This week I looked at the University of Arkansas as I continue to contemplate an MFA with an emphasis in ceramics. A few people have suggested the art department at the UofA isn’t all that great, but since there is a good possibility my wife and I won’t be moving as previously anticipated I nosed around on the Fayetteville school’s website.

Let me first say that their website is — while not fabulous — a lot better than some other university websites my wife and I have perused over the last four months or so. We’ve been surprised at the lack of organization on these websites, websites that host an incredible amount of information and need to be meticulously ordered to be useful. When looking around the UofA’s site, I generally found what I was looking for quickly. The same was not true for other schools, such as Iowa State.

The ceramics department possesses adequate resources — better than some other midwest schools I’ve looked at, but not the best. It lacks a wood fired kiln, for instance, although this isn’t something I count a necessity. The department is headed up by Jeannie Hulen; she’s the only staff in the department. This is somewhat disappointing to a graduate of the University of Nebraska, where three professors shared teaching responsibilities in clay. This provided for a great diversity of expertise and style, a very well-rounded learning experience.

The advantage of the University of Arkansas is that we’re already here. It’s a commute to Fayetteville from Siloam, but only around 30 minutes to campus from our house if traffic is reasonable. This drive may be offset by potential relocation and out-of-state tuition costs if we were to move for the schooling (and begin school before establishing residency).

The following are some questions I asked Jeannie about the program this week and her prompt (albeit grammar-less) replies. I’ve inserted punctuation and articles for clarity:

Are you the only prof in the ceramics department?

Yes, but we have a tech position and they have a MFA in ceramics; also my husband is a potter and accessible, along with Bethany Springer — the sculpture — prof is fantastic.

How many grad students are in the ceramics department, on average?

My goal is 3-5.

What are my chances of getting funding for the MFA (fellowships and assistantships)?

First year is tough, but second and third are more likely.

What is the cost (tuition) of the program (I didn’t look for this online, but I suppose it’s there)?

I’m not sure, but in-state is reasonable.How established is the ceramics department at the UofA? How long has the MFA program included ceramics?

This is my sixth year; the program before me had no reputation. With all of my work on our Ceramics symposiums, we are nationally significant for such a small program, and my grads and undergrads do very well. For over 20 years ceramics has been included in the MFA.

Do you have links to online galleries of the ceramic prof’s own work?

If you Google me, you can see some of my work, as well as at http://art.uark.edu/galleryOfWork-fac/ or http://art.uark.edu/ceramics/info/?page_id=9

I looked cost up on the UofA website. Spring semester of 2008 is $280 per credit hour for graduate students in the fine arts, if I read the chart correctly. This is commensurate with most other midwest schools I’ve looked at such as Missouri, KU, KSU, ISU — the one exception was the University of Minnesota in St. Paul, which cost about twice as much as the others.

Of course, the question remains as to whether or not I will actually go after an MFA. I may be leaning towards it right now (60/40, perhaps?), but it’s by no means certain.

Some readers may not know this yet, but presently I work for a small non-profit. I do marketing and graphic design for a mission mobilizer called M-DAT. Since the work is missions related I raise money in order to be there, like 70% of American missionaries.

For the past five years (as of next month) my wife and I have been in various stages of fundraising, working outside of the ministry as needed and part-time for the ministry as moneys allowed. We’ve never reached full support. In other words, I’ve never been able to work full-time at full salary indefinitely. Life has been in limbo.

I’ve been able to work full-time at a partial salary for most of this year, but come December the money looked to run dry. So my wife and I worked out a plan: We figured we’d be able to continue working part-time with M-DAT if we moved to a larger town with better prospects for other part-time work and less expensive housing. So late this summer we made two eight-hour drives to such a community looking at real estate.

