Tag: personal history

A Living Room Church

A Living Room Church

A personal memory about beginnings, community, and what history sometimes forgets.

Whimsical ink and watercolor drawing with a cross, house-like forms, curling vines, small figures, and a soft blue-violet wash suggesting shelter, spirit, and community.
**Dr. Seuss’s Heaven** — A tribute to Dr. Seuss, mixed media on paper, 2005 (approx. 6 × 9 in.) — A small drawing about the rhythm of life

 

There are stories that get polished over time, and stories that quietly disappear.

I’ve carried one of those quieter stories for years.

Long before MCC became what it is in Minnesota, there was a small gathering of us — a core group of gay men and friends trying to build spiritual community when such spaces were rare.

The original services were held in our living room on the 3400 block of Pillsbury Avenue South in Minneapolis.

Word spread by mouth. People came. We worshiped weekly. There were picnics, gatherings, friendship, and a real sense that something important was being born. The worship had a Catholic tone. It was heartfelt, searching, and deeply communal.

There were many involved — names I remember, and names I’ve lost — but I remember the spirit clearly.

Then life moved on. Michael and I joined the Air Force, and I was stationed in California. MCC continued to grow. It moved beyond our living room, then into other spaces, eventually finding a home at the Minneapolis Friends Meeting House.

That was also how I first encountered Quakerism — another thread that would shape my life.

I’ll admit: over the years I sometimes felt forgotten, as though those early beginnings had faded from memory. But memory is a tricky thing. Institutions grow, stories simplify, and humble beginnings can disappear into history.

What remains for me is gratitude that I got to witness — and in some small way help hold — the beginning of something that mattered.

And I was deeply happy to see it grow.

Curious— how the story begins after the last stroke.

Eye in the Sky

Abstract mixed-media work with layered color connecting to memories of 1980s NYC and The Saint, featuring a subtle blue eye form in the lower right.
Eye In Th eSky-12012026

“I am the maker of rules, dealing with fools.”
— Eye in the Sky, Alan Parsons Project

Curious how the story begins with the last stroke of the pen or brush. As I look at the image — the strokes, shadows, and hues — something of the ’80s returns: the Saint, that holy spot. Dancing there with people I loved — accepting and greeting the universe. Death, hope, sorrow, play, joy, and the celebration of life — and a song: Eye in the Sky.

The line says “dealing with fools”…Nah. What circulates in my head is “protector of fools. I can read your mind.”

Bill Hendricks (Shadowmason)

Song reference: Eye in the Sky — The Alan Parsons Project

Related post:
Surrealism, Automatic Drawing and the Spirit
— a reflection on creativity, memory, and the unseen.

June 1–Can you imagine that?

Long shadows stretch across a tiled floor from unseen figures and window light, creating a quiet, haunting image suggestive of memory, absence, and presence.
Photo: One of my shadow pieces from grad school. Still poignant — Pride, AIDS, the 80s, the 90s. We are but shadows that linger.

This is an older shadow photography piece that I submitted for GLBT Pride 2006. A little dark, but it is one of my favorites. This last week I’ve been updating my online material. Perhaps I should be creating more art… but it is important to at least document a bit along the way. The information contained here may not be particularly insightful; it is only a gay man journaling some of his feelings in a very open forum. I am appreciative of life and all that it brings, but gratitude slips away now and then. That is sad.

I cannot believe how fortunate we are. Our lifestyle is beyond most of the world’s inhabitants’ imagination. I know my remaining time is short. I spend most of my time documenting the small things — the things one passes by without noticing. That is why you see so many shadows photographed in my work. What is more ignored than they are? What one might think of as totally benign is not. That is the point. That is the point of my art.

Vision, smell, and the rest of our senses are a miracle. Ick! Miracle — I really hate that word because it implies a God. Whether or not they are God-given is moot. That is not the point of the work. My work is about the ordinary. The ability to experience… to reason… is beyond what might be expected in this universe, and we get to. We get to. Pretty amazing.