Arts

My Rothko, My Rothko (I’m in an art rage)

/ Paul Burkhart / 2 Comments

I’ve mentioned before on this blog (though admittedly in passing) that my favorite artist is Mark Rothko, the 20th century abstract expressionist. He’s often made fun of because his pieces are, usually, blocks of color on canvas. So many people (and I was one of them) look at his pieces and say “Where’s the skill in that? Anyone could do that! How is this art?”

The big turn for me happened several years ago when studying for the lecture/series I did on Beauty. As I spent nearly a year immersing myself in the philosophy, theory, and theology of aesthetics, I came to finally “get” abstract art. And with it, I realized how to connect with Rothko; and my art sensibilities have been the same since. For more, read my post on the beauty of  art.

Still don’t get it? Here’s a quick exercise. Look at the two pieces below. The one on the right is the genuine Rothko. The one on the left is one of those reproductions where someone paints it inch for inch as close to the original as possible.
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Weekly Photo Challenge: Renewal

/ Paul Burkhart / 5 Comments

This week’s WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge theme is “Renewal“.  This here is a picture of one of my favorite rooms in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It’s in the medieval art section (a section which, as I’ve written before, carries much significance to my soul).

I still remember the first time I turned the corner and saw this crucifix on the wall. It’s crude, yet so beautiful. It faces another, dimly-lit room in which there is a medieval-era altar on which there was taken countless pieces of Eucharist.

The last time I was at the museum, though, I noticed a bit of symbolism I’d never noticed (and I have no idea why). This crucifix is positioned above a 13th-century knight’s tomb effigy. After spending some time in reflection near the aforementioned altar, I looked back through the arch and for the first time noticed that the gaze of the dying Christ seemed to be settling not on the museum passer-bys, but on the effigy of the dead knight before him.

The Christ’s gaze of sadness and pity no longer seemed to be for his own sufferings, but for the death and suffering of this one that lay before him. This gaze seemed to carry with it not only sadness, but also a stoic confidence that through this act, he would bring an end to this knight’s sleep.

Through this act of loss and sadness, here is a picture now of rebirth and renewal, made all the more meaningful as I took this picture from the steps of that altar, bathed in darkness, on which was consecrated and served Christ’s body, broken for our renewal and light–then, and today.

See my past Weekly Photo Challenges here.

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Prodigal, Let’s Go Home {pt.1} [GUEST POST]

/ austinricketts4 / Leave a comment

This is Austin’s final response to a conversation we’ve been having on the blog concerning the Nature of God and Evil in the world–I know: light stuff, right? Here are the relavant links, if you’re interested: I wrote a post mentioning God taking death onto his own self; Austin took issue with this; I replied with a full-on development of the idea that God’s Nature is like an unfolding narrative–one in which there is Evil and Death; Austin responded by critiquing some of my Bible interpretation; I then wrote two posts, one responding to his response, and one telling of my fears that I’m wrong (where I also quote the James Joyce book Austin references below, as well as list out my 5 main premises for my thoughts he responds to here). This post is Austin’s final words on this (or part 1 of those words, at least). I’ll have a few concluding thoughts next week.

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Is then the whole of life only a contradiction; can love not explain it, but only make it more difficult? That thought he could not endure; he must seek a way out. There must be something wrong with his love.

—Kierkegaard, The Expectation of Faith

I, like Paul, am one who has been deeply affected by Joyce’s story. That story, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, is really the central struggle of my life: Artist or Theologian? Much in that book, including the scene that Paul elaborated in his response, continues to resonate in the sometimes hollow-feeling caverns of my mind. “I shall never swing the thurible…the oils of ordination shall never touch my head.” Those words wounded me and have stayed with me like a scar, long after their initial cut. I, too, am often much afraid.

Like Jacob, I wrestle with God. Israel indeed.
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Weekend Photo Challenge: Silhouette (Autumn edition)

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

This week’s WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge theme is “Silhouette“. For this challenge, I was able to choose I picture that’s very important to me. Like I said in my previous Photo Challenge post, photography editing is still relatively new to me; but for many years now, the desire to simply take beautiful pictures has been a consistent interest.