Some may wonder why we wouldn’t just sell our house and rent. While we like owning a home, renting would be fine. However, we hope to take the next two or three years to work on our arts and crafts — ceramics, crochet, writing — while looking at the possibility of grad school, which I’ve mentioned here numerous times now. Thus we need space (and the flexibility to modify said space) for my kiln and clay studio as well as storage for my wife’s yarn and scarves.

So we made an offer on a house, a 100 year old house we liked quite a bit.

It’s in great shape (except for the roof) and completely modern with the formal layout of an older home. We did this at 9 a.m. and then drove home. Halfway home my boss called my wife’s cell phone and gave us the good news that a very large donation arrived in the mail for us. This donation was very unexpected and would essentially allow us to be fully supported for almost two years.

But we’d already made an offer on the house. We’d already taken the time to drive to Nebraska, look at 16 different homes and mess around with paperwork at the bank. Now we learn about the new money? After we’ve agonized over this decision for months and become somewhat emotionally attached to this house? God does have a sense of humor.

And we were confused; very confused.

The sellers countered which gave us an out, but we weren’t able to ignore everything that had transpired. So after numerous conversations this weekend, where we hashed and rehashed the same things again and again, we decided to accept the seller’s counter-offer. I won’t go into the myriad of details, tangible and intangible, that influenced our decision. Suffice it to say that the contract is contingent on the sale of our Arkansas house, and we decided that if it doesn’t sell we weren’t meant to move to Nebraska.

I painted the outside of our house today. The color was brighter than we expected, brighter than the paint chip. With the trim color, however, it will look great — very bungalow-esque.

After I got enough paint on the siding to tell how it was going to look — the first sprayer I rented wasn’t working — I stepped back to take it in. It caused me to remember how important the idea of beauty is to me. I agonize over visual details that, besides driving my wife up the beautifully purple-painted bungalow walls, most people never notice. And I don’t consider myself much of a detail-oriented person, but with respect to the information my eyes take in I suppose I am just that.

I don’t pretend to be able to define what is beautiful or know what is Beautiful (notice the capital “B”), but I do seek out the idea and attempt to create objects and environments that reach for the most pulchritudinous experience.

I’m writing this because it plays into my thoughts on going after an MFA. It reminds me that my interests really are much broader than studio art. An MFA may still be the best way to go, to further my ability to define and render beauty, but at this point I can’t be certain.

And, frankly, I probably won’t ever be certain.

I’ve been asking myself a question this past week:

What, in my own life, holds the greater potential influence to foster an artistic renaissance in the American Church: Working as a full-time artist or working as a professor in a BFA program at a Christian college?

Unfortunately, this isn’t really quantifiable. I asked a friend this weekend, a design professor, what he thought of my predicament. He prefaced his answer by saying it’s a loaded question to which he’d give a loaded answer, and proceeded to say that working as a professor brings you into contact with a lot of people in a short period of time. He then suggested I would be a very good prof for reasons x, y and z. My friend then cited local Christian painter Todd Williams saying he makes a good living for himself but doesn’t necessarily exert a lot of influence in the way I desire to.

This may suggest the role of teacher holds greater promise for change in the Christian community, but it’s by no means certain. While I know nothing of Williams’ intent, his website openly states that he’s not out for notoriety as an artist. Neither am I — save for the fact that the more well-known an artist is the more opportunity they’ll likely see to be involved in reforming the culture around us for the better. In this there is an enigmatic tension between narcissistic self-promotion and self-defeating humility. An artist has to market him or herself.

Should I even be asking myself this? Is the answer different for different people? If my intent is to influence does it matter which I do?

I’m worried that I’ll choose the easier of the two options, but I don’t know which option is easier. Teaching — which requires a costly degree up front (assuming you aren’t able to get a decent fellowship) — offers more reliable and steady income and thus might be easier in the long-run. Working as an artist might be easier in the here and now assuming I begin by building up a portfolio while continuing to work an eight-to-five during the days.

