Sunday, February 18, 2018

to thee i bow you hold me now

The riches of his love. This season. I remember emotion was encouraged in our community. It was okay to think about Jesus on the cross and to be touched by what he did for me. It was okay to have tears, okay to be loved by God, both internally and privately but also in the pew. Hearing the words, believing, and making them mine. The way he makes us his. The way me brings faith. The way he comes.


I remember fondly walking the dark halls of Weller to rooms lit by a single candle, during the season of Lent. People silently gathered along the walk to remember Jesus, a meditation and fondness for his being beaten and stripped and mocked and cruelly nailed to heavy wood and left to die. Singing "Go to Dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the temptor's power." That melody meant everything to me --the somberness, the grief, and wonder. Being held by the One who lives forever. Calling me his child. A grown 62 year adult-child, tenderly met, held close, thought of by the Lord, the Most High's precious Son.




Thanks to those who modeled this emotion for me as a child. Pastor spoke about the 40 days leading up to Easter this morning. Lots of words for those who didn't know. For me, the heritage ran deep. St. Paul says how we can be known deeply, how ugly inner workings can be viewed by a loving God, and his mercy pours gratitude out from within the mess that I hide. It is his embrace. That blood cure that makes me know inspite of the crap hidden within he calls me his little boy. 


This is You. My king. tears of joy. Yes!!!!!!!!!






Wednesday, January 31, 2018

brothers Fowler


This past month my study has deepened on the grain merchant from Paola, Kansas.


The organizer in me remembers the energy I had in my twenties. I can easily imagine what Fowler did with his.


He and I have both explored self-publishing. I see parallels. So I am planning to illustrate this work.

 
 
 
Once in December I spent the whole day at the Missouri Valley Special Collections on the fourth floor of the Kansas City Public Library on Tenth Street. A ninety mile drive from where I live.



Doors are swinging open just like they did when I was exploring Fred Geary in 2011, and like the last two years on my father.



A work space is set up at the house. Away from the sounds of television and commotion.


Fowler had roots in the grain business. His grandfather and two brothers. His father and his uncle.









Sunday, November 26, 2017

working on a book


These days
tap tap tappity tip tap
typing my hand written notes
into Word documents.



what I first knew from my research in 2011,
from trips to the downtown Kansas City Public Library
fifth floor in special collections room. 




 what I now know in 2017,
after more digging on-line,
Google searches,
new angles
find just the right "search" words!!! 



hand on the mouse (here).
grateful for all the doors that have opened,
thank you jesus-- author of my life, 
all my days are written in your book!!

the chats 
at the grain elevator.
seeking to reconstruct
things Fowler learned from the family business. 






the segments of his life that I can relate to--
the pieces of the story
that interest me in 2017.
 about a pocket of people
who met up in 1910. 

++




Saturday, November 18, 2017

yes







One minute. Subject. Site. Painting on easel, bungee cord. Friday noon. 
Double click images to enlarge details.



 Yes by Karl Marxhausen
Acrylic on 70 lb acid free paper
Plein air
November 17, 2017


Friday, November 3, 2017

gray smudges on knuckles

The country drive last Sunday began "the stir........"  
Monday after running errands, I stopped by Lincoln Lakes "to stand ...... and be. listen. feel the sharp air on my face. silent, hoping for a response."
I began a checklist. Dug out my padded overalls. Would my body still fit in them?? Pulled the heavy backpack with paints and supplies out of storage.
Tuesday I checked off the overalls. It was a squeeze with my tummy, but I fit. Went out with the hand saw and for my new past time, hand sawing tree trunks that lie out in the yard. Each in various stages of being cut. It is more of an exercise for me to do, rather than a task to accomplish. An exertion to keep my mind sharp.
Wednesday the paint kit was moved into the cab. The easel in the back. For a time to come.
Friday the sun remained out long enough for me to "go look. pull out the backpack, set up the easel, hunt and locate the bungee cords. telescope the legs out. stand and observe. locate the graphite.. and sketch."


Orange road cones are stationed around me as I draw from the creek bridge on South Ely Street. Sunshine. Nip in the air. Clear sky. November. And the promise of an overcast afternoon. ... An hour passes. I regard the creek on the west side of the bridge. Another day for that, another time.

Today it goes well. How will my body respond tomorrow? ...to this stretching and lifting, bending and moving, climbing up and down out of the cab. Another check off the list, taking down the easel, carrying supplies back into the cab, lifting, placing. Gathering the cones. Off down the street.

  
Ely street meets West Lincoln Street and I stop by a green field with trees aflutter and a house nestled beneath its boughs. At last I find a fallen branch and mark the place I want to come back to. No sketch. Jotted thoughts on a paper squatch in my pocket to remember by.


On the shore the easel and drawing pad secured with bungee cord around back. All set.
A sullen monument of bleached tree ascends to my right. A far tree bank across the lake. Two houses peeking out from behind way up there. The breeze cold, the sunshine bright, the sky still clear blue. Bright yellow green algae. This place I hope to return to and paint.
Less than an hour I am satisfied.

Piling all into the cab. Easel hoisted. Graphite retired. The smudges removed with a clean moist baby wipe towel. I return home. My eyes roam through the passing tree trunks to backyards and houses tucked away in the wood. The spark bursts. Houses tucked away in the wood. A concept to come back to.

