Abandoned

by Bobby Anger

When I was young, I felt the calling to be a minister.

It was a simple idea that appealed to me — to be able to help others find peace in their lives, to give them comfort and perspective on the inevitable set backs they would face.

The reality of this calling was another matter. I found myself in the company of a charismatic fundamentalist minister. His faith was exclusionary — filled with disapproval for the actions of others. I moved away from the church.

I went to art school, then to graduate school. I drew the figure, painted landscapes and read books. Oddly, what I took from that education was not unlike what I would have taken from the seminary. What I was looking for in the church, I had somehow found in art and literature. The lecture became my sermon, the museum my cathedral, literature my scripture.

One day, I awoke to a new calling.

My education now had a new purpose — to fulfill my original mission. So much of it fell into place from the start. The figure studies allowed me to address the increasingly sexualized and politicized way the world has come to view the human form. We have somehow forgotten its fundamental beauty, its enduring grace. The landscapes found a place as well. They documented my walks alone, my time of meditation.

There were darker narratives as well. Loss. Tragedy. These images addressed the setbacks, the disappointments we face in our lives. I found myself in remote corners of the night, in abandoned homes and deserted schools. The figure study subjects came along. Here, their nudity suggested vulnerability and an abandonment of social expectations.

The literature found a place as well. Initially the words of others paired with the images they inspired, it has evolved to include my own writings.

Though I get a few encouraging notes from time to time, part of me knows that it is naïve to think this could make a difference in the world. I can tell you the story of one life it changed though. A story of one who felt he had a purpose and saw none around him to emulate. No job title to fulfill his dreams. One who found himself lost, far from the things he believed in. Then he sat down one day and wrote a story of a man he wished he had had the insight to be. A man composed of all the false starts, all the lost ideas of his life. Then he picked up his tools and set out to do the work of that man. I post his thoughts here every Sunday.