"I was doing my material about being a southerner in New York—about regional differences in shopping, food, clothing. People were laughing. Then I made the mistake of saying I was a minister. The room went silent."
Guroian thinks that theology is more analogous to music than it is to architecture. The themes in this work, from creation to the resurrection, do not build upon each other like architecture, but rather are like motifs that provide a variation on a theme. To Westerners' ears these themes will sound as though written in a strange key.
A few weeks ago I traveled to Detroit with
friends who wanted to show us their hometown of Wyandotte, Michigan, just south
of the city. We stayed in a former Navy officers club on Grosse Ile, walked
through Henry Ford's Greenfield Village, then drove in to see a baseball game.
Sandra Bowden's art is a meditation on time and eternity based on biblical and archaeological sources. Megiddo (left) and Hazor (right) are two of four images from Bowden's series of intaglio collagraphs titled Israelite Tel Suite. The artist explains, "A tel is a mound covering the site of some ancient settlement, generally consisting of many layers of rubble and artifacts left by succeeding civilizations. Strata accentuated by horizontal lines divide the picture into three levels, forming a cross section of archaeological time. . . . centered in each piece [is] a significant specific object relating to the tel's history." From the creation of the plate through the one-by-one "pulling" of each print, the artist is engaged in an intensive process that exemplifies Marshall McLuhan's adage, "The medium is the message."
David Fincher's The Social Network, with a script by the monarch of machine-gun banter, Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing), is a smart, funny film that tells the story of how Facebook came into being. It's a comedy of manners about a desperately uncool Harvard undergrad who creates the most popular club in the world and declares himself president.
I board the airplane to see my parents. They live far away and long ago And some years into the future; you never met such wry time machines In your life. Sometimes they will be about to pass the marmalade when Suddenly it is late 1941 and they are in college and kissing on the train; But then as you slather your toast it is 1967 and a war wants to eat their Son or 2012 and they are at that son’s wake or 1929 and a father comes Home without his job, or it is a week ago, and do you think that Federer Is the finest tennis player ever, or Laver, or Don Budge? It happens that Fast. It’s unnerving and glorious and confusing and perfect and I would Sit with them every afternoon, if I could, and say tell me tell me tell me, Tell me every moment of your whole lives, don’t leave me here without Your grace and humor and the extraordinary gleaming jar of marmalade From which come all your stories. Next year in Ireland . . . says my mother, And my dad grins, and I want to kneel and beg the Lord for this moment Again and again always, the inarguable yes of their bodies, the resonance Of their endurance, the hunch and hollow of their shoulders, the reverent Geography of their faces, the lean song of my father’s hands on the table.
A Turkish couple living near the Syrian border invited 4,000 Syrian refugees living in or near their city to their wedding party. The idea came from the groom’s father, who hoped their example would inspire others. The couple pooled money they had received from family members to thro