The Love of God

It’s been 17 years since I started deconstruction from Christianity and 10 years since I left the church and the faith behind for good. The deconstruction process was lonely, alienating, terrifying, exhilarating, raging, relieving, life-affirming, and liberating. It was a whole hell of a lot of work. But on the other side of it I found the kind of abundant life that Christianity had always promised but never delivered. I found peace, joy, a sense of purpose, self-acceptance, self-love, and the undeniable purpose for my life. I learned how to cultivate a spiritual life and community to nourish me, teach me, and give me hope. Throughout, it took a tremendous amount of work to rebuild trust with anyone who identified as a Christian but I’ve learned how to discern the safe and trustworthy ones from the others. I keep my radar going to assess the landscape and keep myself and those I love protected and safe.

Given all of the years that I devoted to deconstructing, justifiably [internally] raging, and rebuilding completely broken trust with anyone of that ilk — plus my peaceful settling into a healthy spiritual practice liberated from the narrow (and often destructive) Christian framework — I never expected that I’d be sitting down to write in defense of the Christian God. But here I am. Because while it’s been a long time since I’ve been there, and I can’t possibly go back, I was there before - and during my most formative years - so I can speak with some authority on the good and the bad of it. And today the Christian God is in need of some defense. (Knock me over with a feather and color me surprised that I’m the one doing it).

This evening I received a text from a close relative (an elder) who was sharing a ‘joke' that he thought was hilarious. The ‘joke’ consisted of a PNW conservative dressing up as an anarchist to tag rioters’ vehicles with Trump stickers and then sneaking away. In doing so the liberal rioters would receive their just desserts by bashing in their own cars and return to them later to find the mess.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of unwanted texts from this person, but they’ve been benign enough that I’ve let it lie in the interest of keeping family peace. When the text came in today I was disgusted and I sat my phone down eager to forget about it. Within the hour I was prepared to stand up to him and had my words ready.

I started with a reminder of how much I love him. I acknowledged that these things might seem distant where he is or not immediately relevant but asked him to consider that we live in an area that’s been deeply affected and it’s been very traumatic for our community. I explained that I couldn’t find any humor in what he’d shared because it glorified violence and reinforced pitting groups of people against each other, further entrenching an already great divide.

I shared that even though we are safe in our home just outside the city, that we are devastated by the incomprehensible violence perpetrated by looters and cops alike. I explained that it’s surreal to arrive at the end of our virus-related stay-at-home-orders only to now find ourselves under newly imposed curfews due to the riots. I shared that we and our friends are hurting and grieving tremendously just from the collateral damage of witnessing the destruction online from afar, explaining that those are the very neighborhoods where we lived and worked for many years (and where one from our household still works).

Of course none of this addresses the people on the ground experiencing the violence firsthand or the POC who experience it every day at the hands of an unjust system (or even their peers), but my approach was to share my own story in an attempt to facilitate a personal connection from which he could access some empathy. It seemed like a possible way to gain a foothold towards building future bridges. I asked him to please consider our perspective and how much hurt we’re processing up here and how ‘jokes’ like these only do harm. Whether they are shared with like-minded folk or differently-minded folk they are the antithesis of peace, which is already in short supply. Then I reiterated my love to him.

Y’all. I expected too much of this person. I extended too much grace and gave too much benefit-of-the-doubt. He replied in a way that was both ageist and conspiratorial-right-wing. The heart that I’d seen in the past and counted on being available was instead completely closed to me. I did not reply for it was deeply wounding and much of the evening thereafter was spent in grieving. 

Because I was grieved more than angry I was able to access some empathy that this person is perhaps reacting so strongly (and glorifying inappropriate ‘humor’) because he is also frightened in these uncertain times. I can hold space in my heart for that. However, this man is a life-long leader in his local Christian community. While I can imagine that he’s afraid of current events in his way just as I am in mine, I must also remind him and others that such behavior IS NOT THE LOVE OF GOD.

To miss the suffering of those around you, even those closest to you who you already care about, is not the love of God. To find humor in inciting violence between persons of different political viewpoints is not the love of God. To perpetuate these viewpoints through sharing this ‘humor’ is not the love of God. To demean because of age or political belief is not the love of God.

