Lost and Found: The Art of James Quentin Young
When we hang things on our walls at home it’s often to add cheer to a room, or to remind us of something we love. In my home you’ll see drawings by our grandchildren, and a brightly colored tapestry, handwoven by Navajo artists in New Mexico where we used to live. On the wall of my office I have a picture of Francis and Edith Schaeffer, our dearly beloved spiritual mentors. These decorations tell a story and I can’t imagine living without them.
If we choose to do so, all of us can also hang art in our homes. A piece of art is more than just a decoration though it’s often decorative in the best sense of that term. Calvin Seerveld says good art has an “allusive” quality. That suggests art has the ability to draw us in with a hint of something that invites us into the deeper mystery of life. And like all the wonders of beauty this allusiveness is only available if we pause and look and look again.
Most of us have experienced something of this allusiveness in nature. We’ve come across some vista out in the middle of nowhere, and had to pause and sit, letting time pass as the glory of creation slowly soaks into our soul. It’s difficult, even impossible to reduce the experience in words, but we come away haunted with the impression that there is more to see than seeing allows us to see. We see a bit of nature and it points to something greater than itself that swallows us up in a gladness to be alive.
Good art can do the same. It’s easy to think that because art is voluntary, we can do without it. And it’s true—we can. On the other hand, we can also go through life without ever being overwhelmed by the stunning wonder of the Boundary Waters, or the nighttime sky ablaze with the Milky Way, or the soaring peaks of the mountains of Colorado. Still, I don’t recommend it. Being alive isn’t just having a pulse. Flourishing as a person is deepened by moments of wonder when we are at a loss for words.
The artworks in James Quentin Young’s “Blue Series,” hung in Gallery at Cross (January – April 2020) is creative and allusive. If we pause and consider them several layers of meaning rise to the surface.
James Quentin Young: "Angel on the Moon” (wood, metal, sand/glue, wax, foil, paint); 2019
© Picture copyrighted and property of James Quentin Young. Use is prohibited.
For one thing, Young is a visual artist that makes his art out of the discarded, lost and broken scraps of metal, wood and paper he happens to find. With gentle whimsey and thoughtfulness he creates works of art that calls us to see what is lost in a new light. I stood for a while before his piece, “Angel on the Moon.” As I looked, I realized that there is nothing—absolutely nothing—in the piece that I would not throw away if I found it in my garage. Bits of old wood shattered and irregular, jagged pieces of corroded sheet metal, old fiberboard, a few worn metal screws, and a bunch of gold-colored candy wrappers. None have any obvious usefulness, all are worthy of being thrown out, to be forever lost, and yet within the vision of James Quentin Young, they are found and made into something both lovely and meaningful.
This is redemption. When the older brother in Jesus’ parable saw the prodigal feast his father was throwing for his wayward younger brother, he was dismissive. “It was fitting to celebrate and be glad,” the father replied, “for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” (John 15:32).
A deeper level of the allusiveness lies in the color palette Mr. Young has adopted. “The color blue has been an occasional color in my art over the past 56 years,” Young says. “It seems the natural thing because we live on a blue planet. Recently that color is emerging frequently without a conscious effort on my part. Although I am known for the crosses I make, I have lately felt freer to create whatever happens.” The blues filled the welcome area of Cross with a gentle sense of warmth and belonging and linked our existence with the beautiful world God made to be our home.
The allusiveness runs deeper. As I stood and looked at “Angel on the Moon,” I realized that though I have a seminary degree never once did any of my professors’ lecture on the topic. Not one even mentioned that cherubim might visit the planets and moons of our solar system. And yet, since these cosmic locations are sustained by God’s creative word, is it not possible that he has sent his “ministering spirits” on some task to the moon that lights our night sky? A few nights ago, I stepped out on our deck after dark and looked at the moon glowing brightly above me. I tipped my hat to any angels that might be there and was glad that by grace what is lost can be found.
One more thing I thought of standing before “Angel on the Moon.” I have never watched James Quentin Young at work in his studio but from talking to him I know that making art involves a process. The same is true for the wayward son in Jesus’s parable. And the same is true for me, for you. Being lost and found isn’t best understood as an instantaneous event but as a life-long progression of healing and growth. Once found, we who were lost are invited into a process to advance towards maturity so that we can flourish more and more fully as persons. From being discarded, we are made increasingly whole.
Like works of art we take on an allusive quality, demonstrating before a watching world that redemption is possible—even for people as lost and broken as we.
To see more or to purchase James Quentin Young’s artwork, visit his website online (http://jqystudios.com).