Each month, we highlight a person who has had a Divine Intersection ~ where their journey with Jesus has intersected with their creativity in a powerful way. This month, we have Lynn Royer's moving story how photography was her way of seeing God and His beauty as she walked through a heart-breaking time of life...
In October 2007 as part of Pastor Steve’s sermon series addressing Christian myths (that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle), I shared my personal story about my husband, Steve, who was diagnosed with brain cancer in May of 2004. The aftermath of this sudden discovery included a two year period of caring for Steve, who was left physically and mentally disabled following an aggressive brain surgery and subsequent cancer treatment. It was a very rough two years and despite the finest medical efforts and prayers lifted up on his behalf by believers across the globe, Steve died on April 6, 2006 at the age of 42. Though we grieve our loss, there is immense comfort in knowing that Steve is in the kingdom and that the entirety of our experience, including our pain and suffering, is ultimately for God’s glory.
This series of macro photographs represent a portion of ‘artwork’ that I completed during the difficult period of my husband’s illness. I am not an artist or a photographer but I have always been someone who likes to ‘make stuff.’ You could call it a compulsion. This urge was never so great as during Steve’s years with cancer. I suppose part of it was because I was home full-time caring for Steve and art served as an escape, a way to take my mind off of the tragic events that were happening around me–at least temporarily. A friend of mine who is a photographer suggested I borrow his digital camera and macro lens attachment. I had never used one before, but had admired his macro photos. The macro lens allowed me to photograph tiny subject matter in great detail. In a way, it’s similar to looking through a microscope, in that you can see details that aren’t easily visible to the naked eye. With it, I found a rich and beautiful world right in front of me, a world that I knew existed but never had the means to examine or explore. I was literally blown away and macro photography became my form of art therapy.
From a practical standpoint, the digital camera allowed for results that were relatively immediate; I could satisfy my creative urges without travel, expense, or a big time commitment. I could literally walk out into my backyard and find an endless supply of subject matter. And that is what I did. I found that the macro lens exposed the artful elements of otherwise mundane subject matter – a weed, a dead leaf, a pebble – things that we normally dismiss. None of my photographs have been digitally enhanced or altered in any way. Ultimately, I was struck by the infinite detail, order, and creative mastery that seemed to pervade everything I photographed. Perhaps most importantly, my simple photographs gave me assurance of God’s hand in all things great and small. I knew that our circumstance – my life, Steve’s – fell somewhere on that continuum and there was immeasurable comfort in that.
When I look at my photographs, I am reminded of the trying years of Steve’s illness. But at the same time, I am calmed by them. For me, they are more than just pretty pictures and until now, they existed only on my hard drive. A source of both sorrow and joy, they will always be associated with that time period of my life that includes the most significant, life-altering events I’ve ever experienced. Yet they are also a comfort to me revealing God’s power and presence and love. I am so grateful to my friend who lent me his camera and suggested I experiment with it. It became a means of self-preservation which I thoroughly enjoyed during an otherwise unpleasant and heartbreaking season. I took hundreds of photographs during those two years, usually in waves, until Steve died right before Easter. Interestingly, I no longer feel the need or desire to pick up the camera and have not taken a single photograph since.
This series of macro photographs represent a portion of ‘artwork’ that I completed during the difficult period of my husband’s illness. I am not an artist or a photographer but I have always been someone who likes to ‘make stuff.’ You could call it a compulsion. This urge was never so great as during Steve’s years with cancer. I suppose part of it was because I was home full-time caring for Steve and art served as an escape, a way to take my mind off of the tragic events that were happening around me–at least temporarily. A friend of mine who is a photographer suggested I borrow his digital camera and macro lens attachment. I had never used one before, but had admired his macro photos. The macro lens allowed me to photograph tiny subject matter in great detail. In a way, it’s similar to looking through a microscope, in that you can see details that aren’t easily visible to the naked eye. With it, I found a rich and beautiful world right in front of me, a world that I knew existed but never had the means to examine or explore. I was literally blown away and macro photography became my form of art therapy.
