Hypocrisy, posturing and everyday low prices...

Hey gang, it's Sean.

I've still got much to say about freefall, but life has been busy
and my brains can only handle the task updating my
Facebook status on occasion.
However, I'm just tweaked enough about something to push my
weary mind into some word-making action.
So, who is frustrating enough to shoulder me out of my verbal lethargy?

Wal-mart.

Now, the only way that something like Wal-mart would make it onto
thisblog would be if it somehow related to art or my faith in the
Kingdom of God as Jesus presented it. Today, it does just that.

Pop-punk band Green Day has just released their new album
"21st Century Breakdown" and the retail leviathan Wal-mart
has refused to carry the album because Green Day has not
provided them with an edited edition of the new album.
I'm sure by now that it's public knowledge that Wal-mart only
carries edited versions of albums which contain profanity or
other themes that the Wal-mart-Powers-That-Be find offensive. I will be
the first to say that within our economic system Wal-mart has the right
to carry or refuse any product that it so chooses.
I'm not here to debate politics or
civil liberties.

So, what's my contention?

If there were an icon for American Christianity, other than
the sprawling "Mega-Church", I'm sure that Wal-mart would be in
the running. Although officially Wal-mart is not a "Christian" company,
when former Wal-Mart executive Don Soderquist claims,
"The basis of our decisions was thevalues of Scripture",
separating the two might be a difficult
task in the minds of most people.
Consider what the perception would be if the basis of their
decisions was the values of The Koran or the Buddhavacana.
Could you see anyone being able to differentiate
between that andthem being a
Muslim or Buddhist company?
I can't.

When there is an icon that is so ubiquitous, no matter how iniquitous,
it becomes the default representation in the minds of nearly everyone.
So, simply put if in the collective subconscious Wal-mart represents
Christianityand then, Christians (Christ-like or "little Christ) are to
represent Jesus, it wouldreason that Wal-mart = Jesus, right?

So, why am I upset with a Jesus who doesn't want 13 year-olds to
be able to buy an album with the dreaded f-word in it?
I'm not.
Not really.
I'm angry with a representation of Jesus that is wholesale hypocritical
and, perhaps, thoughtless.

Herein lies the hypocrisy:

You cannot buy a CD with profanity at Wal-mart but
you can buy The Platinum Edition of the movie "Scarface" which
contains that ol' dreaded f-word - or derivatives thereof - 226 times.
(Not to mention that it's about selling cocaine and its
violence is off the charts.)
You can also buy the "Scarface" Gamer Graffix Skin for your
teen's PSP which has Pacino and
"his little friend" drawn and ready to kill.
Cute.

You cannot buy an unedited CD with adult themes,
but you can buy a copy of the film "8mm 2" where a politician
is being blackmailed with a sex video of him and two other women.
The politician and his wife go into the pornographic underground of
Budapest to retrieve the video.All sorts of naughtiness ensues.
And there's bad words. too.
You can get the R rated version at your local Wal-mart
or the unrated version online at Wal-mart(dot)com.

And since they've dropped "bad words" from the music they sell,
you could always purchase it from them in these movies:
Here's a rundown on the biggee: The F-word.

"Dogma" 106 times.
"Knocked Up" 113 times.
(Not quite moral fare. And it shows a vagina...Hmmm)
"The Boondock Saints" 239 times
"Running Scared" 315 times.
"Pride and Glory" 291 times.
"Casino" 398 times.
And if that's not enough for you, there's always
"Nil By Mouth" 428 times.
All available at Walmart or its online outlet.

I'll be honest with you, I'm mostly ambilvalent about "bad words".
I don't think they exist. I could agree with George Carlin and say
There are "no bad words. Bad thoughts. Bad intentions."
or I could quote my aunt, who was a quiet, godly woman,
if ever one existed, who said "There' no word other than 'shit'
when an egg hits the floor."
Words in, words out. I don't generally care.
I don't need cussing to make my rock and roll cool.
I don't need a censor to keep me safe or holy.

What I need is the representation of my God to be one that actually
represents Him. Not so much because I need it, but,
because there are people I love who don't know how beautiful He is or
exactly how wonderful His Kingdom is (and is going to be).
I want to knock down every possible obstacle
to them getting in tight with Him.

