Glass pulled out the crumpled leaf that had started this whole mess and spread it open. He stood on his back legs and thrust the leaf into her face and barked loudly, though not quite like the obnoxious canines next door. Somehow his tone was more threatening. Roseblood didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound for a long time. His roaring and bellowing got louder and louder and still she didn’t move, though from where I was perched I could see that her eyes were beginning to leak as well. She let him bellow and roar and exasperate himself for a good long while. Occasionally she would reply with a tense and quiet squeak, but this failed to pacify him. He continued his rampage until he drew out a small black object from his pouch that I did not recognize. He showed it to Roseblood, which caused her to screech, she backed up to the edge of the room whimpering, saltwater pouring from her eyes. He continued to roar at her and she was squealing at him. He jabbed the long black claw of the object up under her chin. She held her front paws above her head and made soft, hushed sounds. After a great deal of this, Glass slowly withdrew the object and held it by his side.

Roseblood continued to whimper, but she was less frantic now. I thought it would be about time to remind her that I was still here. The timing would have been perfect for a massage, which she tended to excel at when her eyes were leaking. Before I could speak however, Glass shoved the long metal claw under his jaw. There was a deafening crack that made every hair on my body stand up on end. Roseblood shrieked. I bolted. I was terrified. Never before had I heard such a threatening or disturbing noise. My ears were aching as I scrambled as fast as I could into the sleeping chambers and hid underneath Rosebloods’ cushion, trembling in shock and fear.

I could hear the distant wailing of Roseblood a long time before she quieted down and I had the courage to emerge and inspect what had happened. Normally I saunter into the room after the giants have stopped making noise, but that crack I heard was so alarming I had to be sure there was no danger. I prowled slowly, carefully, ensuring that nothing was wrong, my ears still ringing from that dreadful disturbance. I turned the corner and took cover behind the couch. I could hear a soft whimpering on the other side. That was a good sound. It was the sound of a giant who was prime for delivering a fantastic massage.

I hopped up to the back of the couch. I saw Roseblood crouching over Glass and moaning. Glass was sprawled out on the ground, but not in the way giants tend to sleep. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that part of his head had shattered, much like his namesake, but a lot messier. I imagine the black object and the sharp crack had something to do with it. It would be dishonest to say that his death hadn’t upset me, but neither would I say that it saddened me. I did not hate him, but he was far less useful to me than Roseblood was. I worried for a moment that the death of her mate would effect Roseblood’s performance in pampering me, but I soon turned my attention back to the matter at hand. What mattered in that moment was that Roseblood was distraught, and when she is distraught, her claws are almost magical. I spoke to her gently and began to purr. She lifted her head from her front paws and stared at me. Before I knew it she had swooped me up and was cradling me against her chest. She used her dull pink claws to scratch at my neck, and at my back, and on my head, and in all the areas she knew I loved. Sniffling and whining, she reclined on the couch with me on her chest and I was in paradise. It was a euphoric massage. Every stroke was perfect, every scratch was heavenly, every movement was perfectly in-tune with my body. I was purring and she was weeping. The dance of her claws down my back caused a ripple of pleasure down my spine as I reached an unparalleled climax of intense satisfaction and joy. Then I relaxed, and quickly fell asleep in her arms.

A Story of Moustache Wax and Love

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 14:10:11 -0800

“Go on. Try it.” She said, her face hovering close to mine. I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, with intention. This was perhaps the most ridiculous thing she had asked me to do in the few months we had been dating, but what could I do? I had just confessed my love to her a few weeks beforehand, so why not grant her wish? It will make her happy, even if it’s just for a few moments.

The first time I bought moustache wax, it was in a small metal tube; the kind of thing you’d usually see containing a toxic glue. With it was a small, and rather comical black comb. I hadn’t used a comb on my hair in years, so using one on my face was even more foreign of a concept. Having facial hair was more of a fact of life than an intentional pursuit, partially due to my mothers words of caution: “You will never find a nice girl if you keep your face covered up with all that hair”. While I don’t thrive on proving my mother wrong, I will gladly take advantage if the opportunity presents itself. I had gotten myself romantically involved with one who cringed at the thought of kissing a man without a beard. To me, that was enough, but to the girl it wasn’t enough.

Somehow I ended up in her home state of Arizona, having every ounce of precious moisture sucked out of my pacific northwestern body by the ravenous desert air, standing in front of a bathroom mirror at her pastor friends home. My future fiancé and wife looked at me with anticipation as I began squeezing the contents of the little tube onto my upper lip hair, pathetically trying to get it to obey me. I felt absurd, but she was grinning. My moustache was a poor excuse by today’s neo-hipster standards, but I managed to get a tiny curl on each end. I gave her a weak smile, and she increased the strength of hers. “I like it! It looks good… but don’t worry, you don’t have to do it again.” I gave a slow sigh relaxed my muscles, and turned back to the mirror. To my surprise, I didn’t see a failure, a farce, a way of getting my girlfriend to stop bugging me. I saw potential, and I liked it.

Much later, after I had grown respectable stache, the girl bought me some Gin and Tonic Scented “Man’s Face Stuff” from a couple of face fuzz aficionados in Portland oregon. As if it weren’t cool enough that I waxed my moustache, I now smelled like a mixed drink to boot. I had become a culmination of many of the girls favorite things. Facial Hair; Gin & Tonic; Portland Oregon; and looking like a hipster without being an asshole.

