C.S. Lewis had been primed to receive the fantastic story of the gospel through George MacDonald, a pastor and an author of fantasies and fairy tales. In his preface to MacDonald’s Anthology, he said that MacDonald’s stories had “baptized” his imagination.
When I read his Phantasies, I found myself walking on very foreign soil, struggling to enter into the stories because they are so fantastic. In works like Tolkien’s and Lewis’s, there’s something “this-worldly” about them. There are familiar descriptions of landscapes and activities common to my own experience. I couldn’t seem to find such handles in MacDonald. I could only respond with tremendous intrigue, marveling at his imagination.
Visual artist and art curator Morgan Tran is a living example of the fantastic to me. Yes, she is very much human, but my experience of her is wonderfully foreign. Scrolling through her Facebook posts might give you a glimpse into another world. The walls in her house are opportunities. She even sees her own face as a canvas. She is daring in expression and unashamedly bold in her love not only for art, but for social causes, and most importantly, for people in her life. To receive a hug from Morgan means being enveloped in warm, spacious hospitality. When I’m with her, I get the sense that she loves me simply because I am there.
I once caught a glimpse of a work she had done in high school. The colors, lines, patterns, shapes, and depth captivated me. One glimpse and the image of that painting was etched in my memory.
One evening, over a lovely charcuterie she artfully placed before me, we discussed art and perspectives. One thing I remember from that conversation is that she believes the interpretations viewers bring to works of art are just as valid as the artist’s intent. Once a work of art is out there, it belongs to others. To her, art provides opportunity for dialogue, not dictation. This openness to perspectives far different from my own unsettles me. Morgan seems unfazed. I would learn that her openness had a place even for tragedy.
In our conversation that night, I asked about that painting that had captured my fancy years ago. She offered to give it to me. I was overwhelmed and a little nervous. Where would I put it? It didn’t fit with the decor of my home. However, that was the very reason I was drawn to it. The fantastic image opened a door and beckoned me to use my imagination to see the world differently. I took it home and laid it on the guest bed until I could frame it.
Unfortunately, my dog found it and ripped it into pieces. I was devastated, and I didn’t know how I was going to tell Morgan. Was there a way I could redeem this? With few ideas to offer, I told her what happened….the very day the art gallery for which she works flooded.
Morgan is fantastically gracious, I think because she has an expansive imagination. Yes, she was devastated by the loss of the gallery and the loss of her painting, but she never let go of the possibility of redemption. Finding ourselves at the crossroads of hope and despair, it takes imagination to walk in the right direction.
Hope is really an exercise of imagination. In recent times, many christian artists have used the idea of a “redeemed imagination.” Among others things, I think it means being open to possibilities and perspectives beyond your own experience. A redeemed, or “baptized” imagination (as Lewis described) moves me beyond what I can perceive, and receives the possibility of the Holy Other and the possibility of the impossible. Paul blessed this Holy Other by saying, “Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine….” (Ephesians 3:20, NIV). I love to think that even as far as I can stretch my imagination into the fantastic, God’s work goes further still. Being open and drawn to things beyond our experience can be the first step into the fantastically true. The glory of the gospel, and I think C.S. Lewis would agree, is that it is so true, so fantastically, immensely true.
Morgan, I accept your invitation. Thanks for drawing me into possibility, even in the midst of the tragic.
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