The Beauty of Subwoofers and Graffiti

Exploring a Paradox of Sorts

It’s easy to define the beauty found in simple things like sunsets, fresh picked peaches, snow falling on your nose, or the first sip of coffee in the morning. These are charming, nostalgic, and natural activities. However, recently I’ve found myself defining moments of beauty in very unexpected places. Or more precisely, I’ve been touched by moments that should not be touching but should cause me some degree of righteous anger. You see, recently I’ve found myself being tickled and delighted by light pollution, graffiti on trains, and trucks blaring loud music. These things are not considered beautiful, rather they seem to point to an obvious disrespect for natural beauty, silence, and peace. How is it then that they could move my heart and mind so deeply?

Like many wistful thinkers, I am predisposed to yearn for the simple life, one composed of peace and quiet, devoid of the rabid noise of the industrial revolution. Nothing seems more charming than a simple mountaintop haven, removed from the world, with goats as my neighbors and the changing seasons as my entertainment. Given this background, it was a great shock to me that I experienced joyous and affectionate feelings in moments where I should be shaking a crotchety fist and bemoaning the downfall of humanity.

The first moment of contradiction began with light pollution. Sitting atop Skyline Drive one evening, I watched twilight fade away into darkness. The valley below began to sparkle before me as the lights in houses flickered in the night. Noticing the multitude of lights, my first thought was to wonder how much more delightful the night sky would be if only all those miserable houses were gone, and nature was uninterrupted. But then my heart softened, and the I was glad for the lights. Each light represented a home, maybe broken and in decay, but a home, nonetheless. I thought warmly of all the people spread across the valley: my valley, their valley, our valley. The twinkling lights reminded me that no, I am not alone on the mountain with my goats in a hermitlike hut. I am part of a community and I belong in community. It is not good that I should be alone.

Not long after, I sat in my car, waiting for the train to pass so I could get home. As each graffiti besmirched boxcar rattled past, I once again felt kindness, not disgust within me. Though I would be justified to wail about the havoc wracked by railways or the wanton disregard of graffiti artists, instead I was at peace. I wondered, “is my moral compass broken?” I’d like to think that I am still shocked by evil, but that this moment was teaching me not to defend destruction, but to remember the personhood of each graffiti artist, train operator, and indeed all of God’s children. My mind was struck by the timelessness of our desire to write ourselves into history, whether through cave drawings, epic verse, tombstone epitaphs, or train graffiti. Like children scribbling on a wall and seeking approval, we each hope to find recognition through the words that travel where we cannot.

Just this past week, while getting gas, I was once more delighted by humanity as an antique truck passed by blaring an unexpectedly modern beat at full volume. While the driver waited to make a left-hand turn, I reveled in the moment, laughing at the unexpected vehicle and song choice combination. My heart was warmed towards the driver as I sensed within him the same restlessness that stirs within my own chest. Like the graffiti, the retro truck and loud music spoke to our shared desire to be seen and known. Though we often seek affirmation in silly ways, thinking that vehicles and music will bring us into the light of recognition, our desires stem from that deepest yearning of all. We may think we’re buying a unique truck or a subwoofer simply to be a rebel and to give the finger to the world at large. But ultimately, I think we blare loud music because deep within our soul we hope that it will finally make us heard by those we feel haven’t heard us yet, and who should have heard us long ago.

Each of these experiences encapsulated the dichotomy of natural beauty vs. modern technology and industry. It could fairly be argued that the lights of the houses in the valley are destroying God’s creation and polluting the skies. The train, loudly rattling by and slicing through the landscape disrupts the natural geography and disturbs the peace. The graffiti can be seen as a sign of decay, uprootedness, disregard for personal property, undisciplined families, and anarchy. Many view vehicles as loud and dirty threats to the environment and society at large. The loud music is considered obnoxious and a disruption to the peaceful evening. Each of these experiences could have ended with me throwing in the towel, and running away from society, wanting to wash my hands of the entanglements of modernity.

But we cannot always choose to simply run and hide.

At times we simply need to shake off the serious and pensive mindset and laugh for a moment at ourselves. Sometimes we must look at the folly of our neighbor with the humility to see ourselves in the mirror. I drove home in my own loud car with bright headlights that night after I left Skyline. Similar to the graffiti artist, I scribble my thoughts here for any passerby to see. I too turn up music when I drive at times. I unconsciously hum, sing, and call attention to myself all the time.

We may never spray paint a train or purchase a subwoofer, but we all yearn to be told that we matter, and that our voice is unique. So next time you see light pollution, graffiti, or loud music, may you laugh with joy and be reminded that you are precious in His eyes, and honored, and that He loves you.¹

1. Isaiah 43:4