We sing to Him, whose wisdom form'd the ear,
our songs, let Him who gave us voices, hear;
we joy in God, who is the Spring of mirth,
who loves the harmony of Heav'n and Earth;
our humble sonnets shall that praise rehearse,
who is the music of the Universe.
And whilst we sing, we consecrate our art,
and offer up with ev'ry tongue a heart.


Henry Purcell
English Composer
1659 - 1695

Author of The Gift of Music:
Great Composers and Their Influence,
Jane Stuart Smith, is the *Jane* whom
Edith Schaeffer references in her book
The Hidden Art of Homemaking,
as well as L'Abri. 

I enjoyed listening to this interesting interview of her from 2008.

Join us online book clubbers as we read Hidden Art and learn to develop our talents.

Meet Professor Clyde Kilby*.

I never had the opportunity, but this portrait painted by my college friend, Deborah Melvin Beisner, makes me feel like Professor Kilby is talking with me.

In fact, he came up in my Facebook feed this week.  Actually, it was a photo of this portrait.  It was linked to John Piper's reference to some of Professor Kilby's wisdom. Then while reading a friend's blog (Soli Deo Gloria), lo and behold, Kilby surfaces again. 

Kilby's challenge to help us all see clearly dovetails delightfully into the online book club discussion I am enjoying with Cindy Rollins at Ordo-Amoris and lots of virtual friends.   In honor of Edith Schaeffer's recent death at age 98, we are reading and blogging through her treatise, The Hidden Art of Homemaking, an obvious favorite of mine since it is the inspiration and moniker for my two blogs.

One commenter wondered why we are saddled with so many preconceived notions of art.  I propose that the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel explains our confusion. Thankfully, Mrs. Schaeffer rightly defines art at the beginning of the book, establishing the LORD God as the First Artist.  Here's a link to my synopsis of the first chapter.

Look and see what He has done.  Creation (the world) is right here in front of our noses.  Dont miss it.  

Join the group and be inspired to represent His Image faithfully.

Confederate leaders and their horses carved into the side of the largest exposed piece of granite in the world give renewed meaning to memorial days and monuments.

Georgia's Stone Mountain Park is home to this fine expression of honor.

This largest bas-relief in the world depicts three figures of the Confederate States of America:  Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee, and Jefferson Davis as well as their beloved horses:  Blackjack, Traveller, and Little Sorrel.  The entire carved surface of the Memorial Carving measures three acres, larger than a football field. The carving of the three men towers 400 feet above the ground, measures 90 by 190 feet, and is recessed 42 feet into the mountain. The deepest point of the carving is at Lee's elbow, which is 12 feet to the mountain's surface. 

First begun in 1916 the carving took 56 years and three sculptors to complete.  Not without its own setbacks this public artwork fits well into the remarks of art professor, Michael Lewis, PhD, who addressed the issue of the decline in America's monuments and memorials.  Read his insightful remarks (link) delivered earlier this Spring at Hillsdale College's Center for Constitutional Study and Citizenship in Washington, DC.  Here are a few clips ~

As traditionally understood, a monument is the expression of a single powerful idea in a single emphatic form, in colossal scale and in permanent materials, made to serve civic life.

It is because of their ability to transcend time by connecting to primal human activities—passage, gathering, shelter—that the best monuments never look dated.

Monuments and memorials today are discursive, sentimental, addicted to narrative literalism, and asking to be judged on good intentions rather than visual coherence.  

As you read Lewis's remarks, don't miss the mentions of Frederick Hart and Emily Post, two of my favorite reference people.

I think Lewis would approve of our Memorial Monument.

What monument or memorial in your area fits the bill?

A Little Bird came to me,

Once of a summer day,
And he told me secrets
from here and there
And some from far away.
How a dewdrop sits on the top
of a rose
And does not roll away,
A little bird told me
Once on a summer day.

A little bird came to me
I think the time was fall.
And he told me secrets
bigger than big,
And none of them were small.
How the leaves turn to yellow
and gold and brown
Before they fall away,
A little bird told to me
Once on an autumn day.

A little bird came to me,
Once on a snowy day,
And he told me secrets
I did not know,
Though why I can not say,
Where little birds go, away
from the snow
For a nice warm place to stay,
A little bird told to me
Once on a winter's day.

A little bird came to me,
Once on a bright spring day,
And I asked for secrets
of here and now,
And some from far away,
How little vines creep, and
little birds cheep
And little buds burst
From their long winter's sleep--
These would I have him say.

A little bird looked at me
On this a bright spring day,
And he answered questions
I never asked
But brushed my own away.
"We can not know what's beyond
the beyond,"
Was what he seemed to say,
As he lifted his wings,
Those bright magical things,
And with them,
he flew away.


Eugenia Talitha Linch
1907 - 1988
Author of  My Flovilla

Illustration by Henriette Browne
"A Girl Writing"
Oil on canvas 

 --- after the painting by Diego Velàzquez, ca. 1619

She is the vessels on the table before her:

the copper pot tipped toward us, the white pitcher
clutched in her hand, the black one edged in red
and upside down. Bent over, she is the mortar
and the pestle at rest in the mortar—still angled
in its posture of use. She is the stack of bowls
and the bulb of garlic beside it, the basket hung
by a nail on the wall and the white cloth bundled
in it, the rag in the foreground recalling her hand.
She's the stain on the wall the size of her shadow—
the color of blood, the shape of a thumb. She is echo
of Jesus at table, framed in the scene behind her:
his white corona, her white cap. Listening, she leans
into what she knows. Light falls on half her face.

by Natasha Trethewey
1966 -

Always thinking ahead, I am posting this poem on Good Friday in anticipation Easter, that celebration of the Resurrection, the resurrected Christ who is featured in the background of this version of Velasquez's painting. The depiction of the supper at Emmaus has been a popular theme in art since the Renaissance.  As I re-read the story in the latter part of Luke, I found no mention of who prepared the meal.  But we all know someone did.

Poet Trethewey has been on my radar for a couple of years, since she's from Georgia, an Emory University professor. Although some of her work has been labeled *politically correct*, I find this one suitably current. Remember the recent book-adapted-to-film, The Help?  The movie won several Oscars.  One was for Best Supporting Actress. The plot focused on the work of domestics and what they overheard from the kitchen.  Interesting correlation, no?  

Furthermore, the style of verse found in The Kitchen Maid reminds me of a similar one based on Vermeer's Woman Holding a Balance, penned by Marilyn McEntyre.  Here's a link to it.

Back to the point ~

May the blessings from the communion meal we will share in three days be celebrated every Sunday, and not just once a year.

Happy Easter!