Now Moses was pasturing the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian; and he led the flock to the west side of the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. And the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a blazing fire from the midst of the bush; and he looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire, yet the bush was not consumed.

So Moses said, "I must turn aside now, and see this marvelous sight, why the bush is not burned up.”

When the LORD saw that he turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush, and said, "Moses, Moses!" And he said, "Here I am."  And He said, “do not come closer. Remove your sandals from your your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground.” (Exodus 3:1-5)

"Now the cry of the Israelites has reached Me; moreover, I have seen how the Egyptians oppress them. Come, therefore, I will send you to Pharaoh, and you shall free My people, the Israelites, from Egypt.”

But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and free the Israelites from Egypt?” And He said,  “I will be with you; that shall be your sign that it was I who sent you.” (vs. 11, 12)

My formal, under-graduate training is in representational and figurative art. When I approach the beginning stages of creating a piece of art I search for, or create, something to actually look at -- something to refer to compositionally and structurally. My process usually begins with on-site drawings, photographs or a still life construction that helps me to intellectually solve whatever visual riddle that I have set up for myself.

I am fascinated by the mystic notion of “black fire on white fire” and the vast visual imagery that emanates. Since learning about this in class I have been reading mystical texts and researching its multi-layered and profound meanings. Simply stated, the black fire refers to the letters of the Torah, the actual words written in the scroll. The white refers to the space between the actual letters. Together the black letters and white spaces between them constitute the whole of the Torah.

On another level, the black fire represents the p’shat, or, the literal meaning of the text. The rabbis point to the importance of p’shat when stating, “the text cannot be taken out of its literal meaning.” The white fire, however, represents ideas that go beyond the p’shat. It refers to the ideas that we bring into the text when we interact with it.  The d’rash is what we read between the lines – the “negative” white space. Still, however, there are further levels of interpretation of the white fire that speak the very realm of the limitless – the places that go beyond the world of the intellect and the fixed. The white is the wondrous silence that speaks with more power than the rationalistic black. It is here in my process that I retrieved a can of gasoline. More on that later…

The “negative” space in artistic composition is of enormous importance.

In Michelangelo’s The Creation of Man, the space between God’s finger and Adam’s finger is the “negative space.” This place that is “not there” carries the deepest and most mystical theological significance of the painting.

In a more recent work, Kelly Ellsworth’s Rebound (oil on canvas. 1959), again, it is the space between the large forms that carries the most significance. And, the place of contact creates a tension that is immediately palpable.

Back to the gas can ...

Since I am primarily at the Seminary to study spirituality and theology as artistic subjects and reflection, it seems natural to me to create a piece of art for this class based on the notion of theological fire. Fire is an element that is self-sustaining, requires no substance for its existence or perpetuation, and is wholly unaffected by its environment - a symbolic representation of the transcendent, awesome, and unapproachable Divine Presence. Starting with the simple and iconic story of Moses and the burning bush, I decided to re-create the scene as fodder for visual imagery that could lead to a piece of art, or perhaps, reveal some deep and hidden meaning.

I live on an old chicken farm that had several old, huge coop buildings that were intentionally burnt down about 8 years ago. The remaining scene is a desolate and quite abandoned landscape with remnants of the old farm strewn about as a huge charred mess.  This is my “desert.” Since the farm was abandoned, the vegetation has inevitably taken over and there are several “scrub” bushes that I thought would be perfect for my burning bush experiment. (See the photos at the beginning of this essay).

At first, however, I was confronted with the moral issue of actually “killing” a bush, albeit a scrub bush, just for the sake of art. I justified this notion by rationalizing that the bush will most likely live for a much longer period of time as a piece of art. I mean, hey, bushes come and bushes go, but art is forever, right?

So, after I had identified the bush to be sacrificed for the sake of art, I went to the 7-11 and bought a can of lighter fluid, gathered and tested three fire extinguishers, filled a watering can with water, grabbed a book of matches and my camera. I doused the bush with the entire can of lighter fluid, strategically positioned the fire extinguishers and watering can, lit the match, threw it into the bush and stood back. Nothing happened. Obviously the bush is too green, too full of life to be affected by one can of lighter fluid. Then I remembered the gas can in the garage.

I retrieved the gas can and doused the bush again, lit a match and immediately and with a fiery swoosh, the ground beneath the bush ignited. Then it went out almost just as fast. The bush itself was utterly unaffected. As determined as I was, I found a pile of old branches, soaked them in gasoline and interspersed them inside of the bush. Again, I lit a match and stood back. The old, dry branches burned and smoked for a minute or two then completely went out leaving a cloud of noxious black smoke in the air and me smelling of gasoline. I gave up and the bush, despite being a bit droopy, is still completely intact. Not one leaf amiss. And, I don’t have adequate photo representation of my burning bush from which to create a piece of art. All I am left with is negative space.

My little experiment, despite the lack of visual representation, has profound intellectual and theological significance. The biblical bush in the desert was unaffected by the presence of God’s “fire” and it is quite ironic that despite a full can of lighter fluid and a full can of gasoline that my desert bush was also unaffected. Moses responded to God’s request to go to Pharaoh and free the people with, “Who am I….” Meaning, why was he so special that he should be the one to carry out this task. I am left with the same question. “Who am I to think that I can actually burn a bush for the sake of art and therefore create a work of any theological significance?” My attention has shifted from the visual to the aural.

The answer lies not in the “black fire” of the actual word or the concrete visual representation of the bush on fire. The answer is in the “white fire,” the silent, negative space of my “failed” experiment. It is only through white fire that this kind of art, the kind of art that I want to make, can be created. The art itself is, as a product, essentially unimportant. It’s the silent place inside of the artist that is moved to put brush to canvas that holds profound significance. It is a place charged with divine potency, a holy place through which God speaks to us, the non-local place of truth and true creativity.

Be sure to see Rochelle's Yellow Woman. "My family knows to paint my face yellow when I pass to the other side so that the Great Mother knows I am a woman ...." And see Dearly Beloved. Both are in the Judith's Table archive.

You may contact Rochelle by email to rbsimon "at" snet.net.

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