I wonder if I’m destined to be an ignoble pot (read Romans chapter nine, verses 20-21), living comfortably but never making an opportunity to step out into either of these options. Is accepting a more ignoble role the same as humility, or is it the same as ignoring your God-given gifts?

A lot of other thoughts are playing into the banter inside my head:

• What about my idea for a Christian artist retreat?

• How does my present role as a mission mobilizer play into this decision?

• Is it a viable idea to work to raise up a healthy art community in a small town?

• Can my wife and I find a place where both of us are accepted into graduate programs with fellowships?

• Is an MFA in studio art the best option for someone like me, whose interest extends to architecture and interior design?

Unfortunately there aren’t any easy answers. No doors are opening or swinging shut to indicate one idea is better than another. This may still happen in the next couple months; my present job situation isn’t sustainable past December at this point, forcing a decision in the very near future.

We press on. We try to wait patiently. We brainstorm for new ideas, which come all too slowly.

My wife and I are still nosing around university websites thinking about MFAs — creative writing for her, studio art for me.

While I thoroughly enjoyed my college years (and miss them with regularity) dealing with university and college administration was always a nightmare. Transferring credits, changing majors, constantly changing course requirements, scholarship applications: Just about every interaction I had with my advisors, the bursars, the dean or any other administrative type was something I quickly learned to dread. Some of the administration people were just visibly uninterested in your particular problem (and by extension, thus, your education), others were inept and uninformed.

And it wasn’t just me. The girl across the street back home had to send her high school transcript six times to the University of Nebraska at Lincoln; they kept losing it!

We’ve been told over the last month that many people in master’s programs have assistantships, and that these pay not only for your tuition but also a stipend for teaching or research. Looking into this at a potential university we found a frustrating discrepancy on their website.

This isn’t surprising when I remember how much trouble I had as a student, but it is still very annoying. Up until now in our search we hadn’t experienced such a glaring reminder of large institutions’ inability to communicate with clarity and consistency. And it isn’t just universities that commit such egregious communication and administrative faux-pas. Many, if not most, enormous bureaucracies tend to say different things out of the same mouth — even if it’s unintentional.

It makes the whole process of looking for a master’s program less desirable.

Nosing around the web tonight, trying to find out how much it would cost to go back to school for an MFA, I ran across a very interesting post on on a blog called The Elegant Variation. In a post titled Why the MFA is important, the blogger says this:

It’s imposible to start a life committed to literary fiction when you are $60,000 in debt. ($60k, by the way, is a conservative estimate, Peter — but that’s sweet.)

That said, Peter gives some more very good advice in his New York Magazine article:

This is the thing about MFA programs that is so often ignored: the cost defeats the purpose. No one wants to talk about money (how taboo!) — but really, unless you have a fellowship or your parents foot the bill, an MFA is self-destructive. We want the Iowa/Irvine/Columbia label, but a place like UNLV makes a lot more sense. Or else just stalk Denis Johnson at his listed number in Idaho. Move there, work at the iHop, and beg him to mentor you. Free!

The Peter he refers to is Australian author Peter Carey of Columbia University. While the section above is talking about writing, it seems to me the same applies to the studio arts.

Unless I were to really “make it big” shortly after finishing my degree, how could I realistically pay on student loans as a full-time painter or sculptor? Or do artists earning MFA’s these days just assume they’ll carry their debt with them for years — or plan to teach where a regular paycheck can be counted on? A few years back I discussed this with a friend who was wondering the same thing about people earning bachelor degrees for things like social work from the local private university. The university apparently prides itself on cranking out socially aware and concerned citizens. But how can someone in social work pay the cost of a private education?

Unless, as The Elegant Variation suggests, someone else pays for it. Thing is, not all of us have parents who earn six figures, and there aren’t enough full tuition scholarships for everyone either. From my very limited research tonight, it looks like private colleges charge around $20,000 per year for graduate studies. Even if I had scholarships to cover half of that, I’d end up with more than $30,000 in loans not taking into account numerous living expenses (and sundry art supplies for my classes?) required to, um, live. This leaves a student with monthly payments of more than $325, based on my previous loans which had a better interest rate than you’d get today, over 10 years.