This was certainly true for me during my time in Richmond at Virginia Commonwealth University. Richmond is a beautiful city, but not in the grandiose way that usually marks the beauty of other American cities. No, Richmond’s beauty is far more subtle, and you find it most clearly exhibited in quiet corners and places that only residents would truly know. In fact, my first Photo Challenge picture was in this vein.

This picture was taken at the very beginning of the fall of 2005. It was my first Richmond Autumn as a resident: having conquered freshman year, there were now no more dorms or still learning the city. I had an apartment near campus and could honestly call Richmond home. The evening of this picture, I stepped outside and found myself captured by the oncoming sunset. I jumped in my car and raced to my favorite in spot in Richmond: Church Hill.

This hill looks out over the entire city (not unlike another hill that plays prominently in my life).This is the hill from which the original founders of the city laid the grid-lines for the streets. The “Church” on this hill from whence it derives its name is St. John’s Church, the very Church from which Patrick Henry proclaimed “give me liberty, or give me death!”.

I made it to Church Hill just in time to take some beautiful pictures of one of the most beautiful sunsets I ever saw in Richmond. It was one of my favorite introvert moments and captured so well the essence of my favorite times of solitude: me awash in beauty.

It was also the beginning of Autumn in Richmond, and I couldn’t help but draw my attention to the trees that were just about to peak in their transition towards death. I took this picture trying to capture the harmony and dissonance that exists when Nature is at the climax of its beauty; when darkness and death lay mere moments away.

Sorry to wax poetic, but this picture captures my own hope for my death and mortality. Even though I fear death so much, my hope is that my own death would exist in what this picture represents: the height of beauty awaiting sunrise, and awaiting spring. It’s appropriate that Henry’s words echoed from these heights, for it’s precisely in this place–and in this moment–that I precisely find liberty in death.

See my past Weekly Photo Challenges here.

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Weekend Photo Challenge: Big

/ Paul Burkhart / 2 Comments

This week’s new WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge theme is “Big“. (The post I put up yesterday on the theme of “Happy”, was actually a response to last Friday’s theme, today I put up this week’s new theme).

This is a picture of one of the most most interesting and unique pieces of architecture I’ve ever seen: Philadelphia’a City Hall (you can see it’s uniqueness here and here). I love that building. It is (in as serious an non-ironic of a way) so majestic.

This picture is significant not only because of it’s subject’s centrality in a city I love. It’s also the first picture I took with the now-defunct site/app Picplz (it was an Instagram competitor on Android). It’s also the first picture (that I can think of) that I ever took in downtown Philadelphia. What all that means is that this is the picture that began my love affair with urban photography and photo editing; a love that eventually spawned my Philadelphia photoblog, The Daily Philly, as well as my desire to do this very WordPress Photo Challenge each week.

So, thanks for viewing, liking, retweeting, and commenting.

See my past Weekly Photo Challenges here.

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Happy (multi-header!) [casual fri]

/ Paul Burkhart / 2 Comments

Art
Autumn, Pipes, & Whiskey
Coffee
My City
Beer
Jesus & The Cross
Books/Writing
My Classy Lady (and some PBR)

This week’s WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge theme is “Happy“. The prompt they have offered us is to make a collage of those things that make us happy. So…here’s mine. Click on any of the pictures to bring up the full-size gallery.

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Christianity: paradox & Paradise, fall & Fall

/ Paul Burkhart / 10 Comments

I had the privilege of spending a long weekend these past few days in western Pennsylvania under the kindness and hospitality of my girlfriend and her family. It’s a place that is hard to describe without falling into cliches of big sky, clear air, and bright stars. It’s near the area that Johann Jacob Burkhardt, my first ancestor in America, settled in 1754 after sailing from Germany and landing in Philadelphia exactly a week ago today. I made almost the exact same trek as Johann and his family, from the rivers of Philly to the rural countryside of unsettled Pennsylvania.

Strangely, in the rest of Pennsylvania that I have seen, the trees are still mostly green and just starting to turn for the Fall. But here, this weekend marked the peak of that beautiful transition. The pictures above and below should testify to this (click them for larger versions). They were taken only a couple of days ago–with my phone (fun fact: the picture directly above this text was taken from Mt. David, the highest point in Pennsylvania).