The true nature of God (not the bastardized interpretations used for personal and political gain throughout the history of the western world) is Love. I know this even more fully and with more conviction since I left the church behind. Because God is Love, He is heartbroken by all of the suffering. He is deeply grieved. What we’ve witnessed during this last week is worthy of sorrow and lament, and righteous anger too. But not hate. Not glee at others’ suffering. Not justifications against the ‘other’ and why they deserve to be mistreated.

Christianity has been used as a weapon against others since it was appropriated by the West and lifted out of the desert where it was formed. I will not stand by and let Christian leaders behave in such a manner during these turbulent times when what is so desperately needed is faith, hope, love, and peace… all of which are core tenants of the Christian faith. I will practice faith, hope, love, and peace in my way, as you may in yours. I will strive to keep carving out spaces in my heart for empathy, even for those who cause harm, because I cannot let anger turn to hate. I will call out anyone who purports to follow Christ and love God while also spreading hateful, divisive, self-congratulating rhetoric. May we all be better than that. May we learn to seek justice with Love.

Ephemera Collage

Nine years ago Benjamin worked as a barista. He loved the process of crafting drinks for people and it was the first time I heard about ephemeral art. He took great care to pull perfect shots, to steam the milk just right, and then to carefully integrate the two with a lovely design atop the latte. It’s a detailed visual craft that is appreciated for but a moment before the first delicious sip is savored.

I’ve thought a lot about his coffee craft these last few weeks as I’ve considered the kinds of collages I want to make. First and foremost, they must have cast shadows. This is a creative craving I’ve had for 13 years. As with any collage, I began with flat layouts, nudging each piece into its carefully chosen spot. But in this case, glue wasn’t a welcome medium since it would prevent the layered papers from laying naturally and casting shadows. I realized I had the opportunity to dance with ephemeral art if I avoided glue altogether, so I did.

The collages I’m creating are temporal. They’re created in that moment, shot with my camera, and then stored as separate tiny pieces in a small box in case they’re needed again for a future shoot. There’s so much I love about this. I love that so much thought and consideration goes into making a piece that in the end doesn’t physically exist. It’s made of tangible pieces and parts, but is captured in a photo. In the photo, the viewer can see the textures of the papers and the shadows cast by each layer… the rich texture invites the viewer in and creates a desire to reach out - to feel the textures and the edges. But it’s impossible to do so. The art lives in a liminal space… not fully flat, but not touchable either. Dancing with these concepts intrigues me.

My obsession with 3D collage began when I saw a book illustrated with all manner of 3D elements. Every bit of its visual richness encouraged me to reach out and touch the many textures, but when my fingers searched over the page, the page was, of course, flat.

These finished collages live in liminal space. They exist because you can see them, but not in the form the camera preserved them in. They have rich, textural feels, but not ones that you can touch with your fingers - the experience can only be felt with the eyes and imagined in the mind.

This piece is a wee one. The penny shows its small scale.

Adler, The Shoe

In truth, he was ugly. He looked like a shoe. I was surprised to find him sitting there, looking back at me from 20 miles away through my computer screen. His price point was higher than than I was accustomed to spending on his predecessors (two of which were free!), but not nearly as high as I expected given one of his unique qualities.

No sooner had I settled in with Maggie and Ollie last January than I turned to Benjamin and announced that I’d be needing to add a scripted font machine to our typewriter family. He wasn’t at all surprised. I’ve been keeping my eyes on the lookout ever since.

Script machines are harder to come by and therefore command higher prices - prices I couldn’t ever imagine myself spending. So when I saw this late-70s shoe machine listed locally for less than I expected, it gave me hope that I’d find the right one someday without selling off my spleen to afford it.

I routinely scan the online typewriter market to keep up with what’s going on, and this ‘shoe’ just kept sitting there. It wasn’t a brand I’d come across in my research yet, I couldn’t get over how tragically ugly it was, and I certainly couldn’t abide that it’s housing and case were made of plastic. Such a far cry from the gorgeous glass keyed elegance of Maggie, or the solid, weighty stance of Ollie, or the cheerful blue countenance of Webby!

