"The Rule of God"
"The Identity of Jesus Christ"
"The Fellowship of the Spirit"
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Cabe
Photographic reflections upon the doctrinal theology of James Wm. McClendon, Jr. by Cabe M.
"The Rule of God"
"The Identity of Jesus Christ"
"The Fellowship of the Spirit"
"The Rule of God" "The Identity of Jesus Christ" "The Fellowship of the Spirit"
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Kristen
Finding Voice
I wake. My eyes slowly open for what seems like the first time. Overwhelmed by colors,shapes, sizes; I blink hard. I look around slowly. I see faces. I see corners, bright lights,doorways. My breathing feels heavy and hard. After moments I notice that I have no movement of my hands, of my feet. I try to move, but I cannot. I glance down to see my wrists pressing against the tightly bound ribbon. I pull, but there is no movement. I go to open my mouth to speak, but my lips, as my legs and arms, are bound; there is tape across my face. Panic sets in and subsides. I relax into the bondage. Why fight?
Why fight?? Why fight?!!!!!! WHY FIGHT???!!!
I pull hard. Really hard. on everything. I feel the skin on my wrists break. The chair beneath me moves--this feels good. I pull harder. Again, and again, and again. And again and again and AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND---------
Silence. Stillness. My shocked and terrified eyes stare disbelieving at what they had assumed was not possible--my hand has been freed. My hand!! MY HAND!!!! Quiet. Fear. Excitement fear, excitement fear.
My fingers run over the ribbon. The ribbon that incapacitated my hand, the ribbon that continues to bind the remainder of my appendages. Slowly my finger tips become aware of their power.
My mouth. MY MOUTH!!! My hand flies to my face. My body pulsates. My finger skims the outline of the sticky plastic silencer. In a moment of madness my hand strips the tape from my mouth. Breath. Breath. Sound. Make sound. Whimper. Quiet cry. Laughter. VOICE!!! Put it back put it back PUT IT BACK!! My hand flies to my face and smacks the tape back to its original placement. Silence phew silence. Oppression. Safe, safe, quiet oppression. Safe oppression. Yes, safe. Oppression.
Oh, but I must know. I must!! I must!!! Just once more. Please please please.
Hand flying to face tape ripping off mouth widening scream releasing
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA hand returning to face returning tape silencing mouth silencing scream obliterating voice obliterating voice obliterating voice.
I wake. My eyes slowly open for what seems like the first time. Overwhelmed by colors,shapes, sizes; I blink hard. I look around slowly. I see faces. I see corners, bright lights,doorways. My breathing feels heavy and hard. After moments I notice that I have no movement of my hands, of my feet. I try to move, but I cannot. I glance down to see my wrists pressing against the tightly bound ribbon. I pull, but there is no movement. I go to open my mouth to speak, but my lips, as my legs and arms, are bound; there is tape across my face. Panic sets in and subsides. I relax into the bondage. Why fight?
Why fight?? Why fight?!!!!!! WHY FIGHT???!!!
I pull hard. Really hard. on everything. I feel the skin on my wrists break. The chair beneath me moves--this feels good. I pull harder. Again, and again, and again. And again and again and AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND---------
Silence. Stillness. My shocked and terrified eyes stare disbelieving at what they had assumed was not possible--my hand has been freed. My hand!! MY HAND!!!! Quiet. Fear. Excitement fear, excitement fear.
My fingers run over the ribbon. The ribbon that incapacitated my hand, the ribbon that continues to bind the remainder of my appendages. Slowly my finger tips become aware of their power.
My mouth. MY MOUTH!!! My hand flies to my face. My body pulsates. My finger skims the outline of the sticky plastic silencer. In a moment of madness my hand strips the tape from my mouth. Breath. Breath. Sound. Make sound. Whimper. Quiet cry. Laughter. VOICE!!! Put it back put it back PUT IT BACK!! My hand flies to my face and smacks the tape back to its original placement. Silence phew silence. Oppression. Safe, safe, quiet oppression. Safe oppression. Yes, safe. Oppression.
Oh, but I must know. I must!! I must!!! Just once more. Please please please.
Hand flying to face tape ripping off mouth widening scream releasing
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA hand returning to face returning tape silencing mouth silencing scream obliterating voice obliterating voice obliterating voice.
Kae
THE SWEATER
The purpose of contrasting these two sweaters and two pairs of socks is not to demonstrate a qualitative difference; it will be obvious that the ready made garments are qualitatively more refined, more consistent in nature and size, we might even say more perfect. No, the contrast is better seen in the difference in character. Sentimentalizing aside, it is clear that there is a difference in the character of the hand made pieces. It is almost as if the hand-knit items bear a personality all their own. How can it be that the ethereal nature of human care and intent crosses over to be come evident in an inanimate object?
This becomes immediately evident when such an object is presented as a gift, in lieu of its matching ready-made partner. Imagine opening a birthday gift holding a pair of socks. Nice enough, especially if they are made of Smart Wool™. Now imagine being given a pair of brightly colored striped hand knit socks, made for your feet alone... The joy of the gift of this reaction was my pleasure to receive when I gave a friend a pair I had just finished knitting as a going-away present along with the scripture: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bear good news.”
“The aim of the artist ought to be to bring into the world objects which do not already exist there...objects which are especially worthy of love.”
William Gass
The purpose of contrasting these two sweaters and two pairs of socks is not to demonstrate a qualitative difference; it will be obvious that the ready made garments are qualitatively more refined, more consistent in nature and size, we might even say more perfect. No, the contrast is better seen in the difference in character. Sentimentalizing aside, it is clear that there is a difference in the character of the hand made pieces. It is almost as if the hand-knit items bear a personality all their own. How can it be that the ethereal nature of human care and intent crosses over to be come evident in an inanimate object?
This becomes immediately evident when such an object is presented as a gift, in lieu of its matching ready-made partner. Imagine opening a birthday gift holding a pair of socks. Nice enough, especially if they are made of Smart Wool™. Now imagine being given a pair of brightly colored striped hand knit socks, made for your feet alone... The joy of the gift of this reaction was my pleasure to receive when I gave a friend a pair I had just finished knitting as a going-away present along with the scripture: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bear good news.”
May we never underestimate the un-named in that which we give and receive
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