From a practical standpoint, the digital camera allowed for results that were relatively immediate; I could satisfy my creative urges without travel, expense, or a big time commitment. I could literally walk out into my backyard and find an endless supply of subject matter. And that is what I did. I found that the macro lens exposed the artful elements of otherwise mundane subject matter – a weed, a dead leaf, a pebble – things that we normally dismiss. None of my photographs have been digitally enhanced or altered in any way. Ultimately, I was struck by the infinite detail, order, and creative mastery that seemed to pervade everything I photographed. Perhaps most importantly, my simple photographs gave me assurance of God’s hand in all things great and small. I knew that our circumstance – my life, Steve’s – fell somewhere on that continuum and there was immeasurable comfort in that.
When I look at my photographs, I am reminded of the trying years of Steve’s illness. But at the same time, I am calmed by them. For me, they are more than just pretty pictures and until now, they existed only on my hard drive. A source of both sorrow and joy, they will always be associated with that time period of my life that includes the most significant, life-altering events I’ve ever experienced. Yet they are also a comfort to me revealing God’s power and presence and love. I am so grateful to my friend who lent me his camera and suggested I experiment with it. It became a means of self-preservation which I thoroughly enjoyed during an otherwise unpleasant and heartbreaking season. I took hundreds of photographs during those two years, usually in waves, until Steve died right before Easter. Interestingly, I no longer feel the need or desire to pick up the camera and have not taken a single photograph since.
Ripple-Edge LeafI’m not entirely sure, but I think that this is a geranium leaf. If anyone knows plants and can confirm this, please let me know! Except for the subtle grey-green tints this photograph ‘feels’ like a black and white photograph to me. I like how the composition is
divided diagonally into light verses dark by the leaf’s scalloped edge and the silvery fur looks just like felt.
Blue Flower with Morning SunI used to walk out in my backyard in the morning as the sun was coming up and sometimes it would hit my garden in such a way that certain flowers glowed—but not for long.
I remember taking this specific photograph and having to hurry before the sun moved too much to what I was attempting to capture. Unlike so many of my other photos which
highlight curves, I like this one for the dramatic angular lines and the striking color.
This particular flower would open and close every day. The blue petals seem to capture the morning sun like a spotlight.
Curled LeafOne of my favorite photographs. When fall brought the changing leaves and the vibrant colors of summer gave way to browns, I couldn’t help but discover the beauty in decay through the macro lens. I photographed a lot of dead or dying plants and flowers. Of all my photographs I prefer these photos to the others. I found assurance, comfort, and value in the beauty of this phase of the life cycle knowing that it is all orchestrated by God. There is a graceful quality to the delicate spiral of this deteriorating leaf.
Spent DandelionHow many times I’ve cursed the tenacious dandelion! But I must say they have given me many interesting photographs at various plant stages. This dandelion had already gone to seed. It had done its work, its life complete. It also somehow escaped my blasting rounds of weed killer. I’ve changed my perspective regarding the annoying dandelion to something more positive: dandelions personify persistence. Perhaps I can learn something from them. This one almost seems proud—standing valiant, face to the sun, with windswept tendrils. So much drama from a weed!
Shane’s EyelashesThese eyelashes belong to my son , Shane, who was 12 at the time I took this photograph. Who doesn’t marvel at every inch of his own child? That day I photographed the eyelashes of all my children. They thought I was a little crazy for doing this but were patient with me. It turns out that their eyelashes vary as much as there personalities do. Shane’s eyelashes were the thickest and the longest—downright pretty. Besides being jealous, I am simply struck by the gentle curve of the lashes, the diffuse pink of his skin behind them, and the ethereal quality of this unusual photograph.
1 comments:
I love these profiles of artists. Especially how soothing it is to read how God comes beside people. As Rob spoke about this morning, God seems to thrive on climbing into the wreckage of our lives [no matter who/what is responsible for creating it] & loving us through it. I'll never understand it [but always be thankful for it].
Loved "Shane's eyelashes". People to me are "living art". I have often said Humans are the sculptures of God. The purple looking "blue flower" is intriguing , as well. The strong lines are very powerful.
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