Furnace Backstory

furnace2
[This week I’ve been covered up with custom calligraphy orders, including one extensive project where I get to do traditional calligraphy and illuminated letters, which makes me excited every time I think about it! I’ll post some pictures a little further on in the process. In the meantime, I thought I’d share a fairly recent poem. This one was awarded the first-place prize in the 2018 Utmost Christian Writers Contest back in April and was first published as part of that contest.]

FURNACE BACKSTORY

Nebuchadnezzar made an image of gold.
He set it up on the plain of Dura, in the province of Babylon.
Tenderly the king took the bread from the mouths of the children,
tended to his own likeness like a hen broods over
the chicks under her heartbeat.

The king was consumed with his significant self;
he dwelt at the mirror and spun his sonnets there,
and into his circle of devotion he took the whole world.
All the world is pouring out into Dura
like threads of ants to a crisped cricket on the black leaves.

Isn’t a crowd like a large beast looking for something to kneel to?
Their eyes are hungry for divinity, their ears are cups
to catch the fifes, the tubas, and the big kettledrum.
Point but a finger and you fell them:
There in the soft gold is your god!

Once upon a time we believed in a sea-splitter, a bush-flame,
a harvest of water from cliff,
snowflakes of honey flowering in the fields.
The I Am spun out the novas like tops –
who is this housebound heap of mute metal?

The born-abroad boys have their hands up already,
ready to host handcuffs and the looped iron.
Their laughter is like all the bluebells that jubilate the meadows.
They are like three men who met death on a whim
and struck up a downright neighborly acquaintance with her.

Copyright ©2018 Bryana Johnson Beaird

Thoughts on Faith and Egrets

Great Egrets Landing in Shallow Water

“…unruffled, sure, 
by the laws
of their faith not logic, 
they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.”
         (Mary Oliver, EGRETS

 

My husband and I have both been ill this week, with our throats too scratchy and hoarse to even read The Fellowship of the Ring out loud to each other before bed, as has been our usual routine. So last night I picked up Mary Oliver’s American Primitive, which was given to me as a gift by a dear friend from Dr. Bob Fink’s Creative Writing workshop. And in one particular poem, I found words to accompany the current season of my life and the newest Great Secret I’ve discovered.

As is usually the case, it was right there in plain sight.

Over the past few years, I’ve experienced a lot of heartache and disappointment. I’ve seen the crumbling and the ruin of people, places, and things that I’ve loved with reckless abandon. And the reckless abandon part of me has been all but swallowed up.

I’ll be quite open with you. Last semester, I came through a massive crisis of faith. The years of disappointment and loss came to a head and I found myself unable to place any confidence in the goodness of God. A mentor met me for lunch at Jason’s Deli and I cried through most of our meeting, unconcerned about who might see.

But time passed and the throes of doubt and anger dissipated. Even though I wasn’t getting along with God, I was dead-set on holding on to him. Like Peter said —

—Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.

His words became like the theme of my life. And I was sad that the fire had gone out, but I was not shocked. I had read so many warnings about this from the Aristocracy of the Kingdom of Heaven. Hudson Taylor, Amy Carmichael, George Mueller, C.S. Lewis, Oswald Chambers, Abraham, Moses – they all fought this darkness, this blank space. I knew it wasn’t new to me; there wasn’t room for self-pity.

I would just keep going. I would just keep doing the things. I would not worry about whether I felt anything. I would just do it.

But loving Jesus, it’s not a Nike thing. It’s not a thing like Shia LeBeouf yelling at the camera and pumping his arms like a gorilla (I know, why does that video exist?). It’s not like that.

That’s what I learned in Tijuana. Alex and I were part of a group that went down to Baja 143earlier this month. We built a church and a home (well, we hammered a few hundred nails, at least, and slung lime green paint on the boards, our construction skills being minimal). In the park a little boy sat down next to us while we ate our lunch one afternoon and he spoke to us in Spanish and we painstakingly constructed and fumbled through clumsy questions and answers for him. And mostly we just sat together, us and the little boy from a lonely village in the desert, not saying anything.

But what was most beautiful about the trip was all the stories people told and passed on. On the bus, on the street, in meetings after dinner and breakfast in the frigid breeze blowing off the ocean, people told their stories of staggering grace. Their stories of change, and transformation, and hope deferred but nevertheless arriving. Their stories of faith.

And I learned something: faith isn’t only an action word. It isn’t only about what we do. It is also a climate of the mind. It is a determination to believe, come what may, in the coming of the promise. It is a rejoicing. It is a feast. It is a banquet in honor of things that are not. And when we’re holding that banquet, there’s no need to feel foolish, for at the head of the table sits God — who gives life to the dead and calls into being things that were not.

New Things

Well, well. How to catch up after eight months of silence in the weblog world?

wedding coverI got married. To my best friend and my beloved companion. At our ceremony, my sister read from The Little Prince and we both cried like babies on the stage. My husband and I read that book together in the early days of our friendship and it’s so special to both of us.

When we were dating, we spent one hundred days apart one very long summer and I wrote a song to present to him when we were back together again. I couldn’t help drawing from Saint-Exupery: There are no shops where you can buy friends…” it began. And even today, that’s what I treasure the most about my relationship with him — we have a friendship that we took great pains to build and into which we invested many hours long before we ever thought we’d one day be one flesh. And friendship is a glue that holds tighter than any passions.