Wal-mart, you are inadvertently an obstacle. I wish you'd go away.
Liquidate your inventory to the poor
(many of whom are already in your employ).
Take your smiley face stickers and everyday low prices
and just turn to dust.
And if you're not going to do that
or make sense in your selling practices
then I'm just going to post this and say:
Brothers and sisters, shop there if you want,
but don't be fooled into thinking that they represent Truth.
They don't.

And to the artists. Speak the truth.
Even if its the truth about an egg that splattered your kitchen tile.
Lies and subterfuge do not advance the Kingdom of God.
Nor does God take pleasure in them.
I'm glad that Green day didn't change
just to please a retailer.
I have a feeling that he is more interested in honest sinners
than in hypocritical Christians.

Good day, my faithful readers.

The calling of Saint Schizophrenia

Hey, Sean here.

Hearing God can be a murky affair.
First, there's the wading through your own desires, proclivities and
(let's just be honest here) personal bullshit.
You want what you want, and if you're anything
like me, you're not beyond a little self-deception to get it.
But once you get through all of that
you've still not cleared all the hurdles
because, simply put,
God often likes to whisper.

I had followed these whispers from the verdant land
and flannel grey skies of Washington State
to the parched earth and gauzy grey skies of
the San Joaquin Valley of California.
These whispers unwound before me like a path
from my familiar and comfortable job in a screenprint shop
to the uncharted territories of full-time artist.
Even a whisper during my wife Sandi's dreaming
showed us which house we would soon occupy.

But then, there are those moments
as if the channel upon which we hear his voice gets
dialed into more sharply and the static dies away
and you hear it.
A word or a phrase
undeniably Him
and pregnant with meaning.

One of the most definitive of these moments came for me
six years ago just after Mardi Gras.
We had just moved into our new house and I was
already pursuing the whispered path of full-time artist,
but all was not well in my world.
My wife and kids were thrilled at the new adventure,
but certain others close to us had already begun
voicing some vehement opposition to my distinctly
un-9 to 5 trajectory.
It was arrogant
It was irresponsible.
It was immoral.
It was perhaps insane.
In fact, a non-liturgical Christian in this camp
(who had already expressed that he had lost

all respect for me as a Father and a Christian)

had begun fasting for Lent in hopes that I would come to my senses.

Now, I grew up in the land of manners
and good Southern gentility
amidst a group of people to whom
the opinions of others meant a great deal.
They gladly (or obligately)
passed this co-dependency onto me.

"What will the neighbors think?"
"What would your grandmother say?"

So, to have so many disgruntled people
not just questioning my decisions
but actually casting aspersions upon
my faith and character
was truly beginning to break me,
especially since I felt that I was acting
with more faith and integrity
than I ever had in all my life.

I had no training for this.
Not from my family.
Certainly not from the church.
(They always told me that if I was in God's will
my opposition would be the atheists, liberals and satanists. Ha.)
I didn't know what to do.
So, I went for a walk.

It was on that walk, barely a block from my house
that the voice in the wind
stopped being a whisper.

"I want you in freefall."

I can't attest to whether this message came as sound
through the air to vibrate my tympanic membrane or not.
All I can tell you is that I heard it.
Crystal clear and full of meaning, far beyond
its six syllables.

With that sentence I had a picture.
I was standing at the edge of a cliff,
one of those protruding precipices that Wile. E. Coyote
often found himself on,
and I was hemmed in by people.
People I knew. Family. Friends. And even foes.
They were all pleading with me to step away
from the edge.
But not one of them, not even the well- meaning ones,
was without an agenda or some stipulation.
All I had to do was trade what I knew I had heard
and I could walk away with them in perfect safety.

But the word "freefall" hung in the air like a mist
and I looked behind me.
My only open path free of the obligations
to the opinions of others
was just past the precipice.
"Freefall" echoed through the jagged canyons below.
My only option was to be obedient.
And for the first time ever,
I looked back at those pleading for my attention
smiled warmly at them
and I fell.

Free.


(More to come.)

The pregnant pause gives birth

Hey, it's Sean.

It's been an uncreative period here at The Saint. Not long after our furious output of blog posts the most horrendous barrage of flu viruses descended, rendering us all virtually useless. It's that sort of void that I feared when starting this blog. I know that there are many who dutifully and joyfully update their blogs every day and I'd love to be one of them, but alas.