My new appearance seemed to some as bestowed upon me by my significant other, but in truth she was simply the gardner. What she had really done is introduce me to a part of myself, one that had been out of touch. Moustaches are part of my heritage. My father has been sporting a rather impressive chevron for years; and I have also always enjoyed being just a little different, a little classy, and a little goofy. This development in my appearance was only the tip of the iceberg, as the more I got to know my wife, the more she has helped me see who I am meant to be. Thanks to her, now I’m in school pursuing knowledge of something I am passionate about, and there is no greater motivator to reach for the stars than knowing that she’s there even when I make mistakes. The small tin of moustache wax I carry around is more than a grooming product. It is a reminder to me of how talented my wife is at cultivating and nourishing my whole being. In the three years of hanging out with her, I have changed into a very different man, but I am more myself than I have ever been. And now when my wife says “Go on, try it”, I seldom hesitate.

Holy Crap.... It's actually happening

Thu, 07 Jul 2011 10:01:06 -0700

We always knew it would happen… or rather we’d like to say that we always knew that. But it’s happening. We have a house, we have many interested students. We need a little more cash and a little more furniture, (If you can help in either way please let us know) but it’s moving forward. God is moving. Amazing things are happening.

For those of you who don’t know. I am referring to the beginning of the Bratcher Artist House ministry that Luz and I have been dreaming of for the last year. This weekend we made a commitment to rent a house in Capitol Hill on the Eastern ridge by the Arboretum. The house is near perfect for what we want to do. It’s within (reasonable) walking distance from Kerry Hall, it’s got plenty of room for the two of us plus four other artists. There’s a view, room for fun (but not wild) parties, dinners, movie nights, art shows and small drumless house shows. These are all small parts of the amazing work that God is doing right now, and we look forward to sharing Gospel of the love of Christ through the house that God has granted to us. Words cannot describe how we feel right now. We are elated.

I will post more information as it comes up, but to get a more up-to-date account of what is going on, please visit our blog at bratcherartisthouse.tumblr.com.

Praise Jesus for his Love and Providence.

The First Year

Fri, 24 Jun 2011 10:00:07 -0700

It’s hard to believe that I’m writing this. Not only am I married to a beautiful, talented, intelligent and godly woman, but I’ve been married to her for almost a year. On sunday it will be a year, and I still can’t believe it.

When Luz and I got married, I had no idea what I was coming. I predicted a lot of the internal stuff in our marriage every thing from frustration, to elation and from getting in fights to getting [censored]. What I didn’t expect that we would be thrown into an entirely new direction of life. Getting called back into school for music composition was the last thing I thought would happen, that is until God called us to begin work on the Artist House. (more details about that at bratcherartisthouse.tumblr.com) All this time, I thought that God would simply bring a wife alongside me to do what i’ve already been doing, but to my shock and delight, he has pointed out an entirely new path for both of us to follow together, we don’t know exactly where it is leading, but we have some Ideas based on the journey we have taken so far. I could write pages and pages on what has happened in the last year, but instead I’m just going to briefly revisit the seven most influential and memorable things that have happened in our first year of marriage. (In chronological order)

1) We got married!: For those of you who did not make it, the ceremony was beautiful and quite unique. It will forever be one of the most memorable and important days of our life together, although we do admit that we are glad we don’t have to do it again.

2) Our Honeymoon in San Francisco: Despite the fact that we were brand new at the whole marriage thing, this was one of the most relaxing and enjoyable weeks of my life, and I’m sure Luz would say the same. We did all the non-touristy stuff that true urbanites enjoy and we are looking forward to go back someday.

3) Cole gets accepted at Cornish: One of the most baffling things that happened this year was a complete change in life direction, starting with my acceptance into Cornish College of the Arts for Music Composition; something I thought was always a dream that would never come true. Thanks to the loving and trusting encouragement of my loving wife, I quit my job and applied to Cornish, and by the grace of God I made it in.

4) God calls us to Artist Ministry: This is something I never expected. After spending 8 months in L’Abri in Switzerland, Luz felt a calling to start something similar in Seattle, but at the time I had no inkling to do the same. But the Holy Spirit can change hearts and minds and gave me a burning desire to help Luz create a place for artists to do life together. This is not yet in full swing, but God is at work and we are having a wonderful time.

5) Our first Christmas: There wasn’t anything particularly unique or exciting about this Christmas, but having a wife with me to share a very memorable and important season to me multiplied my enjoyment of it several fold. Here’s to many more Merry Christmas’s together.

6) Dinner with Joel & Sarah Fariss: We have dinner with other couples quite often, but this particular dinner was extra influential. Not only was the food amazingly amazing, but Joel & Sarah have a way of challenging and encouraging respectively that really got us to think harder about our ministry and be more intentional with it. As a result, we were convinced that the Artist House needed to be in Capitol Hill, and that there was a good chance we would join the Fariss’s new church in Cap Hill when it opens in a few years.

7) The Crazy Diet: This was a trial indeed, Luz got this crazy Idea that we should do this crazy diet, (Ok, I approved of it too) to lose some weight and get healthy. It was a difficult 6 weeks and there were times that I wanted to eat my own hand, but doing this together strenghtened our bond, and as a result, we are constantly complimenting each other about how good we look, even more than before! (That’s a lot!)

There’s a myriad of other influential experiences from this year, but we are only beginning to scratch the surface of what God has in store for us.

Thanks Luz for being such an amazing and encouraging wife. This year has been the best of my life so far, and it keeps getting better. I look forward to more and more adventures with you. I love you Bonita!

Bringing Back Fiction

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 10:00:06 -0700

Several years ago, a friend said something to me along the lines of “I don’t have time to read fiction anymore”. He was one of those Mars-Hillian theological nuts that can soak up Calvin, Spurgeon and Piper without the need for a heavy doses of caffeine. I have the utmost respect for people that can engage theology so directly. But there are a lot of such people at Mars Hill and the unintentional pressure to be the same kind of reader tends to alienate a lot of others in the church who have a hard time staying awake during long reading sessions of theology. I was never a huge book reader in the first place, but I did enjoy a good science fiction novel from time to time. After hearing this statement, I restricted myself to only reading non-fiction, which needless to say, cut my reading down to almost zero.

