Point of View

Much in our life changes meaning or takes on new meaning if we adjust our point of view. One of the goals of my spiritual life is to adjust my view in order to accomodate not only my own life and desires, but those of my neighbor and my God. As a chaplain or pastor, I'm often seeking ways to illustrate this shift in perspective; yesterday I met a comrade whose art seeks to do the same thing.

The National Science Foundation offers grants to scientists to come down here for research. Additionally, NSF sponsors an Antarctic Artists and Writers Program in which artists working in different mediums get a trip here for their own research. There are at least two sets on station now: a married couple developing a marionette musical about Sir Ernest Shackleton, an early Antarctic explorer and Elise Engler, a visual artist. (For more about Elise, click here and for specifics about her Antarctica work and journey, check out this blog.)

Elise's work is pretty fascinating, though I didn't quite get it at first. I went to a public lecture she gave last week and became intrigued. She created a series of colored pencil sketches of everything she owned and presented it as a "self-portrait" (isn't it intriguiing that in our society we put so much value in what we own?). A variation on that theme is a series of sketches of women's handbags, here's #28 in that series, linked from her website:

Her works about how our government spends money are quite thought-provoking (the contents of a tool shed in a public park, the equipment to fire weapons on a single sortie in Iraq). Watching the Rockettes in NYC during the war in Iraq produced a startling contrast she calls Life Goes On:


One of her projects that she's done over time is a collection of views outside of windows. (Talk about changing perspective: Should I sit comfortably at a window or step outdoors to see the world for myself?) Elise stopped in the chapel yesterday and looked out our windows and decided that her next sketch of McMurdo's windows would be from here. We have a few different windows that offer distinct views. The large window behind the altar has stained glass and a beautiful view of the mountain range across the Ross Sea. On a clear day lately, we can see whales, seals and skua off in the distance. My camera isn't that great, but this gives you an idea of it:

Other windows look out across waste pipes to the ice dock where the cranes on top of the cargo vessel are constantly moving. It's quite a different view.

Some views out of the chapel are of the glorious majesty of creation... other views are of the mundane work-a-day world. The chapel looks out on both. It's easier for me to we consider a God of majesty and power (and maybe judgement and anger). That's the Big Stained Glass Window version of God. It's more difficult for me sometimes to remember God in the mundane.

When Elise entered yesterday looking for a window, I noted the obvious: Sketching the big stained glass window, everyone will know it's from the chapel. I'm thrilled, however, that she chose to sketch the view of the mundane work-a-day window. A challenge of spirituality in our world is seeing God in the mundane, and I'm thrilled that her art will present this view from within this holy place.