But every time I went through my online perusal routine, there he sat, untouched. Almost a month had passed since he’d been posted and no one had bitten (probably bc he looked like a shoe). Finally my curiosity was piqued a little - just enough to see what other scriptwriters were available in the current market. There are many typeface variances from one typewriter to another and some are lovelier than others. But I discovered that an extra consideration when comparing script fonts is to ensure that the font is aligned properly so that the letters actually appear to join together as they should! The shoe had it, and his competitor didn’t. In fact there was very little about the shoe’s particular font styling that I was unsure about. The more I examined it, the more it seemed to be a really solid script styling.

Deciding that the realized dream of a useable script typeface was more important than outward appearance (so long as the inner mechanics were sound) I considered how much I was willing to pay to make room in my small studio space for the Shoe. I sent off an offer that was enough below the asking price that I felt grateful for an affordable entry-level script machine but not so low as to insult the seller. To my great delight he accepted (!), we made arrangements to meet, and after getting the approval from my personal technician (thanks, Benjamin!), we loaded up the shoe machine and brought him home.

Since my typewriter family has grown beyond the number of ribbons I have on hand, I pulled out Ollie’s ribbon to give the new arrival his test run (I admit it felt like a sort of betrayal, ripping out the voice box of a cherished heirloom and my oldest typewriter friend - for a typewriter has no voice without its ribbon - but, Ollie’s been awaiting a tuneup, so he’s been out of rotation. Still though, it was especially weird for me because it was going to the shoe, whom I do not love - more on that later).

My initial impressions of the shoe were mixed. On the one hand, I learned from the seller that he’s German-made - they are well known for their quality craftsmanship in typewriters. So I believe his guts to be good. His carriage is as smooth as butter. Seriously, I’ve never felt a smoother glide on a carriage. I also learned from the seller that the plastic construction was  a modern-for-its-time evolution to reduce the weight of portables, and I have to say, this isn’t a cheap plastic. I never thought a plastic machine could impress me (and I will still forever prefer metal), but the feel of his body and case is solid, well-implemented, and should last well into future decades.

On the other hand, he’s terribly uncomfortable to type on. If I’d gotten him to use as a daily machine for long-form writing I would be very disappointed. The keys require such a heavy pounding that standard hand-posture is impossible and I had to use the hunt and peck method so I could really put some power behind my pointer fingers. Also, he looks like a shoe, but then I already knew that going into it!

What it all boils down to is that I’ve added a scriptwriter to my family at a reasonable cost and I couldn’t be more happy about that! Some preliminary online research speaks highly of this model, even specifically referencing its ease of typability, so I’m hoping that although his guts look great to the naked eye that a tuneup from Benjamin might help restore some ease of motion? Even if he’s this way forever, it’s no matter. He’s typeable with my modified approach (which I’m still fairly quick at, although it is more slow-going than the typical typing form) and I have others I can use for long-form typing. He will provide script font when it is called for and do it quite capably!

In summary, here’s what’s so fascinating to me about my experience with the shoe... It took the shoe to help me better understand my relationship with the other typewriters in my little family. I now see how my relationship with the others is akin to a romance. They are pure loveliness, light, and joy to me. I feel starry-eyed and effervescent just thinking about them. Typing on them is a joy even though they each have several eccentricities in need of tune-up (two of them haven’t been refurbished at all yet and Ollie needs a tune-up) - keys stick or a platen skips and won’t roll properly, but it’s all part of my relationship with them. I’m just in love.

Sometimes I fall in love with a typewriter that I don’t need that costs too much (for when I don’t need it, I can’t justify spending much at all on one). I may get a little lovesick for it and think about it for a few days, wondering if it’s alright, and if and when it will find a home - hoping it goes to a good one. These are all typewriter romances... from thrift store flings that I like flirting with but don’t bring home, to long term commitments to my family at home with all their quirks.