Somehow a few weeks ago, I got it into my head that I was going to read a fiction book. I scanned the large book collection that my wife had acquired from years of being a delightfully curious woman, and picked up the first “Redwall” book. Sure it was just youth fiction, but I was hooked. I loved reading about the battles between the inhabitants of Redwall Abby and the terrifying rat army of Cluny the Scorge and a young mouse’s quest to find the legendary sword of Martin the Warrior. It was a quick and easy read, but it was very engaging. This little youth novel ignited the fuel I had been gathering for over 3 years to start reading again, and I have delighted In what I have found.

Now, going to bookstores and libraries actually excites me! Currently I am reading a gigantic tome called Cryptonomicon by Neil Stevenson, which is about cryptographers in World War II and the late nineties. There is now a long and growing list of books I plan to read, fiction and non. Among these are more Redwall Books, Boneshaker, The Brothers K, Cry the Beloved Country, A Series of Unfortunate Events, books on creating art, theology books, and so on. I use GoodReads.com to track my book reading and make a list of books I want to read, feel free to check it out and friend me.

If anyone has any suggestions on good fiction books to read, especially science-fiction, feel free to suggest it to me and I may add it to my list!

Life is short and then all of your fish die.

Sat, 11 Jun 2011 11:26:00 -0700

This is not a happy story.

A few weeks ago, I was able to get my hands on an old half gallon starter fish tank from my parents that they didn’t want anymore. We figured it would be fun to get a couple of fishies. So one fateful day, my wife Luz, our roommate and friend Ansley and I decided to get some food and some guppies in the international district.

We got three guppies for our little tank and we each named one. Luz named one Darjeeling, Ansley named hers Zilu, and I named mine Helga. We set them up in a tank with some marbles and food and looked forward to have something more to look at when our minds wander.

Three days later, I was observing the tank, and I noticed something. A little black speck flitted across the tank and this speck had eyes. Despite the fact that all of our fishes were females, one of them just gave birth to eight guppy fry. (I think it was Helga, but i’m not sure) We were excited, and I was somewhat overwhelmed because I now had eight more mouths to feed, even though they were very very small ones.

I set to work getting a separate tank for the new baby fish so their mother(s) wouldn’t be tempted to eat them, which is known to happen. I got them all set up in an extra bowl I had, learned about how to feed them and planned on getting them some form of aeration in to their water so they didn’t die.

That night, two of the adult fish, and one fry died.

Helga was the only one left, and all of her babies. I figured I wouldn’t complain too much about the adults dying because we already had more fish than we could handle at that point. I figured it wouldn’t be too hard to keep the rest of them alive. I bought a split for our air pump and some special food for the fries and prepared for the long haul.

The next morning they were all dead, all the fish in two tanks.

I’m still not entirely sure what happened. I think the fry died because I gave them too cold of water when I changed their tank, I have no Idea why Helga died.

Now you’d think I might reflect on how fleeting life is due to all of the fish dying, but mostly I was just annoyed. It quickly became about my abilities. “What the hell did I do wrong? I did everything I possibly could and the fish still died? If I can’t take care of guppies, am I worth anything?”

These were the questions that plagued me. In a time where I can’t find a part time Job, we still don’t have a home for the artist house, my music writing has slowed and I spend all day cleaning a house that never gets clean, you’d think one thing I’m doing would be successful, like keeping fish alive.

Sometimes no matter how hard you try, things don’t work out.

Lucky for us, our well-being is not entirely dependent on our feeble abilities.

Oh well, at least my last homebrew turned out pretty good.

A Disciplined Performance

Thu, 26 May 2011 07:00:06 -0700

Last week, I had a much needed day of exploration on my own in the beautiful city of Portland. I had many wonderful adventures including a trip to the famous Powell’s Bookstore, a tasting of some fantastic sour ales at Cascade Brewing Barrel House and a trip to the Portland Saturday market.

The most striking thing I came across in my adventures was this very talented street performer.

The living statue is not a new trick, but it’s an amazing one, when I first walked by this man, I didn’t think twice, and assumed he was just an odd decoration, it wasn’t until I looked at him directly that I realized he was alive. It was not due to movement that gave him away, it was sheerly that he looked too human to be a statue. He didn’t move a muscle, it was astounding.

Watching him perform was equally striking. He did the same routine every time money was put into his jar, like he was some sort of vending machine. Seeing kids react to the way he moved and performed was equally as entertaining. I was able to shoot some videos of cute kids like Dominik and Lucy responding to the statue. The amount of discipline it took him to be a simple street performer was inspiring. Inspiring enough to get me to begin work on a piece based on the statue man.

Later in the second video, another kid asked me questions about why people do this, why are they street performing for money. I can’t remember what my exact response was, but It made me think about the devotion he had to his craft. There are certainly more lucrative and glamourous ways to make money, but this man chose to make a living (or at least part of his living) as a street performer. Maybe despite the stoic look on his face, he loves seeing the wonder on the faces of the children and adults who watch him.

Discipline is not just something we have to do in some situations, it is something we only truly accomplish when we are passionate about it. Our disciplines to our passions only come because of our devotion to them. But more importantly, we can only be truly disciplined to the will of God if our hearts are completely in love with Him.

Fountain Pens and Wax Seals

Thu, 12 May 2011 07:00:05 -0700

Charles Morrison is one of the most interesting men I have ever met. He was my humanities and sciences teacher for my first year at Cornish in a class called Art & Ideas. He has led a long and eventful life has raised eight children and he’s still going strong. Now he teaches subjects ranging from Buddhism to criminal justice in colleges all over Seattle. Hearing his stories and musings on life for an entire year has been a wonderful experience.

