Hope Door I

INSPIRATION 

What does “hope” mean to you? I wanted to hear from the general public. I wanted to hear from people who attended our church plant at the time. I was interested in honest answers. We are all longing. I wanted to connect with anyone else who longed too.

I trusted hope would come alive in our longing.  By using paint, I could capture longing and hope in color. 

I chose a door as the canvas.  It symbolizes the passageway that is hope.  Hope exists in the gap between what we long for and what we already have.  (A door was also large and sturdy enough to accommodate a lot of input from a lot of people.) 

Sean leading an outdoor service in Pittsburgh’s South Side

PROCESS Part I: in public 

I laid down a door in the park at 12th and Carson Street in the rowdy South Side of Pittsburgh during a free public cookout following an outdoor South Side Anglican worship service in June 2013.  My helper and I bordered the door with mason jars full of acrylic paint.  Each jar had two or more large brushes.  As people meandered through, putting ketchup on their hotdog, they joined in.  I invited each person to paint whatever hope meant to them.  The responses ranged from quotes (“We are full of a color that has never been dreamed”) to shapes and symbols.  

public painted what “hope” meant to them

One tattoo artist was very skeptical of our church.  He had a daughter who was nine or so.  When she saw us painting, she brought her dad right over.  She painted what hope meant to her.  Her dad relaxed, took it all in.  I asked him what hope meant to him.  He replied with a smirk, “Obama.”  Yet he stayed.  Ate hotdogs.  And a bridge was built in paint. 

indulging

It so happened that the children took over—smearing, walking on the door, practically rolling in paint.  Their colors were vibrant, cheerful, expectant.  A Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reporter came by and snapped a picture of our daughter.  It made it into the papers that weekend.  She was watching her dad play a song for the city.  The most surprising discovery in this exploration of hope was the role of children.  Hope incarnate. 

Rhyan age 2

Part II: in worship 

The “Hope Door” was completed weeks later at the beginning of our church service.  We were still meeting in our home.  As people entered the worship space (which was our backyard that day), I invited adults and children alike to dip their hand into either yellow or fuchsia paint and lay their hand on the door.  It slowed people down.  Their hand(s) were engaged, getting cold and wet.  They had to decide what color to choose and where to place their print.  They had to wait for their turn.  

Serving.  Two helpers held dishes of cadmium yellow and fuchsia acrylic paint on either side of the “Hope Door” at the threshold of the worship space.  Two more helpers washed hands.  One held a garden hose and rinsed the paint from each participant’s hands.  The other dried hands with a towel.  

Art in Action.  The door dried, somewhat, during the service.  It then became our Communion Table.  Sean broke bread and poured wine on top of our wet handprints.  We remembered how Jesus used simple, ordinary things, such as bread, water, and wine, to make his death on our behalf real and tangible to his friends—even centuries after his crucifixion.     

As we remembered Jesus’ redemption made through his body and blood, we saw hope made alive.  We ate hope, drank hope, and remembered the living God who fulfills it.  His trail of blood mixed with our trail of paint.  We brought the longing of the city to him.  We brought our own.  

“And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” (Romans 5: 5) 

Hope Door I, 2013 

Acrylic paint on wood, 84” x 30” 

Kate Norris 

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