Here, I have finished posting the photos and typing the text, and the weather report proves to be true. The clouds have rolled in and the sunshine has left.

Thanks for reading it. It's time for lunch.

North central Missouri, central United States, North America, planet earth.


 

Monday, September 25, 2017

stopping to think




Remember Me when you do this.  
  
A sip of wine and the crunch of bread. These bring to mind the intimate involvement of my living Savior. The One who found me and makes my mind to know his wondrous activity every moment of every day in 2017.

His blood poured out for me from his physical death. His body nailed to wood till he died. His body entombed. His body brought to life to live on and on as all God and all Homo Sapien. He did this for me.


An artist is moved.
She is led to nail various sizes of hardware onto a burnt section of wood. Nails indicate where His feet were. Where His hands were. The nails remind her of people both past and present. She thinks about her own resistance. How easy it is to say no to God. This too is part of the story. What Jesus means to her. Why He came.



Other artists do the same -- they listen, they are moved, they plan a design, fingers and eyes move with precision. This kind of art draws minds to the Lord. Stopping to think about Jesus can be called prayer. It is worship. It is liturgical. We stop and think about what He is drawing us into. While I walk, while I sit, under a tree, in a yard, in a car, in a church, by myself, or with others. The One I love.


His ability to change hearts and minds. His ability to cancel debts. His ability to show mercy to me. His strength and kindness and intelligence. Instructions for amino acids to fold over in a specific sequence for each specific protein within every living cell. That I can know HIM. That is awesome!


wood - glass - formica - elmer's glue - joy - design - celebrate

The space for such creating once took place in the basement of Brommer Hall. It continues on in the basement of Jesse Hall. 


With funds from a donor the Center for Liturgical Arts now has its own new building at 540 North Columbia Avenue in Seward. Ground broke just four months ago. Already a building. What a wonder.



Three minutes. Concordia University president Brian Friedrich.

Actually the original vision happened about right here. Today, you long term Seward residents know: the house was green, almost the shade now covering the outside walls of the Center. In here lived for many years, Dorris and Reinhold Marxhausen and their children Karl and Paul.  Brian Friedrich

What the Greeks said to the disciple Phillip: "Sir, we want to see Jesus." John 12:21


Former Marxhausen family residence at 540 North Columbia in Seward.


 Harvey D. Lange, Associate Professor of Theology, 1972 yearbook, p. 86


Carol and Harvey Lange, Concordia Teachers College, 1976 yearbook, p.106

Reinhold on his studio deck working on welded sculpture piece 
for Hope Lutheran Church in Park Forest, Illinois, 1966


 New Forms for Worship item by Marxhausen, 1968.
Paint on Morrell ham lid.

 
Reinhold Pieper Marxhausen, Professor of Art, 
varnishing New Forms for Worship project 
in Art Annex basement, 1969

 
Professor Marxhausen design, July 1970, 
Lutheran Church Missouri Synod conference, Denver, Colorado

Those in attendance of building dedication September 22nd.

 
Seven minutes. Director Mark Anschutz shares two stories for the center.

Those two families, the Lange - Marxhausen family, started this marvelous idea of the Center. Now ideas take a while to start and to flourish. And that's what happened. It took years and we don't know exactly when things happened but the Spirit moves. You know the Spirit loves creation. It moved at Creation, and was in Creation, and I believe the Spirit moves over the Center. So, when I think about that moment, when these two men out on that deck were talking about THIS, they didn't know we would be in a building. They didn't know how we would reach across the ocean. They didn't know what God had planned for THIS, but they were MOVED BY THE SPIRIT. And the Spirit also led me here.      Mark Anschutz


 
Mark Anschutz oversaw the new property to keep portions of the Marxhausen inspired landscape. Such as the path to the Reinhold and Dorris Marxhausen studio. He matched the exterior color to the green that was on the Marxhausen front porch. Various trees started by Dorris Marxhausen continue to flourish, a couple a persimmon trees, and a marvelous giant ponderosa pine along the Lincoln Street side.
 
Thank you Mark for your love and dedication. He preserved and showcased the original front door, next. Which my father glued piece by piece, then burned portions with a torch, then wire-brushed, and at the end waxed down. It has a loud metal doorbell which rings loud when you pull the porcelain knob.

 
Six minutes. Harvey and Carol Lange
A six year program with funding for each of those years. Sufficient to hire a part-time worker who would design a proposal for congregations to enhance their sanctuary for Christmas or for Easter. And this person would take this design to teacher conferences or pastor conferences. And would also talk about the potential for liturgical art --- The first hired person was Mark Anschutz. Here we are fifteen years later. Would you believe that this proposal would lead to fabricating a 72 pane glass stained glass wall. 20 feet tall and 80 feet across. And all those pieces of glass fabricated here in Seward. And then packed and shipped to Hong Kong, where they are put in place. Harvey Lange
 

  
One minute. With gratitude to the Lord.















 
News spot on Channel 10 of new center

Photos and videos of dedication by Karl Marxhausen
Additional photos courtesy of Mark Anschutz, director of the Center for the Liturgical Art.



**********