misunderstood his inner life

     When I was in my thirties I was in Des Moines, Iowa; working thinking breathing. Making a name for myself. An artist through and through, not able to support my family from the portraits I painted. Instead, spending my nights vacuuming, emptying trash, stripping floors, waxing, and doing janitorial work. Church wise, I was outside the denomination of my birth, hearing other lingo, other ways of praising God, other ways to pray, other ways to be. And drawing my new conclusions.
     One of which was toward my dad. I could not perceive his inner life.
     For his part, there seemed to be a lot of doing, making, and drawing attention to what Dad did.
     I misunderstood his relationship.
     What was inside.
     I wrote long letters to Nebraska to dad, arguing. My passion was seen as anger. I didn't see his connection to God. It wasn't all the new ways I was experiencing God in Des Moines. It wasn't the songs we were singing. It wasn't the rhythm we were swaying to. What had been familiar to me growing up in my parent's church, looked more and more foreign. Distant. Out of touch.

     Now I am the age my dad had been, looking back at photos so young and lively, so engaged. The way Dad operated back then was really hidden from my young eyes. Dad's thinking came out of listening to the One who makes. Dad drank in the sacred scriptures, musing, listening, wondering. His inner being shaped by the One who names and treasures the seeking soul.

     I see it now. Deep praises pressed into treated wood, burned by a red-hot welded letter, something Dad himself created
for branding.

    Always near,
        hovering, close,
            pulling Dad into the next
   set of problem solving,
        which later manifested itself
            as a mosaic panel
               or a candle holder
      or resembled a cross shape.

Lemteyoso
This same Lord, this same baptism, this same Word
        hovering, close,
        drawing my moments into His gaze, His study and
         feeling His emotion for me
being known, His heart stirred stirs me

Lemteyoso
    in the act of making
        the LORD draws close
        to uncover His feelings for me
     "you are not forsaken,
                   not alone,
                   not abandoned"
the way His Wind BREAKS into moments of NOW
  to catch me once again
     for me He is active - alive - intent -
        - generating emotions of gratitude for His Son

    this pulse of Another
      initiating in me - hope - joy - longing 

    makes a way   to belong to Him
    makes it possible   to know His thoughts
    balances the weight of these photos I am sifting

about the photos i am sifting throo

This One

holds me

looks at all His pieces

placing        

next to

     inside

within me 

humming over me

His desire

 

shaping me

JESUS YOU ARE

you are

YOU ARE THIS MOMENT

you are

 

prieto or voulkos or arneson ?

was this in denver? which year?

was this in Denver? which year?
My father was no stranger to going BIG.
His Open Book installation on the campus of Concordia University had him digging the form into the earth, pouring cement into that form, and  a huge crane to lift the concrete shape onto its pedestal. Jeez Louise.  Going big must be a Marxhausen thing.

where in the world is carmen san diego?

Where is this location?

double click on images to enlarge

This location has been FOUND. Read more, click HERE
And scroll down to DISCOVERY.
  
Please email the church name, city, and state, to karl@marxhausen.net
 
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Where is this located ??

Next ---

What school is this? What city and state?

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Next ------

Where is this located?

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Where is this altar at?

 Me and friend Mark Middendorf on Dad's studio deck (above)

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Next ---

Where is this painting at? 

and

what city what church what chapel?

Mosaics made of burnt waxed wood, tessera glass from Italy, and formica on plywood backing.  circa1962-1984 Artist: Reinhold P. Marxhausen 
 follow more discoveries at Reinhold Marxhausen Fan Club on Facebook.