For our wedding, I created five different works of illustrated calligraphy celebrating books that were particularly meaningful to us as a couple. Sense and Sensibility and Much 20180707_185255 (2)Ado About Nothing were among them, but some of our favorites were quotes from children’s books like The Little Prince and the silly old bear.

Prints of these original paintings are now available in my Etsy shop, so that’s exciting. In other news, I’ve been working on quite a few new art projects and the shop now offers several paintings/calligraphy quotes including some from The Hobbit, Puddleglum, Robert Browning, and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Also, there’s two beautiful Wodehouse quotes that I’m particularly attached to.

But some of the biggest recent Etsy news from my end is that I’m now offering custom illustrated calligraphy quotes! So if you like my style but I haven’t offered the specific quote you’re dreaming about hanging on your wall, I can now make it specifically for you and it’ll be your own original work of handmade, hand-lettered art.

There are a lot of other new things in the works, but for now I’ll see you over on Etsy! Also, if you’d like to keep in touch, my instagram has been seeing a lot more action these days, so find me over there at _bryana_johnson to hear about all the new happenings, including a sweet art giveaway that I’ll be posting tomorrow.

2017 Christmas Cards

20170916_182813 (2)I have to say it. I’m a strong opponent of premature Christmas decorations and celebrations. In fact, if I go into a grocery store or department store in October and seeing tinsel and lights and elves, I try to ignore them completely, since I feel like these things spoil the grandeur of the way the Christmas season ought to spring upon us, much-awaited, with the beginning of December.

That being the case, I long debated whether to make this post at all, but I ended up deciding that it might be worth it to some people. So if you’re like me and cringe when you see Christmas things out too soon, don’t worry – I’ll keep this short.

20170916_182413Ever since I opened my Etsy shop two years ago, I’ve dreamed about designing a set of watercolor and calligraphy Christmas cards. This year, I finally had an opportunity to make that dream a reality and I spent part of the summer working on these new paintings and calligraphy pieces. I then turned this original artwork into printed cards that can be used as traditional Christmas cards or framed to be gifted or displayed as unique works of art.

And these new cards are available in my Etsy shop NOW.

So many of my favorite things about Christmas are classic and old – like the rich and beautiful carols and poems celebrating the advent of Christ. My other favorite thing about Christmas is the spirit of generosity and grace that we celebrate and attempt to extend to others during the season. This Christmas, I wanted to make art that would express both of these things and for this reason, 50% of net proceeds from any Christmas card purchases from my Etsy shop will benefit the work of Compassion International, a humanitarian aid organization serving children in poverty around the globe.

20170916_181840 (2)Although it’s only the beginning of November, I wanted to let you know about this now so that you have plenty of time to order them. Please note that these cards can be ordered in any combination you like! There is a listing in the shop for a set of three, and also individual listings. However, if you find you really like two of the designs and don’t care much for the third, you can order as many of these two cards as you like. If you send a custom order request, I can create a listing for you that will include your entire purchase in one listing and will cut down on your shipping costs. I usually respond to convos very promptly and you shouldn’t have to wait long for me to create the listing for you.

Alright, friends, that’s all. You can return to your normal routine and wait for Christmas to come at its proper time.

Kilmurvey House

kilmurvey
I’m not in Ireland today, but the grey sky in West Texas has been pouring steady water for over twenty-four hours. When I went running down the flooded little streets in the drippy dusk earlier, I lingered over my memories of wet days in the Aran Islands back in March.

And I decided to post this little poem that I wrote earlier this week in Dr. Bob Fink’s creative writing workshop. The poem was an attempt to distill the essence of my experience at Kilmurvey House, a lovely historic stone home that serves as a lodging-place for island visitors.

The photo included here is not my own, but it is just how I remember Kilmurvey House. The lighted window on the right side of the picture is the window into the “rose tea-room” mentioned in the poem – a room where my now-fiancé and I read a little book of W.B. Yeats’ poetry on a wet, wet day much like this one.

IMG_0567The poem I most clearly recall reading was “Why Should Not Old Men Be Mad?” because we discussed it at some length and questioned whether cynicism is a natural accompaniment for age and, if so, whether it must be?

Yeats famously visited the Aran Islands in 1896 and told J.M. Synge: “Go to the Aran Islands, and find a life that has never been expressed in literature.” Kilmurvey House was standing when Yeats was on the island, but no one in our group was certain whether he ever went there specifically.

When I first set out to write this poem, I wanted to know for sure – I thought it was important to the poem. But as I began to think about it more deeply, I realized that this small fact is immaterial in the scheme of things. What matter is that I was there, reading Yeats and wrestling with what he said and I wanted to give words to that experience. So this is my best attempt.

KILMURVEY HOUSE


No single story would they find
Of an unbroken happy mind,
A finish worthy of the start.
       (W.B. Yeats, Why Should Not Old Men Be Mad?
)

I don’t know if Yeats ever came here or not
on a pitching ferry passing
the wild atlantic way the saltgrass air in his nose
the gulls wheeling.

There are always red coals in the rose tea room
the kettle about to bubble
and the little warm milk pods in the bowl on the
ancient piano.

Why should not old men be mad? Even the ocean
is white with rage
throwing beaten egg stones up on the beach
howling in the boulders.

Yet will you sit with me here in the circle
of bodhran thunder and light?
Sometimes the mind breaks and spills
birdlike solos.