Many people liken life to a roller coaster as per it's ups and downs, and that's an apt metaphor. But so often I'm being jerked hither and yon by my particular coaster only to look ahead and see that the track which should be present is conspicuously absent. And that's the point where I have to close my eyes, cross my fingers, cover my balls and trust that my Papa will carry me across the gap. He always does, even though, occasionally, I land on a wholly other track than the one I was anticipating. C'est la vie.

So, here I am landing on the next set of rails and seeing where it goes. I may not be a daily blogger, but I'm typing these words for now. And here's hoping I'll do it again.

Just thought I'd open the window and wave a hello. One day soon, I'll come out and play.

Later,
sean

Cubist Christ and The Ice Queen

Hey, it's Sean,

I read an interview with Bjork in Spin Magazine a while back.
I'm not a Bjork fan, I've never really heard much of her work,
but I usually read magazines cover to cover even if I don't know
much about the subject of each article.
(I've read some really useless things in my life.)
However, despite being pretty much Bjork-ignorant
I still took something away from this interview which has
stuck with me
for about two years now.

In response to a question asking about her
least favorite trend in music, she answered,
"I'm not crazy about rock,"
and then followed it with
the comment that has remained with me,
"It's a white, male thing for me. It's square-shaped and Christian.
It's very much about not having mystery."
While this isn't a direct statement about Christianity,
it is a statement nonetheless.
Bjork lumps faith in Christ with something that she views as
white, male, square-shaped and without mystery.

Now, one thing that I do know is that Bjork is a bit of an iconoclast.
This is the girl who wore a swan dress
to the 2001Oscars, mind you.
But as an artist who represents the Kingdom of God to the world,
I'm disheartened.
Not because she said it,
but because when I look at Christianity as portrayed by modern Christians,
I can't say that I disagree with her.

I don't think that many of the presumed Powers-That-Be
in the American Church ™ would disagree with her either,
but I also don't think that they'd be as sad about it as I am.
Square-shaped and without mystery is easy to believe.
Easy to teach.
Easy to control.
You can get a degree in square-shaped and without mystery.
Plus, it satisfies our post-enlightenment arrogance,
as well as our longings for"something beyond".
Perfect. I'll take one.
Can you gift wrap that for me?

But that ain't the Kingdom of God.
There's something fluid and alive about
this Kingdom that Jesus taught.
The character of God is unchanging, immutable.
That is true.
But His means and His methods?
They change.
They suit the situation. They're always of his character,
but the show up in different clothes almost always.

There are those who will shudder and
think that I am espousing Relativism.
I am not.
However, regarding methods, I will say that God spoke
to one man through a burning yet unconsumed bush.
He spoke to another through a animal.
To others through a messenger known only as
"The Word of the LORD"
And to others through dreams.

Regarding his means, I will quote only this:
"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us."
You can't become what you already are
and to become something you must change.
If that is not enough for you, that's fine.
You may have your square-shaped and without mystery.
I won't begrudge you, nor will I debate you.
Blessings to you as you go on your way.

But for those who are on the outside of this Kingdom
- and even to those who are on the inside and don't see it yet-
it is my hope, my dream and in fact, my calling
to tell you about this incredible, mysterious Kingdom
that far exceeds white, male and square-shaped.

I haven't found it's boundaries yet, nor do I think I ever will.
I can't map it or nail it down.
But I've got some pencil scribblings
(so I can erase when I invariably goof)
that I'd love to share with you.
Some of them might be
DEEP and THEOLOGICAL,
but some of them are just
fun, pretty stuff because
The Kingdom
doesn't stop at the church walls.
It's everywhere.
And it's quite amazing.

Since I don't have Bjork in my circle of influence, I may never
have the chance to introduce her to
the Kingdom from which that bastardized version
of Christianity mutated. But I'm thankful to her
for speaking her mind.
It helped me understand something outside myself.
Bless you, Bjork.

And bless you, too, my reader.

Later,
sean

Wait for it.

Hey gang, it's Sean.

Thankfully, Tumnus got the blog ball rolling. I had the hardest time getting those first words down.
I do that with paintings, too.
The first stroke of paint on a canvas nearly kills me.
I often feel like somehow up to that time all of my work has just been
some extended fluke and I really have no idea what I'm doing.
But then, the first line or stroke of color hits the canvas
and I'm off running.

So, here goes:

The idea behind the Studio and this accompanying blog is a cloudy one.
I've yet to nail down exactly where God is taking us on this journey.
But then again, that's how it goes with God.
Almost always.