One of the most interesting practices he holds is one of letter writing. For years, Charles has been writing letters every morning and sending them to people he knows. Most of his letters simply include musings of his own life and philosophies he is pondering. The sad thing about this is that very few people write back to him. Most people simply do not have, (or make) time to write long thought out letters. The few that continue to correspond with him treasure this slow yet intentional sharing of thoughts and Ideas. One letter that he read in class was from a former student of his. She said she treasured this gradual development of a relationship. It is a relationship that likely won’t result in hangouts at parties or in bars, or even sharing a cup of coffee. It is very slow in developing, but it is extremely intentional.

Letters can be crafted in a way that off-the-cuff speech cannot for most people. It cuts through the noise of e-mail and facebook and engages you intimately with a physical page of hand written words. The joy of writing letters has been instilled in me and I began by writing a letter to Charles. I am now on his letter list, and he is the first on mine. I have begun writing letters to various loved ones and wish to make letter writing a practice at least twice a week. I have even begun to make use of wax seals and fountain pens, which are forcing me to improve my oh-so-ugly handwriting. The content of my letters attempts to dig a little deeper than simple “how-do-you-dos” and “this-is-what-we-are-up-to-latelys”. There are many family members and friends I have grown distant from over the years, and this seems one of the few ways to stay in touch with them on an intimate level.

Letter writing has become a really unique challenge for me, and it’s a challenge that I believe will bring new things to light in both my life and the lives of those I write to. In future blogs, I may post some of the stories that are bound to surface from these letters. I hope this inspires you to write to someone you love as well.

Tragedy through the eyes of a crab fisherman.

Thu, 05 May 2011 07:00:06 -0700

I had an assignment in my “Arts and Ideas” class to write a story about “The Tragedy of the Modern World”. It took me a while to come up with an Idea for the story, but I have been watching a lot of Deadliest Catch lately, one of my all time favorite shows, and I figured I would write it about a crab fisherman. Luz liked it and said it was “intense”. I think it brings up some good points, so you can read it if you like. But I warn you, it’s not a happy story.

The world is full of self-reliance and self servitude. Far too often man believes that he is all he needs to succeed and be happy, and when things don’t go right, there is nowhere to fall. Man does not realize that ultimately, we are powerless.

“It’s all you got Jackson Frye, so get your ass in gear.”

Tom Williams, the deck boss, was a relentless taskmaster, as well the captain, Robert. He always knew when Jack was daydreaming, and he had an uncanny ability of cutting it off before it got worse. Jack shook the thoughts out of his head and got back to prepping the bait for the next pot. He had not intended this to be is ultimate calling. Cold and wet and constantly laboring in the middle of the violent Bearing Sea. When he first got the job on the crab fishing vessel Endurance, he was only there to get a little extra cash. Just one season of fishing, maybe two, to get his family out of debt. He knew plenty of men who have lost their lives on the bearing sea; not only through death, but through injury and above all, heartbreak. It takes a good man to keep a wife and a family in tact, but Jack apparently was not good enough of a man.

“Last pot of this string!”

He heard the clanging of the next pot hitting the launcher.

“Hurry up junior!”

Jack sliced into the giant cod he grabbed from the bin, the fishes blood mixed with seawater dripped down to the deck. He ran the bait hook over to the pot, climbed in and attached it.

It could be worse. Crab fishing wasn’t a bad job at all, the pay was lucrative, and the work was rewarding, although taxing. He had sacrificed a lot of time from home chasing red and orange gold, and that caused his sacrifice to be even greater. He thought of his brother Jacob.

While Jack was unemployed, looking for ways to support his family, Jake was looking for contractors to build an addition to his already huge house. While Jacks wife was leaving him during his absence on the Bearing Sea, Jake was celebrating his twelfth anniversary with his supermodel gorgeous wife. While Jack mourned the loss of all he loved and worked for, Jake was prospering beyond his wildest dreams.

Jack hated his mother. His father died shortly after he was born, and his mother for whatever reason, never liked Jack. “You are all you have” She would say to her boys. “You are all you need to do great things.” but unfortunately for Jack, it was obvious that she saw Jack as the inferior. He was “too stupid” to amount to anything. Jake on the other hand, could do no wrong in his mothers eyes.

A thirty foot wave smashed into the port side of the Endurance, soaking Jack and the rest of the crew. The icy water stung his already frozen cheeks. The wave made Jack think of his mother.

Maybe she was right. Maybe Jack was just too stupid to do anything of real value. He was just too much of a bum to even keep a family cared for. As much as Jack hated his mother, he began to see the wisdom in her words. He was indeed all alone, and he could only rely on himself, and himself simply didn’t amount to much.

Jake made his fortune as a stock trader, and he seldom made a bad prediction. He was born better than Jack as far as his mother was concerned. Jack harbored no resentment towards Jake. Jake was about the best older brother a guy could have. He rarely insulted or hurt Jack on purpose, and he didn’t treat his brother like a lesser man at all. But both brothers knew that Jake believed his mothers words as much a she did.

The loudspeaker buzzed, then the pot rose and slid off of the launcher into the sea.

“I’m thinking of calling it ‘You Are Your Own Best Friend’” Jake told his brother about the new book he was writing. “It’s about my rise to success, it was all initiative. I had help from my family and friends of course, but to get anywhere in this world you have to be self-motivated and have strong self-esteem. It works for business and it works for relationships. You’ve got to love yourself before you love others right?”

“Maybe that’s my problem.” thought Jake to himself as he lumbered back to the bait station to clean up. “Maybe If I asserted myself more, and loved myself more, became more confident I could do something better. I could win my ex-wife back. I could see my son again.” But he knew he was grasping at straws. He had tried to love himself but all he could see when he looked inside was failure. He was simply not strong enough of a foundation to build his dreams upon. His brother was born better.

The loudspeaker crackled. “Jack, come on up here for a bit will ya?”

