All the Advantages
By Essay Issue 80
The Road Behind Us Image’s Founding Generation When Image was founded in 1989, the cultural landscape looked different than it does today. Religious writers and artists felt cold-shouldered in the public square and often ill at ease within the church. The need for a journal that demonstrated the continuing vitality of contemporary art informed by…
Read MoreChristians in the Age of Sincerity
By Essay Issue 80
The Road Ahead Voices for the Next Twenty-Five Years Many gifted artists and writers of faith working today were just learning how to read and hold their crayons when Image was founded. They never experienced the culture wars of the eighties that weighed so heavily on an older generation; theirs are a different set of…
Read MoreWritten in the Book
By Essay Issue 80
The Road Ahead Voices for the Next Twenty-Five Years Many gifted artists and writers of faith working today were just learning how to read and hold their crayons when Image was founded. They never experienced the culture wars of the eighties that weighed so heavily on an older generation; theirs are a different set of…
Read MoreThe Subject of Longing
By Essay Issue 82
So many things to see in this old world But all I can see is you. —“Together Alone,” 1970 The following is excerpted from Bruce Cockburn’s memoir, Rumours of Glory, forthcoming this November from HarperOne. IN LATE 1966 I WAS INTRODUCED to two people, in very different circumstances, who would have a profound effect…
Read MoreHanging Gardens: The Drawings of Gala Bent
By Essay Issue 82
GALA BENT WAS ONCE a landscape painter who lived in Indiana, born and raised in the Midwest. Her paintings, acrylic on paper, featured dark, heavy, and flat horizontal spaces. But she used to dream about mountains. That is, until she found herself surrounded by them. When she and her husband, fellow artist Zack Bent, moved…
Read MoreReturn to the Beginning
By Poetry Issue 85
The scrambled eggs, already fried and fragrant on a plate, slip back into their shells; each smooth white egg sails toward its vagrant mother chicken, roosts in a fertile cell. The melody beats back to eighth notes which settle, dark spots on the snowy staff of bass and treble clefs, then briefly float through Bach’s…
Read MoreThe Music before the Music
By Poetry Issue 85
When the concertmaster gestures to the oboe, silence flutters through the massive hall. Then comes the tuning up. Before that, though— go back. Before the obedient violin falls to his A, before the flutes, trombones, and tuba head like horses in the same direction to plow and plant one of Beethoven’s great fields. Go back.…
Read MoreEvolution
By Poetry Issue 85
This tall fern has a midrib so sturdy I can pluck its broad width of green and wave it before my face as I walk the lane, the gnats and the deerflies shooed pell-mell as the air ripples away from my body. I’m no longer a target. Do this enough, in three million years I’ll…
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