I'm pretty sure there are a couple destinations that we're not going to end up in.

First, I know we're not going to end up being the next "Christian" thing.
If you know anything about American Christianity ™,
you are well aware of the entirely separate market which exists solely for Christians.
Music, t-shirts, mints, pillowcases.
I even saw a news story about two new Christian reality shows.
And to that I say, ugh.
I don't believe in that market.
I don't believe it is holy.
Or good.
Or beneficial.
It's poo.
So, me and my masked counterpart aren't about to win any awards with them.

I also feel sadly confident that this blog won't be visited often
by many artists that we admire.
Quite a few of the people that really get our creative juices flowing
have no interest in our faith or the concept of god, let alone the Kingdom of God.
So, our friends and artistic influences who are atheists, agnotics, non-Christian
or just disinterested in the whole God gig aren't our audience either.
Shit.

Where does that leave us?

I guess it doesn't matter.
That's the calling of Saint Schizophrenia.
You do what you hear God say.
Audience or not.
Gallery show or not.
And you wait.

In fact, if there is a tagline for The Saint, other than
"yes, we're hearing voices"
then it would be,
"wait for it".
It's written in big bold Sharpie letters on my easel.

WAIT FOR IT.

What is it?
Don't always know.
But in due time, He shows me.
And until then, I fight to make the first stroke
(brush or key),
and then work like a madman until it's done.
Where I end up is wholly
(holy?)
up to Him.

So, here I am, closing my first blog post...
waiting.


later,
sean

What's in a name?

Good mornin' folks, Tumnus here.

I know it's probably not morning where you are whilst you're reading this, but I can't plan for those sorts of contingencies. Since I'm still wiping away the sleep and propping my eyelids open with a strong cup of coffee, we're just gonna pretend it's morning where you are, too. I hope you like a good game of pretend, or perhaps we couldn't be friends. Wouldn't that be sad?

Anywho, there 's much to be talked about still so I'll just assume that you're not opposed to a little pretend and are still reading, so I'll keep typing.

I wanted to talk to you a bit about names today. In cultures that are less Western in their approach, names actually carry characteristics and meaning for the person who bears that name. But even in our culture, names have great significance, even if the reasons are far more superficial. I'd wager that you've not run into one Adolf on the playground in your lifetime. That's no coincidence.

Take my compatriot's given name, Sean Matthew. Named after Sean Connery and the tax collector-cum-saint who liked to throw parties with sinners. Not a bad mix. Doesn't hold a lot of meaning in the etymology department, but it sounds good and it's got, what he believes to be, the best and only correct spelling of the name on the planet. And since he was nearly named after football players Roman Gabriel and Johnny Unitas, my partner-in-crime - who could have ostensibly could have been Roman Unitas - is forever grateful for having dodged that bullet in utero.

My name, as it was self-endowed, holds a bit more meaning. My namesake is the only character that I could really relate to in C.S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I have forever been a man without a country. I find myself always living somewhere in the demilitarized zones between established boundaries: flesh and spirit, science and faith, fashion and function. I could empathize with this half-man, half-beast whose compulsory allegiances stood against his personal convictions. I admired this character who, in the face of his own imminent demise, chose truth and honor. So, I stole his name.

All that said, my true intent of this post was to shed a bit of light on the name of the studio itself. "Saint Schizophrenia" is an odd name which generally elicits a chuckle upon first hearing. There's something about the ridiculous juxtaposition between sainthood and mental illness that people find amusing. Good. That means we chose well. Yet, despite the apparent silliness of the name, it is in fact a tightly packed shorthand for the vision of our life and work.

"Saint Schizophrenia" is our concise way of saying this:

"I know that you didn't hear the voice that I heard when it told me to do the thing that I am now doing. I'm sure that there is the possibility that the voice could have been a delusion or hallucination caused by a bad taco or a chemical misfiring in my brain. But at this juncture, I'm not convinced that it wasn't God speaking. Nor has this voice suggested that I do anything which would be illegal or dangerous. In fact, so long as it continues to lead me through the teachings of Jesus about self-sacrificial love and the unsurpassed worth of others, and that I don't need to go around fighting and jockeying for position to get my identity or worth or even my food or clothes because God is taking care of me, then I'm gonna stick with it and see where it takes me. I neither expect you to believe me nor follow the voice in my head. I'm not going to argue with you and think ill of you because it's possible that you are the sane one and I'm the loon. We can even be friends as long you don't spend your time trying to prove to me that I'm wrong, and I'll afford you the same respect. I can live with the fact that when I get to the end, they might find out that I was crazier than a craphouse rat."