Sure, it’s not what many doctors or lawyers will rack up in their schooling. But then, they have some assurance of a well-paying job at the end of it all. An artist can throw himself into his paintings and not necessarily be able to earn a living.

A few questions rolling around in my mind this week:

* Of artists who studied studio art in college, how many of the most successful visual artists around today don’t have an MFA, but just a BFA?

* Does an MFA give an artist a distinct advantage, or is it just that most people really serious about art-making go on to earn an MFA? (What about people like me who don’t go after the terminal degree just because of the cost?)

* What kind of artistic notoriety is equivalent to an MFA in the eyes of, say, a university administration looking to hire a professor?

* Is an MFA today’s equivalent to yesteryear’s apprenticeships?

Last night I continued to read about the “Transforming Culture: A vision for the church and the arts” conference. I took the time to look through the details of each plenary session. I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed in their choice of speakers (I’ve already voiced this to the conference organizers, per their request.).

I actually recognize four of the six names, prominent people in Christianity — some working in the arts. In fact I have a book edited by Jeremy Begbie, an anthology on Christianity and the arts. My complaint is that none of the speakers have ties to the fine arts. There isn’t a painter or sculptor leading any of the sessions.

I am an advocate for all arts, but most especially for the fine arts, the tactile arts, which is my own passion. Further, it seems to me that drama, writing and music have all had their forums in the Church for some years now. Of course, these still need to be discussed and improved upon, but they possess a much more viable foothold (based on my own observations) among Christians than fine art.

Why not have the likes of Makoto Fujimura or Sandra Bowden lead a plenary? The organizers know these people by name; both Mako and Bowden are endorsing the conference. Both speak, to my knowledge, in such settings. Last year I voiced a similar complaint about books on Christianity and art, observing how 95% of such books are written by people in writing or drama or music — or with no relationship to the arts at all! — but none did I know of by a visual artist. And while I’m thankful for these efforts, I’m very skeptical when it comes to the author’s (or in the case of Transforming Culture, the speaker’s) ability to empathize with my own particular passions and struggles.

I hope this isn’t discouraging to people planning such events, but I am burdened by this deficiency in the Body of Christ. A friend suggested over coffee yesterday morning that I be the one to write a book from a tactile artist’s point-of-view. The thought has certainly crossed my mind. However, I don’t have credibility; I don’t have an MFA, let alone a show at any reputable gallery of any kind, nor I am I certain I can find the time for such a (probably unprofitable) undertaking. All of this can be overcome but at the moment creates hesitancy.

Furthermore, I thoroughly love the interactive aspect of a blog. A book is more static. It is less like conversation; it’s less about me learning than spouting. Were I to write such a volume, it would certainly need to be prefaced with the phrase “I reserve the right to change my mind.”

Seven or eight years ago, as I finished up my BFA, I tried to explain some ideas I had concerning art and faith to another artist. I didn’t know her well, but she attended the same church as I, was finishing up her MFA and on this particular day was subbing for one of my absent studio profs. I thought, of all the other Christ followers I knew in my classes, she would understand where I was coming from.

However, her response was, at best, condescending. “So you want to change the world?” she asked. Of course, I thought. Who doesn’t? I don’t know if this is how she meant to come across, and frankly still very much admire her work as an artist. Regardless, she didn’t seem to understand where I was coming from.

Since then, thankfully, I’ve met and befriended a number of other artists and designers of faith sympathetic to these sentiments. Geinene Carson, Joel Armstrong and Todd Goehner for example, as well as my new acquaintance with Tim Jones.

Makoto Fujimura is another such person. In fact, I envy his position in many ways — which I’ve said about Geinene Carson in the past as well.

