The Art of Seeing: A Visit to the Getty Center

A trip to the Getty Center in Los Angeles is always a delightful excursion!  Its vast collection could certainly keep a person occupied for an entire weekend if he simply wanted to “see” all the pieces.  My favorite visits, however, are with a single destination in mind, one gallery upon which to focus my attention.  I will view one exhibit and then spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying a picnic with friends on the lawn or reading a novel and sipping a glass of iced tea on the patio overlooking the central garden with its beautiful and mysterious waterfall.  Last Saturday I had just that opportunity.

The Getty has amassed a wide collection of illuminated manuscripts spanning from the eighth century to the sixteenth. Due to the delicacy and age of the texts (particularly the ink), the Getty rotates their collection of illuminated manuscripts on display every three months or so. In this way I have an excuse to visit four times a year at minimum. Who knows when these texts will see the light of day again? This might possibly be a once in a lifetime opportunity, so my husband and I filled up the gas tank and drove into the city.

Living in Anaheim we have our fill of traffic and concrete as we meander up and down Orange County each week, but we do not make it into L.A. County very often any more, save to catch up with friends from Biola at the La Mirada Starbucks, to jump on a plane at LAX, or to visit a museum.  Still, it is always obvious when entering LA County for the traffic increases instantly, even on a Saturday morning, the lanes narrow, and the square footage of concrete increases inversely to the number of trees. Along the pavement, claustrophobia increases upon merging with the 405, only to exit and be led by the florescent lights into the cave of the parking garage.  Here, however, is clearly seen the intentionality and psychological insight of the architect. All visitors mount a white platform in the sunshine and eagerly wait. The tram slowly arrives, the passengers glide into their seats, and the tram gently rises up the slope, passing through clusters of shady trees and emerges on top of the hill.  On a clear day the skyline is visible and even the ocean.  Time has slowed down on this journey of transcendence.  The hustle and bustle of the city has been drowned out and all are brought to the foot of the staircase, all men on equal footing and with a renewed sense of peace.  We are above the worries of life and concern for our daily bread.  Here we are encouraged, we are free to discover our humanity, to touch the heavens.   On this hill we are free to explore, to stare at a painting, to examine a drawing under the magnifying glass, to try our hand at sketching one of the great works of art, or simply to relax and read a book or enjoy a sparkling conversation with friends.

Whether leading an epic outing of friends and family or as a solitary contemplation, the Getty has facilitated dozens of enjoyable days for me over the years.  It was here on this hill that I first fell in love with art, here where I discovered the beauty of paintings and the powerful insight of the artist.  As a seventh grader I was challenged here to see art for the first time, to really see it, to look, to view, to stare into the lines and sway with the curves of the paint, to imagine myself as one of the characters, to sense the softness of a silk dress or the warmth of the sun, to feel the hue of the paint, to squeeze between the shapes and into the blank space, passed word, shape, color, sound, gazing, or rather glimpsing for a brief moment, True Beauty.

Are you looking for something to do this Saturday? Consider a trip to the Getty Center. The Villa in Malibu is also a great place to view Greek, Roman, and Etruscan art. Begin to plan your trip today at http://www.getty.edu/museum/ or chat with me and we can plan one together!

I joined the fight against poverty: Clemence and Compassion International

“I joined the fight against poverty!” the white-lettered t-shirt seemed to shout from its black canvas, as I pulled it out of the cardboard box, careful not to dump the packing popcorn all over the floor. I had been waiting for this package to arrive for weeks, and it was finally here!

It all began long ago, but in the spring of 2009, I finally took action. I was looking ahead to my one year review at work, my first full-time, "I’m an adult now," job, and I wanted to do something special to celebrate my adulthood and God’s provision for me. That's when it hit me - I was, for the first time in my life, financially stable, generally independent, and actually able to sponsor a child through Compassion International! I had grown up watching the commercials on TV of children in need, their empty eyes yearning for food, for hope. I had even spent a couple summers with the Continental Singers raising sponsors for the organization. I had always wished that I could do something for the poor children of the world, but I hadn’t had a steady income. Now I did! Now I could do something about it!  Now I could change the life of a child!

Praying As Our Fathers: The Book of Common Prayer

*This morning I led the devotional time for my department at work.  Below is what I shared:

I have found that learning to pray is one of the hardest aspects of the Christian life.  Scripture exhorts us to pray, but what do we say?  How do we maintain a balance in our approach between the amiable sentiment of “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” and the sobering “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” both talking to a trusted friend and standing before the throne addressing our almighty king?  The disciples themselves struggled with prayer, and asked Jesus for lessons in how to pray, for in that context of the Gospels is the Lord’s Prayer recorded.

