Editor’s note: Jake Weidmann, professional artist and certified as one of nine Master Penmen in the world, wrote a new book called Old Soul, New Creation encouraging us that every creative endeavor we undertake is a testimony to how God made us in His image. We’re made to embrace our calling from Him and rely on God for inspiration. Enjoy this excerpt.
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As I write this book, I have been making art professionally for more than a decade. It feels as if that fateful meeting in the conference room happened just yesterday and also a lifetime ago. I admit, however, that it has taken some time to grow into my painter’s smock. Beyond the cultivation of my skill as an artist, there are the many challenges that any entrepreneur faces:
What do I charge for my work? How can I become profitable? What are my vision and mission statements? How do I read a profit and loss statement? Should I register as an LLC or an S Corp?
These are hardly the questions a creative usually asks themselves. Creating the infrastructure of my business, while also contending with the unique challenges of making a living from art, has been like traversing a mountain of treadmills while wearing roller skates. (It’s as difficult to accomplish as it is to imagine!)
But a burden of a different kind is the array of stereotypes and stigmas that are often attached to artists by the general public — all of which I have fought to overcome. One stereotype is the “starving artist.” Unfortunately, this contains more than a grain of truth. An artist’s love for what they do often means they lose track of the time, labor, and skill involved. And an artist’s fear of rejection often leads them to underprice their work so it won’t seem inaccessible to potential buyers.
I know this love and fear all too well. On the other hand, another example is much less romantic: Artists can be arrogant. Again, unhappily, this stigma is partly justified. To guard our often-fragile egos — we are a tender sort — an artist can become condescending, perhaps making a viewer feel stupid if they don’t understand or appreciate their work. This apparent lack of comprehension about an artist’s merits can quickly devolve into a cynical opportunity. For example, an artist might sell blank canvases, bananas taped to walls, or golden urinals to an otherwise befuddled audience. (Yes, these are all real examples from the marketplace of modern art.) Any self-respecting individual is right to reject such narcissistic gamesmanship, such naked attempts to build a brand. But even a few outlandish displays are enough to shape popular opinion.
Following my calling as an artist has involved contending with these stereotypes and stigmas, along with many others besides.
I feel it is part and parcel of my calling as an artist to restore art to its rightful place — namely, as worship to God and communication to others.
I know that God has called me to more than the quest for fame or financial viability. Like He has for anyone else with any other calling,
God has made me for so much more than the glorification of my own ego. But what should this vocation look like in practice? How might I create most fully in the image of my Creator? How could I be part of the cure and not contribute to the cause of all these creative ills?
I may not have answers to all these questions, but here is what I have learned so far:
- Embrace all that is before you, from the tiniest brushstroke to the endless spreadsheets — even the things you learned along the way that might otherwise seem incidental — and do all for His glory and purposes. Then, when receiving it back from His hand, invite the inspiration and guidance of His Spirit to help you onward.
This is how I have learned to be a Christian artist. And what has God done with what I have given? He has taken my loaves and fishes and created an almost unimaginable feast. And nowhere has this been more evident than in my handwriting.
I have always loved penmanship. Even before I could read it for myself, I admired my mom’s beautiful cursive handwriting. I marveled at the way it gently leaned and danced across the page, one letter flowing gracefully into the next, as the rhythmic movement of her hand and the wave of her pen turned precious words into timeless beauty.
As I learned to write, it became a passion that always waxed and never waned. When I received my first cursive handwriting book in school, I completed a week’s worth of assignments in a single evening. And so I continued to improve, mimicking whatever handwriting styles and computer fonts I encountered along the way. By the time I entered college, my cursive was ornamental in the extreme. This did, however, have the unfortunate consequence that I was always last to finish my in-class essay tests. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand the material (I
promise); I was simply taking the time to write properly.
On one occasion my professor asked if he could keep my essay booklet after grading it because it looked so beautiful. I should have asked for bonus points in return!
As it turned out, my penmanship was to be employed for other purposes than just class notes and exams. One day, a student sitting beside me asked if I would design her wedding invitations. She explained how she had gone through a slew of samples from wedding calligraphers, but none compared to my class notes — which she’d been surreptitiously observing all semester long.
Apologetically, I told her I was not a calligrapher and only wrote with a ballpoint pen. Perhaps my reluctance was again getting the best of me. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I told her that I would do a bit of research and see if I could mimic some formal style. That evening, I went back to my dorm room and scoured the internet for key calligraphy terms. I eventually stumbled upon a video of a Master Penman named John DeCollibus, who demonstrated several script styles with a dip pen.1 I couldn’t believe my eyes; it was like watching ballet on paper. My eyes began to gloss, and a huge, subconscious smile grew on my face. Little did I know that this seven-minute ten-second YouTube video was about to send me down a yearslong path that ultimately led to me creating my own certificate as a final test to become the youngest Master Penman in history.
Becoming a Master Penman has taught me many things, but one of the most important has been learning the art of patience. I thought I was already a patient person before, but this ancient discipline taught me a deeper meaning of the word. Calligraphy is itself a slow art form, but there is also important preparatory work to be done before the art can begin. The proper sequence must be embraced, otherwise it will almost certainly lead to frustration. The creation of the outline, the grinding of the ink, the conditioning of the vellum — a medium made of prepared calfskin — is all part of the ritual. Each stage draws my focus more and more toward the task at hand. But it is not slowness for its own sake; it also brings a lasting power.
As John Ruskin put it, “Art which is produced hastily will also perish hastily.”2
I did not pursue my Master Penman certification because of what it might do for my career. Learning to write with a dip pen was not exactly my most avant-garde move as an artist — especially with iPhones beginning to populate the world. But I didn’t care. Calligraphy made me feel so alive. It also perfectly merged my love for writing with my love for art. In fact, it took both to a whole new level.
At that time, of course, I was still pursuing a career in clinical psychology. As I have noted, it seemed the more viable option, but I also thought it would be the most useful. Surely the world could use more counselors rather than more artists? Whether or not you read that question rhetorically, it calls to mind a quote from John Eldredge’s Wild at Heart: “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive... because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”3
I was interested in psychology for lots of good reasons, but it didn’t make me come alive like my art did, and certainly not like my penmanship — but that doesn’t mean it was without purpose.
When you surrender everything to God, He will use it all, and often in unexpected ways.
Watch the Video
1. “John DeCollibus Calligraphy—Lettering,” posted July 16, 2014, YouTube, 7 min., 11 sec., https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOaosF3s8uc.
2. John Ruskin, “A Joy for Ever (And Its Price in the Market),” delivered at Manchester, Lecture 1, July 10th and 13th, 1857, Project Gutenberg, https://www.gutenberg.org/files/19980/19980-h/19980-h.htm.
3. Howard Thurman, as remembered and shared by Gil Bailie, quoted in John Eldredge, Wild at Heart: Discovering the Secret of a Man’s Soul (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2021), 184.
Excerpted with permission from Old Soul, New Creation by Jake Weidmann, copyright Jake Weidmann.
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Your Turn
What makes you come alive? What sparks the creativity in you? Have you surrendered everything to God and watched to see what He might do with it? ~ Devotionals Daily