I can’t express to you the beauty my eyes and soul were able to behold.
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The Way Out: a modern re-telling of Exodus (a scene) | {story#19}

/ Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. I’m usually very insistent that a piece should be able to stand on its own with no explanation, but this being a random scene from a play, I’ll tell you what you need to know. This is from an original play called “The Way Out”. It’s a modern re-telling of the biblical Exodus. “Christopher” is the Moses in this story, “Evan” is his brother Aaron, and “Joshua” is Yahweh. Even grew up a slave in the nation and Chris was raised in the King’s house. After killing a man, Chris was exiled and met his wife, before returning to help set these slaves free. Read more about StoryADay & follow here.
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CHRISTOPHER

You have no idea what sort of state I was in back then! Do you know what it’s like to kill a man? To feel the part of you that awakens after watching the eyes of a man grow dim beneath the weight of your own anger? Your own hands? I was beside myself! I couldn’t look at my own reflection for a month! I had no idea who I was anymore. Heck, I still don’t even know half the time. There is no way you could have any idea what that time was like!

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Atheist: A Biography | {story#18}

/ Paul Burkhart / 1 Comment

This is an original fiction piece posted for StoryADay September. It’s a long one, so for your convenience, you can also read this story in PDF, Kindle, or EPUB formats. Read more about StoryADay & follow here.
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Luke was born into a moderately religious household. His family spent each Sunday morning rushing around the house amid a flurry of curses and arguments trying to get everyone ready for the Sunday School and service at the large Baptist church down the street. When Luke was older, he also went to the Wednesday night youth group this church had. But outside of that, religion wasn’t any great percentage of his day-to-day life. His parents never prayed before meals, there was no religious paraphernalia around the house, and the most frequent invocation of God was in front of the phrase “damn it”.

There was one time, though, that for some reason, Luke remembered his entire life. During one period when he was about 6 or 7, when his parents were fighting a lot, Luke found himself needing his father for something shortly after a particularly loud argument had concluded. His mother was in the washroom, loudly banging the doors to the washer and dryer as she changed loads. Luke walked into his parent’s bedroom and found his father on his knees beside the bed, knuckles clasped as if he would die should he let go, muttering quiet pleas within breaths taken between violent sobs. Luke stood there wordless for about 30 seconds watching this, until his presence was felt by his father. His father looked up and saw Luke staring at him with wide eyes.
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Four Courts on the Liffey | {story#17}

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

This is an original fiction piece posted for StoryADay September. It was written a long time ago, and since then, a much longer and more mature version has been written. It is based on Liam O’Flaherty’s 1923 short story “The Sniper”. Read more about StoryADay & follow here.
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The Republican Sniper started across the street to his bounty, curious of its identity.  As he dashed across the street, a hail of machine gun fire came from a nearby roof and followed close behind him.  He dodged it effortlessly, and dove beside the kill which he called his own.  He looked at the body of the other sniper and recalled the recent events of that night which had led to that moment.  Their waltz was now over, and he had won.  Curious of his identity, he knelt down next to the Free State sniper’s body, and peered over his shoulder and stared into the open eyes of his dead brother.

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(Earlier that night)

Dublin was dark- enveloped and engulfed in the shadow of Civil War, waiting for the long June dusk to wither down to darkness. It was like a sleeping giant, waiting for either morning or liberation from the war to come before it awoke.  One lone vehicle was out that night, traveling across the bridge that went over the Liffey.  Continuously and bravely it advanced, almost wanting to be attacked.  This vehicle was safe, though, its steel walls had been resisting bullets all day, keeping its driver and passengers safe from the Republican gunfire. It was on rendezvous to meet an informer, but its driver’s thoughts were elsewhere.
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The Portrait of the Artist as a Never Ending Series of Name-puns (a poem) | {story#16}

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more & follow here.
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I
She stands alone,
lost in a process she only knows;
the reflection staring back in silent contemplation
of a piece going “God knows where”.

