Time and time again

As we arrive at the beginning of October, I admit that I am not exactly sure where September went. Having finished all the documentation for my MFA and handed that in at the end of August, September has felt very strange. In many respects, I have had more free time in the studio than I have been used to of late. Gone were the twice- or thrice-weekly drives to Oxford; the tasks that took me to my desk for days on end had been completed; regular calligraphy workshops and bookbinding gatherings had yet to resume; and I found myself without any great compulsion to do anything or be anywhere. Why is it that it can feel so difficult to accept free time as a gift, a blessing that bears all the potential for new discovery and advances?

Last weekend, we took advantage of a bright, sunny day to explore Gloucester Docks for the first time. Even on a Saturday lunchtime, there was a spaciousness that meant that we could saunter along the water's edge without feeling crowded and with a stillness and quiet that was unexpected. As we walked, we reflected on the passage of time - not with the individually-focussed, short-term perspective of my opening paragraph, but in the historical transformation of place. Before the Industrial Revolution, the area now designated as Gloucester Docks would likely not have been much at all. Then with the rise in mechanised manufacturing, the canal system was built to enable the passage of goods from the Midlands to Gloucester, which became and remains the largest inland port in Britain. As we walked gently, we tried to imagine the busy-ness of this place with the arrival and departures of vessels, dockworkers shouting as goods were tossed ashore and transported to the relevant warehouse. The area would have been full of life; indeed, it would have been the only known location for the lives of so many men, women and children of that period. And yet we know that time moved on, and the docks fell silent again. Fifty years ago, this area was a derelict shell of what it had been. Yet, the wheels of time turn once more and investment in regeneration means that pop-up restaurants and shopping outlets now paint a different picture of life in Gloucester. Some Victorian warehouses have been converted into desirable apartments, while others were made into offices, though even these are beginning to stand empty as an anachronism amidst modern business patterns. As we reflected, therefore, Gloucester Docks became an exemplar for the passage of time itself, a reminder of the larger patterns of birth, life, death and re-birth that have shaped humankind across all time.

What difference does all this make? For me, there is something here about the impact it might have on our attitudes as we live out our life, and a reminder that we inhabit this earth for such a short period of time. As an iconographer, I am often humbled by the knowledge that the icons that I have painted will remain long after my death, potentially hundreds of years. We can observe the changes to our climate and to the environmental disequilibrium evidenced by so much of what is happening around the world, while also recognising that humankind has not been the dominant life across the planet for the majority of its existence. Will humanity be destroyed by war, or the dismantling of systems of government, or as a consequence of technological breakdown caused by AI? What will my own locality look like in fifty, one hundred, or one thousand years? And since my time recently has also been spent engaging with the Church and its institutions, how is the passage of time going to impact the viability of how we organise church life now and what innovations can we embrace (what practices and buildings can we allow to die) in order to find a freedom to reimagine a different future? Sometimes, we can live our life from day to day and forget just how small and insignificant an individual lifetime is. However, as I have spent time in my studio with these musings, I have (thankfully) been guided to a deeper truth:

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? Yet you have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honour.

Psalm 8.3-5

Fully to embrace such insignificance is to ignore the hope and the promise that we have in relationship with the Divine in Jesus Christ. If we feel so dwarfed by the enormity of the universe and the inexorable passage of time, it would be too easy to declare 'Vanity of vanities,...vanity of vanities! All is vanity.' (Ecclesiastes 1.2) and give up altogether. What difference does it really make how I use my time? Yet, it does matter, because you, and I, and the next person, matter to God. We are invited to live life in all its abundance (John 10.10) and to look for the face of Christ in everyone we meet. We are promised that the time we are given here on earth is not for nothing, but rather the inauguration of the eternal kingdom that is both now and not yet. The time we are given is truly a gift, a gift that we are invited to receive and embrace in daily acknowledgment of the Giver. To be in relationship with the Creator is therefore to trust in a greater purpose and a fulfilment that is beyond our imagining. I do not - I cannot - know what our world will look like in the future, but the counterpoint to these existential questions will always be Hope.

So, until such time as all will be revealed, I find myself coming back to the present moment, for that is all we ever have. In what way can I live this moment as fully as God created me to be? How might I discern the next step from this moment, not because I perceive some earthly destination or purpose, but simply because I am practising trust in the One who was and is and is to come?

News

The beginning of the month saw me back at Launde Abbey with a delightful group, as we explored together how we might pray with icons. I am also pleased to say that the Launde Abbey shop is now fully restocked with my range of greetings cards, so if you are in that part of the country, that is the place to go!

My studio time has seen me focussing on my calligraphy practice, as well as making progress with icon drawing. I have also been experimenting with some new products that enable me to print cloth for bookbinding, so I have made a prototype journal with one of my icons on the cover. I am still thinking about whether these might be a regular product for sale.

Earlier this week, I also collected a calligraphy and geometry piece from my framer. Measuring 40 x 40cm and framed with special non-reflective glass, 'The glory of the stars is the beauty of heaven' is now for sale at £250 (incl. P&P to UK mainland); this is a one-off piece in gouache on hand-painted watercolour paper; do get in touch if you are interested.

Coming up this month, I am excited that my bookbinding course will resume its online sessions. I will be back in Leicestershire next weekend, speaking at the resource day for the spiritual directors in Leicester diocese, with another invitation to speak later in the month to a local craft group about how icons are made. So there will be plenty to keep me busy.

If you enjoy reading my blog and wish to support my ministry in a practical way, I have set up a page with "Buy me a coffee". This website, designed with creatives in mind, recognises that a whole load of my time goes into maintaining a website, keeping up with social media and writing blog posts, time that is not then available for income-generating work. Given that my passion for good coffee comes not very far behind my love for God and art (!), if you feel so inclined, you can click here to make a donation towards my ongoing ministry (but without any obligation to do so). Huge thanks to those of you who have bought me a coffee in previous months - please don't feel you have to every time or at all!