Saturday, February 19, 2011

A Jackson Pollock Painting

I'm not a fan of Jackson Pollock's art.  It's way too out there for me.  But I was thinking about myself, my personality, my likes/dislikes, my history, what I read, what I listen to, what I think about.  And I realized, I am a Jackson Pollock painting.  I'm a mishmash of colors thrown together, with no discernible rhyme or reason.  A drop of green here, a streak of blue there, dabbles of pink and red and purple and white.

I like jazz music, rock music, bluegrass, Celtic, some country.  I own some bagpipe cd's, for crying out loud.

I read murder mysteries, urban noir, biographies, history, current events, contemporary thought, health and wellness.  I read newspapers, books, magazines, blogs, cereal boxes and nutritional labels.

I dress conservatively, casually, modern, old-fashioned.  I'm just as at home in jeans and sweatshirts as I am in business suits, as I am in khakis and blazers.  I'm LL Bean, Evan Picone, WalMart, and Salvation Army Thrift Store.

My home is decorated in Traditional, Country, Cottage, Mission, Victorian, Romance, Contemporary.

I have an educated slang casual city country vocabulary.

I drink wine, Diet Coke, tap water, spring water, flavored water, black tea, white tea, green tea, herb tea, iced tea, Long Island Iced Tea and the occasional cappuccino.  That's really as far as I've delved in to the coffee world.

I like a clean house; I like a messy house.

I like to ride my bike, walk, hike; I am a couch potato.

I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted - sometimes all at the same time.

Many biographers and art historians speculate that Pollock suffered bipolar disease, which would explain the mania exhibited in his art.  Some might look at the canvas that is my life and wonder about the Artist that created me, as well. 

No one understands what was going through Pollock's mind as he dripped and tossed paint on canvas.  No one knows what fueled the thoughts and feelings he was trying to display, what emotions he was trying to free from deep within his soul.

I don't really understand what the Artist who created me was/is trying to accomplish.  His Word, His Autobiography says we all were fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps 139:14) in His image (Gen 1:27).  However, His art is not from bipolar disease.  He is not manic.  God is quite deliberate in how He proceeds.

One need only look at the history of creation in Genesis to see how carefully He made the earth and all that is within it.  For six straight days, He created a new item, one thing leading to another.  There was nothing random about it.  He separated land and water before He made plants.  He created plants before He created the animals that would eventually feed on those plants. 

As I feel happy, sad, angry, encouraged, fearful, confident, excited, disgusted (sometimes all at the same time), contemplating the "why's?" of my life, I have to step back and see the Artist at work, trusting there is a masterpiece being made that is still in process.  He's dripping points of sad blue on to streaks of boring beige next to lines of hot red through pools of peaceful yellow and green, with some splashes of fun pink and purple tossed in for humor and good measure.

There will be a day when the canvas that is me will be in His  heavenly gallery.  Jesus and I will be viewing the completed  work and I'll understand why that big black drip fell on to that fuschia experience and that it hadn't ruined but enhanced my life.  I need to have faith that the omniscient, omnipotent Artist will complete the good work He began in me (Phil 1:6).  Until that time, I need to watch the Artist wield His brushes, trusting that He has complete and total control.  There is nothing random about His paintings.
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