Fujimura, affectionately referred to as Mako by the people around him, is the most significant artist of the Christian faith. I don’t say this to put him on a pedestal; regular readers know my aversion to holding artists up as geniuses. I say this based on observations over the past two years.

His work is accepted by much of the New York art world. To my [limited] knowledge, no other artist of faith has made such inroads into the culture in the last 50 years — or more.

But more interesting than his paintings were his words.

* Mako is writing a paper proposing a 1% program. I’m speculating (I forgot to ask him last night at the opening) it’s in relationship to The Christian Vision Project. The program will suggest that American churches allocate 1% of their budget to the arts. He compared this to the budget of the National Endowment for the Arts (he’s on the NEA’s National Council for the Arts), pointing to the impact churches could have on the culture by supporting quality artists of faith. More when I can get my hands on the finished article.

* 70% of people who purchase his paintings aren’t Christians. He candidly expressed his wish for this to be a more even 50/50 split. Is it really so much more spiritual to give our money to building projects, these warehouse/office structure combos with crosses or steeples thrown on top? Is it even so much more spiritual to give to missions — and I ask this as a sorely under-supported missions mobilizer myself. I’m not suggesting one or the other. I’m just asking where the balance is.

When Fujimura recieved his first request for a commissioned work from a Christian, he pointed this out to the person. The person commissioning the painting was in disbelief. Mako went on last night saying how important this was for himself, as a confirmation of his calling from a fellow believer.

* He also elaborated on the importance of nihonga in his work, in response to a question I posed to him about it’s tradition and influence on his present works. He pointed out two things: 1) How 16th century nihonga works were actually highly abstracted 2) The importance of the process in light of the more sterile approach painters are faced with today, using prepackaged tubes from Hobby Lobby instead of the more move involved and tactile process of grinding your own pigments. I was impressed with the importance of this technique’s history in Fujimura’s painting.

My wife quickly overhead a number of viewers lamenting the abstract nature of his paintings. “It’s so abstract,” I heard one student say to another, in a quizzical tone of voice. Some of Mako’s works are less about the process and materials and do contain images; two such works are on display at the JBU gallery, one featuring a rose and another columbines.

Of course, as much as I might wish to have the same influence or opportunity as Mako (or Geinene at Arts Link), I am content to live the life I’m in now. I know that, even if I’m not doing exactly what I might want to be doing, the sacrifices are being made as directed by God and for with the best interest of the Kingdom in mind.

Though I still hope (and plan) to make more time for myself in my studio!

More links:

* International Arts Movement (IAM)

* Tribeca Temporary

* Makoto Fujimura’s blog

The following is an interview with Cosette Cornelius-Bates. Cosette’s undergaduate work was in art and writing. She is presently finishing up her thesis at Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia, in theology and the arts. She is knitting her thesis.

I see your undergraduate work was in art and English. What prompted you to go to graduate school?

The need to know more about Christianity and further explore things as a artist who is also a Christian. Also, graduate school is a great place to keep on doing your art.

Yeah, disciplining myself to create after graduating — since I wasn’t pursuing art full-time — has been tough. Did you ever consider pursuing an MFA from a Christian university?

Nope. I was very much interested in learning about both theology and art at the same time.

Ah, sure. I found myself in a very similar position. I remember, albeit vaguely, seeing Regent’s theology and the arts program when I was looking for an MFA program at a Christian school (around the year 2000). I was consindering an MFA at the time with the thought of teaching at the college level. What has been your impression of the program there at Regent? Is it adequate, is it relevant to the needs and desires of its students and the Christian community? 

Regent’s history lends it to cross-disciplined Christianity, starting from the belief that we are all ministers no matter what we do. It trained (and still trains) lay people to combine their vocation with Christian thinking. That said, Regent’s program is not an MFA program and people coming into it will be incredibly let down if that’s what they expect. You’re expected to already be a professional artist coming in. You may have to fight a bit for your education here, but it is well worth it.

