Gospel

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The Sight of Stars

A friend was looking for a good home for her framed Van Gogh poster. With hardly a thought, I snatched it up, knowing that it would find it's comfort near the head of my bed. For now, it's behind the door.

I was strictly taught in art school to admire Michelangelo for his anatomical drawing dexterity. And in a very academic and passionless way I do. But that impasto that creates subtle shadows, sculpting it's own variation of depth, I turn to Vincent Van Gogh. Perhaps that Programmer of my mind has wired it in me to receive those hits; to be moved and motivated by it's texture. I wouldn't have choose Van Gogh's studio (the asylum), nor his loneliness, nor his poverty, not his vocational rejection. But, I would choose the joy of the "have to" painter.

Vinnie, as I affectionately call him, was the Jeremiah of artists. He had to paint. And what was his reward? Was it that he had something inside that had to be let out? Was it a fire in his belly or in his heart? If money were the point, he'd have quit. What moved him? I try to understand. Perhaps the challenge of working with the most difficult color to bring about harmony - yellow. The most dangerous color for the newbie artist. Vinnie's grasp on yellow relations could earn him a noble peace price if non-artist's were to understand the strain it had with other colors. How it muddied things up and caused acidic reactions. Or was it an affair with combining line, sculpture and paint. He tried to make them all agree. And they did, with joy and unity.

I meditate on Starry Night. Some see a comet swirling. If this painting were the ink blotch test, I'd see a star falling instead. I would point to Luke 10:18, but my Counselor would turn me to the more poetic and apocalyptic view of Revelation 9:1. That star being the biblical symbol of an angel with Satan falling from position. Who is fallen and booted out, bringing me back to that dream. That frightful, but now I understand frightened, white scorpion following right under my heel, causing me to forge ahead on my forefeet. Exhaustion drenched me as I fought my way to escape it's sting. Though it never pierced, it did tunnel a way under my foot. The missing link, Luke 10:19 arrived to my sleuthful eye. The scorpion, representing the hurtful tactics of the enemy. The poison that paralyses, but does not kill the Christian. Yet, I'm handed the majestic trump card, that my bare (His) foot can trample the power missiles of the enemy. I am elated until I continue on and see that my true joy speaks of being included in the book of life. Not death. Not apathetic living. Not the neutral zone. The book with the pen that writes about life.

I continue to look at the yellow and blue blended scene. The little chapel positioned in sight of a Shepherd or a Watchman on a tower or a open viewed hill. After forty days of fasting, Satan may have taken Jesus to this type of vantage point and announced "It is yours if the price is right?" Yet, is this the true vision that Jesus had while in the garden? Did he see His Church with the other angels still on high. Was he aware of the Watchman near by? Did he see the fate of the fallen angel so obviously disgraced.

Preach on Van Gogh, your calling as a preacher is not mistaken. Perhaps Van Gogh would quietly mumble under his pipe "Preach the gospel and if necessary use paint."

H. Stone (C) 2006

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