So, that is why we bear that name
and that is who we are.
Yes, we are hearing voices. Believe it or not.
If you would like to hear them, we can show you what we've learned.
If you don't want to hear them, we don't rightly blame you.
It occasionally muddies as much as it clarifies.
You can still enjoy our work, if you so desire.
We're sharing it with you because we like you.

Affectionately yours,
Tumnus


PS: I will leave you with one of the earliest paintings from The Saint:
"If the world is sane..." by Sean Matthew Howard



If the world is sane, then Jesus is mad as a hatter and the Last Supper is the Mad Tea Party. The world says, Mind your own business, and Jesus says, There is no such thing as your own business. The world says, Follow the wisest course and be a success, and Jesus says, Follow me and be crucified. The world says, Drive carefully — the life you save may be your own — and Jesus says, Whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. The world says, Law and order, and Jesus says, Love. The world says, Get and Jesus says, Give. In terms of the world's sanity, Jesus is crazy as a coot, and anybody who thinks he can follow him without being a little crazy too is laboring less under a cross than under a delusion. -Frederick Buechner (The Faces of Jesus, 136)

Welcome to The Saint

Hello there, reader.
I hope you haven't been kept waiting long. I see that the last and, in fact, only post made to this blog was nearly a year ago. That is a terrible shame and you have my most sincere apologies. The management 'round here had all the highest of intentions when it came to getting this blog a-rollin'. However, as I'm sure that you are aware, rarely do intent and outcome coincide.
As it is always preferable to light a candle instead of cursing the darkness, I have decided to commandeer this verbal outpost of Saint Schizophrenia Studios.

My name, in its most elaborate form, is The Amazing Tumnus. You, however, may simply call me Tumnus. You may be familiar with that name from another place and I will admit, it is a sobriquet that I have bestowed upon myself. However, I and my namesake share nothing else, save perhaps a fondness for umbrellas.

It is my distinct pleasure to be your host through the world which is Saint Schizophrenia Studios (henceforth known as "The Saint").

We are a small collective of artists who are also followers of Christ. It is our conviction that the attendant relationship with God in Christ, is active and involves actual relating to the Creator and Sustainer of all things. Simply put, we talk to Him and He talks back. We also are well convinced that God is looking to build or strengthen this same type of relationship between Himself and every other person on the planet.

To this end, he has employed those to whom he is already speaking to pass His intentions along. For far too many years there has been a glaring misconception that this message had been left to be delivered solely by special men in special suits on special days. We here at The Saint don't buy this. Not in the least.*

In fact, we are certain that God is using all sorts of folks and all sorts of methods. He might be using the sharp dressed preacher, but he's also speaking through the paint-splattered artist, the scruffy-chinned musician, the melancholic-poet and even the temperamental filmmaker.** And that's why we here, to use our inclinations to pass on the voice of God, whether it be words of spiritual encouragement or correction or just to show off the beauty of his Creation.

However. in light of the understanding that most have about the nature of so-called Christian art, there are a few clarifications that we need to make. First, we do not subscribe to the notion that art made by the children of God must be safe, mild, pleasant or accessible by the entire family. Truth is not always cuddly and suitable for decorating nursery walls. We seek to tell the truth with our work even if that makes nice people uncomfortable.

Secondly, we don't jive with the idea of the Christian ghetto. Jesus junk made for Jesus' people has done great deals of damage to the message of the Kingdom as well as propagate some incredibly substandard art and music. While we are not to be of the world, we are supposed to be in it, and that means the clubs and the galleries where all the other artists are. And that is where you will find us.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, we feel compelled to make this abundantly clear: We do not like the work of Thomas Kinkade.

As far as introductions go, I believe that is sufficient for now. My thanks to you reading thus far and I hope you drop by again. On behalf of Sean Matthew Howard and the rest of Saint Schizophrenia Studios, I bid you adieu.

Affectionately yours,

Tumnus

*Although, I am a man who loves a fine suit.
**Okay, we're sure that he's using dentists, school bus drivers and soccer moms too, but here at The Saint, we're artists so that's kinda what we know.