With the shoe it was different. There was no love at first sight. Until the shoe, I didn’t know that I could bring a typewriter into my life that I didn’t love. With the shoe it feels more like a partnership. It’s a professional relationship. We each bring things to the relationship: my creativity, his unique performance, and that’s it. It’s a relationship based on exchange. I provide a home and tune-ups for him because that helps him provide creative opportunity for me. He brings me script-font opportunities and I make sure he stays healthy and happy. It feels like a mutually beneficial partnership based in respect. For I do respect his craftsmanship and capabilities even if we disagree on design aesthetic!

So because I am filled with respect and gratitude for him, and because I’ve invited him into my family, I knew I had to stop calling him the Shoe and would need to give him a proper name. Adler is his manufacturer and I have to say it suits him, so Adler it is.

Welcome to the family, Adler. Thanks for teaching me things about myself and expanding my typewriter knowledge. Most of all, thanks for being a scriptwriter! I can’t wait to collaborate together - I already have some ideas!

A Typewritten Journey

My fascination with typewriters began about thirty years ago in the late-80s. A 1964 Olympia SM9 Portable sat on my grandparents’ desk and my little brother and I would play with it when we’d go for visits. I loved the feel of its sleek metal exterior, its responsiveness to my touch, the hammering and clicking sounds it made when I’d push the keys, and the cheerful ringing of the bell when the carriage reached the end of a row. We took much delight in using our small hands to mash all of the keys at once and watch the type bars all fly up and stick together then we’d carefully separate them one at a time. I didn’t understand what an unkind thing it was to do to such a lovely machine, I just liked the thrill I felt each time I did it!

By the mid-90s I was in junior high and feeling all those junior high feels. I had so many important things to say that were just bursting to get out of me! So I hauled my mom’s [very] heavy Smith-Corona Electra 220 back into my bedroom, locked myself in my bedroom, lugged the machine up onto my desk and proceeded to write my life story. Those documents were all mercifully burned by my mortified early twenty-something self, although my late thirty-something self feels more compassion towards my junior-high self and sure would like to see them again!

My high school papers in the late nineties were still written by hand. We didn’t get a family computer until my senior year of high school. High school isn’t really a time to appreciate the finer things or wax nostalgic or anything, and the excitement of computers eclipsed anything I might have ever felt for a typewriter anyway. Once I reemerged from the haze that was high school and college, I started thinking about typewriters again, but it was only in the last 10 years that I actively started looking for one. I’d browse online, become overwhelmed by too many options, and occasionally meet one in person that was either too dilapidated or not the right fit. Once, about six years ago, I brought one home, but it wasn’t the right fit for me and I put it back out into the world for someone else to find. Later, only 16 months ago, I eagerly brought home another typewriting friend only to discover it wasn’t a typewriter at all!

Unbeknownst to me, all would come together just two months later, and my typewriter education would begin with the surprising discovery of an old Underwood in my grandmother’s garage. Maggie Underwood is an extra special gal, not only for her sheer beauty and storied history, but because she was our first - the one who initiated me back into the joy of mechanically typewritten words and initiated Benjamin into the joy of restoring them. Just weeks later Ollie (the 1964 Olympia) showed up. As the first typewriter I acquainted myself with during my childhood, finding him tucked away in his forgotten spot was a joyful run-on for me.

Benjamin began refurbishing them, learning as he went, and gaining his own love for these well-crafted machines. Suddenly, typewriters were everywhere. Only a few weeks after I’d been typing away on Maggie we heard of an estate sale featuring more than thirty typewriters in Benjamin’s home town. They were all bought up by one buyer as soon as the doors opened, but that was no matter. We had an opportunity to walk around and see them in all their glorious diversity as the man collected their tags to check out. It was a feast for the eyes!

After that we continued to come across a few here and there during our Texas travels and acquired three more for Benjamin to refurbish and restore life to. While my passion lies in the use of the machines, his love is for the refurbishing.

Our powers combined, we began studying the typewriter market closely to learn more about the different brands, makes and models and the different features each could offer. He learned how to identify solid picks for refurbishment and I began to understand when and how I could use different models in my art practice. This learning’s been ongoing through the last fifteen months and we are both fueled by this shared adventure! We are just getting started and are so energized by our complimentary interests in these compelling machines.