Over the years I have attended many seminars and Sunday school classes on prayer, with advice ranging from “follow these five helpful tips to improve your prayer life,” to “just pray as the Spirit leads.”  Many times I have struggled praying consistently and finding motivation to pray for extended periods of time because I feel like I do not know what to say.  When I do pray, it can be heavily laden with my emotions at the moment such as bemoaning my overwhelming problems, without always clearly clinging to the truth of Scripture in faith.  In the midst of this struggle to find a balance between expressing how I feel to my Father and seeking for my will and desires to become more aligned with those of my Lord, I found a little book, written five hundred years ago by devout clergy and drawing on centuries of the Christian tradition, which has radically changed the way that I approach prayer.  It has brought a new consistency in my daily prayer.  This book does not replace spontaneous prayer, but it has brought a balance to my extended daily prayer life, by equipping me with a language and structure for my prayers.  It has encouraged me to daily confront my sinfulness and to truly be thankful for the abundant redemption that we have in Christ.  It is called The Book of Common Prayer.

Banana Nut Bread Disaster: Learning to Laugh at Yourself

Okay.  I will be the first one to admit that I am easily embarrassed.  I am a reserved person, preferring to put my best foot forward and make a good impression, so I naturally tend to keep to myself, especially those things which are weaknesses or flaws.  Marriage, however, is helping me, well, my dear Clint, is helping me to admit my failings, apologize if necessary, and even to laugh at myself if the occasion calls for it.  He certainly finds some of the things that I find to be embarrassing or mildly traumatic to be cute and funny – like this morning.

Let’s just say that I am not a baker.  I mastered baking the turtle fudge brownie box mix after many bake sales for theatre, but I am a failure with most everything else.  Okay, I'll admit that I even have a hard time with boxed cookie mixes.  In my defense, there is a big difference between nine and eleven minutes in the oven! 

The Love of My Life

We glided across the dance floor, my wedding gown swishing and his silver tie shimmering.  Having just been introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Perry, we had excitedly taken the floor and now danced to “Green Eyes,” our first dance as husband and wife.  The candles glowed and the lights overhead glimmered.  With a twinkle in his eyes, he lifted his arm, signaling a spin.  I smoothly twirled away from him, but in an instant our eyes met, and entranced I stepped back into his arms.  Laughter and smiles sparkled effervescently, dancing our Rumba box step, as we floated under the twinkling lights.

Just a couple hours before I had been waiting in the foyer of our church, eager and giddy, veiled and on my father’s arm.  I thought of the pure bliss in his eyes, as the doors slowly opened and I first entered the church, the organist playing my “subtly majestic” anthem.  Tears twinkled and a smile spread across the face of my beloved, while he watched me slowly approach the altar – approach him.

A Hospital Visit

The walls were white, the tile a dingy grey, and the hallway smelled like sterilizing cleanser and urine. Slowly I trudged up the stairs. I knew that I was obligated to go see her, but everything within me wanted to run, to escape, for I was wracked with guilt. What would she say? Would she even look at me? Did I even want her to look at me? I was convinced that her eyes would bore holes through my chest.

It was a gloomy March Sunday morning, overcast and cloudy, not raining at the moment, but it looked as though it could begin again any minute. More significantly, it was the day after the accident.

Since freshmen year, we had all been great friends, The Five of Us, as we referred to ourselves. That sunny Saturday had been our long-awaited study break – a day at Disneyland! We had talked about it for months, and finally the day came. We had experienced the wonder of Fantasy Land, adventured with Indiana Jones through snake-filled caves, screamed our way down the Tower of Terror, and been transported into the future together. It was a wonderful day! After eating fajitas and kettle corn, and watching the magical fireworks display, we loaded into my green station wagon, Tommy the Taurus, and headed back to campus around midnight. We were all exhausted, but it was a smooth ride.

A Phone Call

“Hello?” I answered the phone confidently.

“Yes, hello.  Is this Victoria Wade?” the masculine voice asked on the other line.

“Yes, that’s me,” I replied cheerfully.

“Excellent.  How are you today?” he asked.

‘Should I say that I’m great or that it depends on how this interview goes?’ I thought.  I settled for the standard, “I’m good. And you?”

“Excellent.  So why are you interested in joining the Torrey Honors Institute?” the Director asked, jumping through the formalities and to the heart of the conversation.