The university creative arts magazine is an education, not so much for the artwork or poetry, but for the bios the students pen next to photos of themselves. “Claire Cartright is a garden of gratitude,” begins one. Does she lose the battle with the weeds in her garden as I do?
Max’s work, says another, “focuses on his identity as a queer and trans person, and most of what he makes is seen through that lens.” I wonder what lens the rest of what he makes is seen through.
“Brayton enjoys taking pictures in nature and of landscapes, and his pictures are all shot on an iPhone.” Brayton wears a navy blue blazer and red tie, and studies Business Marketing in the School of Business. I like him.
When Aiden is “not writing code or making dubious Google searches,” says another. Tell me about those dubious Google searches. “Aiden hopes their stories confuse and disorient you in the most entertaining way possible.” I feel disoriented already. They conclude with this delightful gem: “Not once have they ever known what they were doing, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.” Reading their bio is evidence of this.
I resist the temptation towards a hermeneutic of suspicion as I read these bios, though it is hard not to give in to the urge I feel to deconstruct them. I lean into the hermeneutics of wonder and of charity, and daydream about potential. What will they feel twenty years from now reading their own bios, perusing their past creations? Will they come to know their true selves and acknowledge this was all necessary, that the One who whispers their real name in their ear has some gift only they can give to the world if only they will listen closely, asking, “what do You want me to understand about myself, and what do you want me to do with what I come to understand?”
May they all become gardens of gratitude.
