Weeks ago I gave money to some cultists who were passing out colorful flyers by the roadside.
Now, don’t panic.
I gave only change from my ashtray – no large denominations. If recollection serves me, my hand quickly grabbed some thirty-seven cents. I gave them some change because I wanted their flyer or small poster—in the world of print media, I’m uncertain where colorful flyer ends and small, colorful poster begins.
As I approached the traffic light, I could see one man gripping something colorful and interesting, so for a quick nod, a smile, and some thirty-seven cents, I received an airbrushed Apocalypse and a man’s genuine blessing. After witnessing the man’s conviction while standing in the August heat, I felt ashamed of my small, love offering.
As a child, I was raised Baptist, and the Book of Revelation was my favorite. And even as I’ve distanced myself from my religious upbringing and embraced a different path, John and his surreal vision of our destruction still holds a special place in my heart.
It is difficult to explain how the Book of Revelation gripped me as a child, but suffice it to say that at one point, I dreamed of the Second Coming night after terrifying night. And in these dreams, I was always left behind, deemed unworthy by whatever theological yardstick, while the rest of my family ascended into heaven. And while these dreams were terrifying as a child, I can still recall the imagery in brief but intense glimpses that render them more bizarre to my adult mind. So, you can imagine how pleased I was when I discovered that my thirty-something cents bought me a painting of the Apocalypse. And to my further surprise, I found an extended exegesis on the Book of Revelation on the reverse side.
Frankly, I prefer the painting to the lengthy interpretation, because so many interpretations flatten the mystery and terror from John’s imagery. Unfortunately, this particular exegesis, like its interpretative brethren, poorly attempts to explain John’s imagery.
The painting, on the other hand, is an insanely airbrushed Apocalypse, nothing like the Apocalypse of my dreams. I imagine that if this artist were a photographer, he would shoot the whole of the Apocalypse in soft-focus.
You might suspect that I’m troubled that this artist’s vision of the end times differs so radically from the destruction of my dreams, but I’m not.
I like the painting. My vision of the Apocalypse revealed my peculiar fears, insecurities, and anxieties. And this painting certainly is not my Apocalypse—this painting, like Byzantine art, has a theological confidence that I find most peculiar and most terrifying.
©2005 Kent Gutschke. All rights reserved.
MARTIAN DEATH RAY 