I do not like the word relevant as used in the Christian community, so I will use the word necessary.

It is certainly a loaded term, but the best I could come up with for the situation!

Regent is a great theology school, albeit spread a bit thin. What they are trying to do and accomplish is necessary to both the growth of the church and to the people who go here. Like all institutions, it has its problems, but they do not yet trump what they have to offer.

What is the balance between theology (presumably lectures) and studio courses in the program?

The program is first and foremost a Masters of Christian Studies, so it certainly leans towards the theology. You have to have a love of your art and know how to keep doing it when very busy to get any art in the first year. My friend Jim (who is doing his thesis show with mine) and I both got nothing done our first year here. Or maybe that is necessary too.

How is knitting related to theology?

For me, everything is theological. Knitting in particular strikes me as connected on many levels. At the very bottom, it is something we can do to be creative in our everyday lives. One of the questions I am asking in my thesis is how we live as people made in the image of a creative God.

At its best, knitting is also relational- not only in that we take seriously our role as created by a creative God- but also in that knitting is inherently about other people. It is about care, love, warmth, prayers and wishes. It is also about people getting together, talking, telling stories, being productive and creative together.

One step deeper along this path, knitting is about stewardship. It is about sheep and alpaca, llama and goat. It is about taking the time to know why these are amazing gifts from God, caring about how the animals are treated and appreciating the gifts of creation.

As you can see, knitting is a deep practice. It harkens back generations in a world that is obsessed with shallow consumption. It takes into account other humans, creation, and God in a culture where we are told that none of that matters, only our purchases. Practices like knitting, living theology, are essential to our world right now. They help to preserve and give meaning in a world in which it is often absent. Knitting is an example of what philosopher Albert Borgmann calls a ‘focal practice’-a practice that brings things out of the muck and business of the modern world and into a place where we can see again.

What made you think of knitting your thesis?

When the time came to decide, I had a class called ‘Vocation of the Artist.’ I brought in my paintings, my poetry, and my knitting. Everybody was especially taken by the knitting and that was when I knew that knitting had a power that I did not expect. So I decided to explore knitting and theology more.

Do your projects visually reflect theology? If so, how?

Nope. I do have a scarf called the holy spirit scarf.

You use a lot of recycled yarn — a very important part of your work. Does the theological idea of restoration show in your work, or play out in the process? 

The recycling is certainly playing with the ideas of restoration and redemption. I’m subverting the modern norm of mass producing too many animal product sweaters and not taking the product seriously. In re-knitting, I am holding the animal fiber yarn up as something more valuable that needs to be considered. On another front, I am also, very practically, recycling sweaters and fibers that no one is willing to call lovely and precious and making them lovely and precious. Just doing my little part in the incarnation.

Most (in fact, all that I can find) of your knitting projects result in functional objects. Have you ever considered using this craft to draw, paint or sculpt non-functional objects?

I have considered it. On a personal level, I don’t think I can subvert a medium that I love so much. I am too attached to the practicality of wool and to all of the women who came before me. I am planning a painting and lace shawl project, but the shawls will still be ultimately useful. For me, wool is for warmth. When not used for warmth, it almost seems a waste to me. That said, I would totally buy a weaving or what have you for my wall. I don’t mind if others do it, it’s just not my thing. When you become so deeply involved with a medium while making art, I expect that you’re probably using it in good ways.

How has the art community approached and/or viewed your knitting?

I am more a member of the crafting community than the art community. The nice thing about knitting is that everyone understands it. People naturally know what it means. Many of the people who originally were so moved by my knitting are fine artists, but, yet, knitting seems more primal to me. That said, I can’t imagine it going over well in the high art community. It does go over well with random people on buses though.

Your Etsy store is doing very well according to your blog. How long have you used Etsy? How did the store become so successful?

I have been on Etsy since June 26, 2006. I really have no idea how my store became successful. I hope that I do good work and do it well and I hope that is what people are attracted to.