“Don’t you want me to clean up the bait station?” He yelled over the sound of the waves.

“Let Joe take care of it.”

Jacks heart sank. This could only mean one thing, he was slacking. He thought the captain would wait until they got back to Dutch Harbor before he got fired, but I guess it just couldn’t wait. He slowly stripped off his rain gear in the hallway before he headed up to the wheelhouse. This would never happen to Jake.

He sulked his way up to the wheelhouse. He saw Captain Rob there smoking the last centimeters of a cigarette, stroking is gray beard and looking very grave.

“I know, I’m not fast enough and I can’t work here anymore” Jack mumbled. He thought he would try to soften the blow by telling the captain the news before he heard it. Rob raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“What? Don’t be stupid. You may have a lot to learn, but I’m not done with you yet. That’s not why I called you up here.”

“Oh?”

Rob extended the receiver to Jack. “It’s your mother.”

Jack was puzzled and concerned. His mother would never bother calling him at sea unless something bad happened. He slowly took the receiver from Rob.

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit.” said Rob. He rose out of the captains chair and patted Jack on the back as he left the wheelhouse trailing cigarette smoke behind him. Jack took a deep breath, and slid into the warm captains chair and lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Mom?”

“JACKSON!” his mother wailed between sobs. “It’s so horrible!”

Jack had never heard his mother this frantic and tried to calm her down.

“It’s OK mom; breathe. What’s going on?”

“It’s Jacob!” She cried. “He’s dead!”

“What?”
“He shot himself!”

Jack paused. This has to be a joke.

“Are you sure mom?

“OF COURSE I’M SURE!” She screamed. “He’s dead! My first-born son is DEAD!”

Slowly Jack realized this was real. But he was too shocked to react. Jake killing himself? That’s impossible, why on earth would he do that?

“Why would he do that?” he said without emotion.

“He… he……” She sobbed a bit longer, collected herself and told the story. “Jackson, you haven’t heard this because you were at sea, but Jacob made some bad trades…. He…… He lost everything. They were repossessing his car, his house. Everything. Joan even left him and took the kids with her.”

Jack was still stunned, how could this happen to Jake? The perfect child?

“They found him in a hotel room….” She sobbed and sniffed some more.

Jack’s eyes began to water. “He…. He….” He collected himself. “Did he…. I mean…. why?”

“I don’t know! He was so wonderful he…..”

“Did they find anything?”

“Yes they….. they found a note on the desk in the room.”

Jack began to whimper. He was afraid to ask, but he did.

“What…. what did the note say mom? What did it say?”

“Not much” she replied. “All it said was…..”

“Yeah?”

“I am powerless.”

What is Art?: Abrasive Images

Thu, 28 Apr 2011 07:00:05 -0700

When you see this image, what is your immediate reaction?

This photograph is the infamous Piss Christ a photograph taken by artist Andres Serrano. It depicts a small plastic crucifix immersed in a jar of urine. To many this is an extremely abrasive image. Naturally this piece of work made a great many people upset upon it’s debut in 1987. And I’m sure it will offend many more people for years to come.

Word first reached my ear about this controversial piece when I was first considering going to Cornish for school. I was being warned that Christians were not generally welcome there. (This turned out to be mostly true.) I was told third hand that there were students there who created art that was very degrading to Christ. Including a student who made a work called “Piss Jesus”. I braced myself for a rough time when I got to Cornish. Later I heard this piece mentioned in class, so I decided to look it up when I got home. I discovered that it was not made by a Cornish student, but by Andres Serrano in the 80’s. I also discovered that I didn’t find the image near as abrasive as I thought I would.

I did a little research on Serrano. As far as I could tell, his Piss Christ, was not a deliberate rip on Christianity, and he had no prior history of having a vocal contempt for the gospel. So why the strange piece? Who knows? He was rather fond of working with bodily fluids, as can be shown by his Blood and Semen Series. However, art (unlike Scripture) is relative and objective. There is no “wrong” way to interpret art because there is no set of authoritative rules as to what symbols mean what, what colors imply this or that what images are offensive or not. (Now I do think we should use discretion in what we observe for ourselves and our children, but that’s another discussion.) So as Christians, we can see how art, even abrasive images, point to God.

Take the Piss Christ for example. It is indeed Christ, on a crucifix, submerged in urine. We could get upset about our Lord and savior being put in a position of degradation. But doesn’t that sound familar? Isn’t that the kind of stuff our savior went through to save us in the first place? Is it any worse than what WE ourselves have done to Christ in our lifetimes by wallowing in our pride and pushing away his loving hand? Eccentric and delightful nun and art critic Sister Wendy Beckett claimed that she saw this piece not as an insult to Christ, but an example of “what we have done to Christ”. This is a redeemed and wise way to look at and experience such art, even if it were blatantly meant as an insult to Christ. The astounding thing is, that in this world, even when acts are meant to insult and destroy God, they ultimately point to God. This mindset is more glorifying to God than the “Christian” vandals who violently destroyed the Piss Christ on April 17th this year.

Serrano is not the only one who made abrasive images in his art; as can be seen in the work of Francis Bacon.

Bacons Painting, as well as many of his other works of art, can make one cringe at first sight. It often features grim wounded figures, pink and red hues and flayed carcasses and various other slaughtered meat like forms. It’s eerie to say the least, but it has meaning. Bacon explored the concept of “man as beast” and how our innate and wicked desires lurk beneath what is seen. I would not hang a Bacon print on a wall in my home, but I enjoy his art as to me it gives me an Idea of how far we’ve fallen. If our bodily forms were as mangled and deformed as our hearts and souls were since the fall of man, I’ll bet we would look like a lot of the figures that Bacon painted.