The streets lie lifeless in her eyes;
those eyes hidden by a façade of powder and colour,
yet somehow come through.

The mousy bed face wins again.

It wins the hearts of those around her,
a victory bitter in her mouth as unintentioned
as the betrayal of a love

far less worthy than she.
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Communion | {story#15}

/ Paul Burkhart / Leave a comment

This is an original fiction piece written for StoryADay September. Read more & follow here.
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You ever tried to get your cry on, only to move your mouth and stretch you lips and squint your eyes, and squeeze your body, only to have nothing come out? Ever feel the cold concrete ground against your still head, only to imagine how it would feel to come against it with force? To watch the gray grow increasingly red with your own blood? The blood just came out of her in spurts. She wouldn’t die. She wouldn’t die. Possessed by Beelzebub, she worships the wheel, the wheel she worships. She’s a witch, I tell you–a witch. She gave the boy a poisoned orange and snatched it away from him. She wants him to die. I did it for him. I did it for him. I love him. The boy, I love. She says she loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. How did she keep walking? Like Jesus on water, except the water was red and all over her she walked and walked. We worship the pig, not the wheel, so Jesus loves us. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. The boy, he loves me. He stared at me with wide eyes. I thought he would cry in joy, cry in surprise, cry in freedom, but he just sat. Still. Silent. Mouth-opened. Tears building and building, never breaking the ridge to fall down his cheek. He began shaking. I was trying to cut her mother-fucking head off, but it just wouldn’t go! I told him, I’m doing this for you, buddy! I’m doing this for you! His shaking body told me thank you in response. They kept telling me She wants to kill the boy! She wants to kill the boy! You need to kill her kill her kill her! But the witch inside her kept her alive. Even when I walked to her sister’s house, she followed me–still walking!–like a monster and followed me, the blood falling out of her in sheets–laughing at me, staring at me, touching me and punching me. My hands were slippery and then became sticky, like honey. Sweet honey. I saw a deer outside my window last night. It was beautiful. Through the cut concrete I stared, and stared, for years and years. The deer moved so slowly around the fence. It’s eyes were green. Envy. Jealousy. It wanted to be me, to be inside of me. I won’t let it. It can’t be inside me and fuck me. As I laid on her back bringing down the judgment, I remembered all the times she was on top of me, touching me, breathing in my ear. Killing me. She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me? When I was older I’d punch her. She’d punch back. We’d wrestle and wrestle and I knew she liked it. To feel a touch. To feel something. My cousin was shot last week and is now with Jesus. Jesus loves me, this I know. I worship the pig. She worships the wheel. The boy, I love him. I saved him. I’ll beat this, I will. I’ll go to the Judge and tell him and he will let me free, and give me the boy. And he will be mine. But no, they are corrupt. They know I will conquer them and so they will keep me in here. But I will be freed as on angel’s wings. Jesus wouldn’t do it. I will. I’ve seen the kingdoms of the world, and I can have them all. They’ll give me the boy. And he will be free. He will live. He will prosper. He will love. He will be loved. I love him. I love him not. I love him. I love him not. I love.

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This work by Paul Burkhart is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Weekend Photo Challenge: Solitary

/ Paul Burkhart / 7 Comments

This week’s WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge theme is “Solitary“. After much deliberation (and annoying my brother), I decided on this one.

This picture was taken on a missions trip I took to Latvia in 2007. Where we were staying was a mere 50 yards from a beach running along the Baltic Sea. Being so far north, the brilliant sunsets would last for several hours on into 11pm. And those sunsets were so brilliant.

One evening, after dinner, I went out to beach on my own. They had these tall jungle gym sort-of things dotting the beach for kids. I was able to climb up one of them and sat there for a couple of hours taking pictures. I saw this one older gentleman appear on the beach and just walk: hands folded and his mind deep-in-thoughts. I (creepily) watched him for some time, fascinated by his gait, wanting to know his thoughts.

And so, to me, this pictures captures the beauty, contemplation, weightiness, and depth of solitude. I need moments like these to stay sane, and I hope to channel this man’s practice  for years to come.

See my past Weekly Photo Challenges here.

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