Abrasive imagery can be hard to swallow, and if it truly disturbs you spiritually you should stay clear, but images that make us uncomfortable can teach us a lot about the artist and about ourselves. When seeing something challenging, a good first question to ask would be “Why does this bother me?”. The answer to that question could teach us a lot.

On the Defensive

Thu, 21 Apr 2011 07:01:06 -0700

I was rather violent as a kid. Not physically, but spiritually. I was the obnoxious religious kid that made his own t-shirts with bible verses, and catchy phrases found from bumper stickers at the christian stores. Secular music, while not evil, was to be avoided at all costs. When others criticized me for my faith. I got hurt, and when I get hurt, I get mad, and I repeatedly lashed out at those who didn’t know God, and took their unbelief to be my failure. All this time I had no idea that I was no better than they were. Luckily for me, God is as equally gracious to the bold-faced religious types as He is to the absolute heathens. God spoke to me a lot, and did a lot of work to make me who I am today, and while today’s model is nowhere near perfect, it’s come a long way from where it was.

While some of the music I listened to as a teenager was indeed similar to the butt of the jokes in the South Park episode, Christian Rock Hard. Others, I listened to (and still listen to) had some wonderfully talented musicians and writers in their bands. Many of whom were also very wise and knew that following Christ was more than creating music with Jesus lyrics. One of these bands hails from Sweden and is known by the name Blindside.

The record, A Thought Crushed My Mind, was very influential to me, musically and spiritually. They speak on everything from self-loathing, to hiding from the truth, and even defense of the Gospel. In their song titled Silverspeak they speak of how Christians are effected by what others say about their faith. A couple quotes from this particular song always stand out to me when my Jesus is assaulted verbally within my earshot.

How come i’m the one bleeding when You’re the one being cut? And every stabbing word about You stings. - Blindside

When others speak ill of Christ, it hurts us. But does it really truly hurt Christ?

I’m an ant trying to protect my Dinosaur friend. - Blindside

We fight so hard to defend Christ, but do we truly have the power to?

I listened to this song, this whole album, a lot after my last major spiritual altercation. There was a girl at school, who at the end of an escalating conversation regarding marriage, essentially told me that marriage is wrong and that I’m ill-informed to believe that it’s wonderful. That hurt bad. I was obsessing over it for two days. It wasn’t wrong for me to be upset at this, but the degree I took it to was downright sinful. It was a wake-up call. I was so concerned about being liked at school that when one person clearly showed opposite feeling about me, I took it personal, and I lost it.

Seeing this happen, helped me see how easy and how dangerous it is to bother getting offended. Obviously, we will be stirred, moved, upset and even angered by the things the world does and it’s very difficult not to be offended. But should we get offended? Maybe a better question should be; who is the world offending? The world is not at war with us, for we are still in the world. The world is at war with God. When the world slings venomous comments towards the almighty God of the universe, they won’t effect us, or God, in the long run. Their comments will die with the rest of the world when the time comes. We need to remember what Jesus says in John 15.

So why do we get offended? Well it truly boils down to how self-centered we are. If we brood over the deeds over the world and get offended by them, we are upset that they have hurt us, not God. It’s a misdirection. In this mindset, we are needlessly allowing ourselves to be hurt because we have decided that we are the center of the universe, not God. When people slander the gospel, we take it personally because it’s all about us in our minds.

We will offend others with the Gospel, but we have no reason to be offended, because God is on the throne.

On the Offensive

Thu, 14 Apr 2011 10:34:42 -0700

Cornish is an offensive place at times. Many of the posters hanging around the campus promote and celebrate things that make me a little uneasy. To be honest I get a little upset at times seeing things portrayed in the propaganda and actions of the students. It’s easy to get stuck up, feel superior, write them all off as freaks. The funny thing is, many of the other students feel the same way about me. And the truth is that I am no better than the other students at the school.

Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t find this poster offensive. I have a hard time seeing how it would be. It is simply an invitation to an event. It doesn’t say: “You’re going to burn in hell”, or “God hates fags” or anything silly like some unmentionable whacked out “churches” would say. Yet this stuff makes people cringe, I put a bunch of these posters up in the main building at Cornish, and within two days, they were all gone. In the music building most of them disappeared, while one remained with vandalism saying “god is dead” and “cult”. In fact, I found the above image from a blog I found online that said, and I quote:

“Ballard’s Mars Hill Church may be full of nasty bigots… but at least they’re nasty bigots with good taste in graphic design.” - Anonymous

The gospel scares the shit out of some people, which should be no surprise. It is indeed a threat to many of their ways of life. People hate to be told that they can’t save themselves. To be honest, for someone who doesn’t know Christ, it’s completely understandable to have a distrust of Christians. And yet, for some reason, we Christians get offended when we see see people lash out at us, as if it were some sort of surprise. The Bible is very clear that this is to be expected:

Do not be surprised, brothers, that the world hates you. We know that we have passed out of death into life, because we love the brothers. Whoever does not love abides in death. - 1 John 3:13-14

We live in a world that hates God, and we need to expect persecution. Christ accepted his persecution and because of that, we no longer have to fear the sin problem. Christ calls us to do the same when we are persecuted. When we avoid or resist persecution it can go horribly wrong. We can avoid persecution by giving up the gospel so people like us, or we can resist it so much that we hole up and lash out back, becoming like the aforementioned crazy “churches”.

So why do Christians get offended when we see others lash out against Christ and Christians? Do we have any cause to be offended? Is it healthy or detrimental?

These are not rhetorical questions. I’d like to hear your thoughts and I will continue this topic within the next few weeks.

What is Art?: The Masks of Nick Cave

Thu, 07 Apr 2011 07:00:00 -0700

First off, I want to make it clear that the Nick Cave I am speaking of is NOT the Nick Cave of “Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds”. This Nick Cave is an entirely different sort of artist, and he expresses himself with his full body masks, also known as “soundsuits”. Luz and I adore this man’s work. He’s one of our new favorite artists.

The intricate and detailed costumes that Cave creates are nothing short of breathtaking in person. They are beautiful as stand-alone art, but they really shine when they are worn by performers. Anywhere Cave’s art is shown, there tend to be a series of “invasions” in his soundsuits popping up in various places in downtown. Some of the dance and music students at Cornish were among those invited to put on some of these invasions, one of which happened at our main campus.

It’s fun seeing performers really cut loose and become another person entirely. Cave describes his soundsuits as “full body masks”. The Idea behind these, is that when you wear a mask, you become someone else. Since no one can see your true Identity you can express yourself with more freedom, and wearing a full body mask increases it’s effect. Ideally the act of wearing a mask such as these would be the epitome of true, pure expression.

While I can easily see my self donning one of these costumes and dancing around Seattle with no one knowing who I am; I’m not entirely sure how freeing it would be. The fact that wearing these suits can be considered freedom says something about our nature, or at the very least, our culture. Why does masking ourselves create a feeling of freedom? By Cave’s logic, are we only free to true expression when we hide who we really are? Do we have to hide parts of ourselves to show ourselves to others? What would it mean to be fully exposed? Whether he meant to or not, his masks bring up some very interesting questions. While his work is beautiful and delightful in some senses, its’ scary and disturbing in others. These mystery creatures he creates cannot truly be known because all they can express is the mask they wear.

I’ve been puzzling over this for a while. It’s hard for me to understand why this would seem true. Biblically, we know that hiding yourself is not freedom. The only true freedom we can have is when Christ gives us our new nature, our true nature. When we express that, we do not have to fear anything. It’s true that we may face persecution, but we won’t even have a nature of fear anymore, at least not in our true nature. However, without Christ there is no such security. Perhaps this is why it’s so easy to hide behind masks. Is it because people are afraid of people knowing who they are so they won’t get hurt? Is it so one can get away with any act without being caught? Either way, it’s a moot point once you know Christ and can shed that skin forever. To me these suits are a strange and beautiful example of the masks people wear to hide themselves from the world, but true beauty is always under the mask.

Redeeming Social Media

Thu, 31 Mar 2011 07:00:00 -0700

I was a highschooler when I started using social media. This was back in the days where myspace was supreme, and “everyone” was on myspace. Despite the severe lack of quality in myspace’s programming, it was the best place to gossip about who’s dating who, or rant about how much your parents suck. Here I got myself in trouble more than once, not only because I had the tact of a chainsaw, but because I saw it as an opportunity to say whatever I wanted. For some reason I though that since my comments were given behind the veil of technology, that somehow my words were less potent.

Learning the error of this is a lesson I’ve been learning the hard way for years. I’ve insulted someone using just about every form of social media I’ve used, including email. It’s easy to fall into the selfish trap that social media sets for us….. Well, technology is morally neutral, so the temptation is due to our hearts; not the 1’s and 0’s that make up the software. When we start to use social media, we tend to want to “express ourselves”, “make our opinions known” which is somehow a part of the american dream these days. We need to be heard, and if we aren’t, we get all pouty. It’s rather childish. I know some who know they can’t handle the temptation to overdo it and they avoid social media all together. This is admirable, as the bible tells us to flee from temptation. For others of us however, we don’t need to quit social media, we need to redeem it.

Enter Rachel Freed and Colin Day. The two of them spoke at our final leadership development class and spoke a lot about social media. Rachel came and talked about “The City” (which is a social media tool specifically designed for churches), while Colin talked about how to use twitter and facebook to our advantage. Both seminars were very enriching, and they taught me how to be intentional about using social media.

I tend to be one of the many people using facebook as a dartboard; flinging harmful negative complaints just so we don’t feel unheard. Now I’m going to be more intentional, I only want to post about life-giving things. Things that inspire conversation or delight someone. Things that inform others about the wonderful things God is doing in our lives or in our world. Examples of God’s glory in the lives of people we know and observe.

For each of the many websites I use, i’m going to be more intentional and life giving with my words. I want my words to glorify Christ and not me.

Twitter: Using tweets not to complain about my day, but inform others of the beauty and meaning I see in every day life. Keep an eye out for the hashtags: #bratcherlife, #goodmarriage, #goodart, #goodmusic, #goodfood, #gooddrink, #datenight

Facebook: I will try to keep in touch with things others are doing, and support them when things are hard. I shall try to use facebook as a means, not an end.

Tumblr: I’m new to blogging, but I hope my blogs will leave room for thought and critique. The last thing the world needs is another blogger who sneezes all his feelings onto the keyboard. My blogs are untilledsoil.tumblr.com for weekly writings, and untilledsound.tumblr.com for all posts regarding to my music.

The City: This one is perfect for assembling groups for parties, volunteer work and bible studies, as well as prayer requests and needs. It’s a valuable tool that I need to learn to use more.

Yelp: This one is a little different, but I believe equally important. I am passionate about passionate people, and when I find a business that does things very very well, I like to support them in what they do. I’ve used yelp many times to find good places to eat and shop, and it’s very useful. So I hope to help those who do what they do well.

So there’s my resolve, and if you ever catch me misusing social media, please call me on it.

Seattle Library Days

Thu, 24 Mar 2011 10:00:00 -0700

During the latter half of spring break, I had to do a research paper. The research was far more grueling than I expected. However, I do happen to live in a beautiful city, with some of the most astounding library facilities around. But instead of sitting around in one of the smaller local libraries, I went to the relatively new Central Library downtown. I made a few days out of it, and the facility almost made research fun.

The building is monstrous, super modern and gorgeous inside and out, not only that but it’s very sophisticated. They even have a high tech conveyor belt system that checks in all the books in the book drop, very cool.

The floor slants up in a spiral so the entire Dewey decimal system is in order from top to bottom, which makes finding books easy.

And the top floor is breathtaking and serene, a perfect place to study.

I soon discovered that even the public library’s collection of knowledge though vast, was too limited for the particular research I was doing, I needed periodicals and scholarly journals and such, and a very vast collection of such things can be found at the Suzzallo Library at the University of Washington.

This structure was built back in the awesome days when they liked to build libraries that look like churches. This makes for, at least for me, a worshipful studying experience.

There were several smaller libraries scattered around the campus, even one entirely dedicated to sheet music, music literature, and music periodicals.

It was enlightening and enchanting searching for information in such a beautiful and vast cache of knowledge. I was hit particularly hard when I saw the giant periodical section in the main part of the library.

There was so much knowledge here, so much information, it was so vast that I was breathless. There were volumes and volumes of all sorts of publications dating back many years, and the crazy thing was, that this floor of knowledge that was so breathtaking to me, that no one could possibly read and memorize in a lifetime, was only a fraction of the knowledge that mankind has collected over the years. This was just a small piece of the pie, and even this was too much for little old me. I was hit even harder when I discovered an entire row dedicated to biblical and theological publications, including a four inch thick copy of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs.

Never before had I wished that I was better at reading books. I wanted to absorb all the information there about the bible and about Christ.

Maybe this is why so many people seek knowledge so much, to feel like they truly understand, have a bead on how life works and who God is. It’s not wrong to search for knowledge, in fact it’s honorable, but knowledge is not what connects us to God. Christ does, and thank God Christ does, otherwise unscholarly types like me can get to know him personally without needing to prove ourselves to him.

This is even more incredible when you consider the knowledge in the UW library. All that mind-blowing knowledge is nothing compared to the massive knowledge that the collective world has amassed. And that knowledge is a mere sliver of what God knows, in fact it’s not even a sliver. God’s knowledge is infinite and it’s THAT God that wants to know us personally and closely and draw us close to him. How great he is and how little we deserve, and yet He sent Jesus to die for us and pay for all our nonsense. Even the library, a testament to man’s knowledge, ultimately points to Jesus.

What is Art?: An Accidental Testament to Creation

Thu, 17 Mar 2011 07:00:00 -0700

Here is a paper I wrote for my contemporary art history class a few months ago. This artist and scientist, Joe Davis, is a fascinating man, and his work is very thought provoking. This piece is in reference to his superb work entitled “Self-Assembling Clocks”

Honestly, when I first walked into that small gallery, I thought this was going to be another weird art exhibit that I wouldn’t understand. At first glance it looks like the artist just threw a bunch of wires and metal and phones and stuff together to make what could be easily labeled as “art”. After meandering the gallery for a little while I found the work of the artist Joe Davis to not only be interesting but very thought provoking and inspiring. Everything from the science experiment monument entitled “Call Me Ishmael” that was in tribute to those who have died due to tumultuous weather, to the small acrylic tubes carved internally by expertly pointed lasers. These works were both beautiful and intriguing.

However there was one piece that was particularly astonishing to me. On the wall in the second room of the gallery were a bunch of mason jars stacked on shelves on the wall. These mason jars had all kinds of gears, clock faces, springs, metal hands and housings of various clocks. Each jar had a small slip of paper inside that had the words “Self-assembling clock” followed by the date of it’s creation. After observing these for a while I had a pretty good idea of what they were supposed to represent. To confirm my suspicions I glanced over at the tag that described the art. Sure enough, these clocks were put there in hope that someday in millions of years, one of more of the jars will assemble themselves into a working, functional clock. This is a parallel representation of what supposedly was the beginning of life on this earth millions of years ago. This was very intriguing and exciting to observe for me as I am convinced that the very concept behind the self-assembling clock is impossible.

I’m a bit biased. I’m one of the few believers in Christ and the God of the bible that you will find not only in Seattle, but in the art world in general. Because of my worldview, seeing such an enlightening piece of work shown in this way was exhilarating to me. The self-assembling clocks are a perfect example of how creation is necessary for anything to be. When someone looks at the clocks in jars and is completely honest with themselves, they realize that they will never become clocks. The chances of it happening are so astronomical that it will not happen. I can say that with utmost certainty. The only way that these jars will become clocks is if someone actively repairs them. Comparing this to the theory of evolution or “life from nothing” makes the point even more clear. A simple cell is dramatically more complex than a clock, and one being formed out of molecules alone is even more impossible than the concept of a self-assembling clock.

However the intriguing element of this piece is about more than proving modern science wrong. The piece in and of itself is a testament to creation in art and science even if it is meant to be an argument against it. You see, even if by some unbelievable chance a clock someday forms out of one of those jars, the clock is still a created object, not a result of random chance. Why? Because chance can only happen when the conditions are set. In this case, the artist Joe Davis set up the conditions for the clocks to give them the best possible chance to become clocks on their own. This action in and of itself is creation, meaning that creation is still part of the process. Moreover, the very pieces that are in each jar, were created by man, and were already at one point part of various clocks, so even the building blocks for this random chance scenario are created objects. Creation cannot be escaped in art. Some artists make “chance” art, which is still a valid art form, but creation is still a part of it. When John Cage composed songs out of chance, he still had to flip the coins himself, and he had to make a chart that would correspond to those coin flips. Even if chance is an element of it, it’s still creation.

I do not think that Joe Davis is a foolish man who just happened to stumble upon something he does not understand. Rather I think he is quite clever and truly wants to know more about the way the world works. He may have different views on creation than me, but he has a mind open enough to contemplate something deeper than his own view. I am certain his own art has made him reflect on the nature of creation and how important it is in art and science. I believe his work “Self-Assembling Clocks” to be the most brilliant art made from everyday objects that I have ever seen.