As I walk out of the library, head spinning with homework, I decide to take a breather before I head to tonight’s Scroll meeting. My feet trek down the library stairs, through the door to the Highlander Café, up the hallway and out underneath the sky bridge to the Biblical Learning Center. I leave behind the slight autumnal change outside.

Once I step into the BLC, time seems to still. There’s not a soul around. And in the quiet, lit room, I notice an even more impressive sight than the fall colors outside: portals to other worlds. Or, rather, the same world, viewed from a lens of compassion, and truth. I notice the depth of the art, so detailed it looks like a window observing the scene rather than merely an impression of it. The colors are chosen specially, with care and wisdom.

I am looking at a collection of paintings by Dale Roberts.

Dropping my burdens of backpack and laptop near the pillar, I take out a piece of paper and simply write, remembering Mr. Roberts’ responses to my questions concerning his art:

“I’ve been drawing since I was a kid, the earliest things I have are from when I was five years old. Growing up in the country I spent much of my childhood outdoors and came to love drawing and painting the landscape that surrounded me.”

I look at the first painting to my left.

Up close I observe the brightness of the church, the gold interspersed with the white and peach-like colors. It looks grand, and the dark curve around the bottom and right aren’t black or grey, but a collection of reds, blues, purples, and even lighter shades—even in the dark, there is light. As I take several steps back, I see the depth of the painting take shape, to the point where it almost looks 3D. The entrance arches make the church seem empty, and I can no longer see the gold. Now, the church looks poorly kept—I start to notice the smudging and hollowness. To me, it screams, “Remember your first love!”

This painting is truly inspiring. But who inspires the “inspirer”?

“From the time I was young, even though my understanding of God and the Christian Faith was immature, I was convinced the ability to draw was a gift. My inspiration was a deep need to see, understand and ultimately portray the world around me.”

I continue on the left, and stop in front of another painting.

Up close, the center is not the main focus. Rather, it seems to be the intricate colors, chosen almost randomly. There’s a building to my right that is completely blue and green, not like any skyscrapers I’ve seen recently. I want to touch this painting—it has grid lines, though not in a pattern, and they aren’t aligned with the skyscraper window lines… Almost like this city is locked in a pattern that doesn’t match up like it should—like it was designed to. I turn on my heel and (careful not to look at Moroccan Blue in front of me and spoil the surprise), look at The Light Beyond from a different perspective, I see that the central focus is, in fact, the light beyond—the horizon line that, topologically, is above all the city buildings. It is a clear blue sky. The city below is still beautiful, but it is clear that the heavens are above it, and there is a hope in that stretching on to the horizon.

When did he learn to express such hope?

“When Christ called me to faith through the work of the Holy Spirit in my heart, I was actually in art school. At that point the very purpose of my work gradually became clear. I wanted to glorify God by using the wonderful gift He had given me. To show the world the beauty of creation and point to the loving creator who not only made, but redeems and sustains His good work.”

I move about to the other side, and see vivid landscapes. One in particular catches my eye.

Now, we’ve all seen landscapes before, in many different mediums. It takes a lot to be “wow-ed” by something we can see beyond our window…but as I move in closer, the amount of colors interspersed with the green fascinates me. The left trees are greener, the ones on the right more yellow and brown with a little fire-leaved tree heralding the change of seasons. This painting is saturated with the beauty of this clearing. I step back. The canvas is small compared with others here but I could still fit through it as if it were a window, and I wish it was! From here I can feel the coolness of the shadows and stay certain of the warmer patch near the little white and orange tree. Even the sky is textured with the shifting shapes of clouds.

And that’s when I realize: this is how God wants us to see his world. Not just a physical environment in which to live but a place full of beauty to observe and express through our own lenses. This is his love for us, reflected upon in person. “I love painting on location, and particularly areas that point out contrasting qualities that can lead to deeper interpretations of the landscape. In Morocco, for example, places of stunning beauty are juxtaposed next to extreme poverty and detritus. Urban landscapes in Philadelphia are surrounded and interrupted by sublime patches of nature bathed in the beauty of God’s created light.”

Speaking of Morocco, I take note of a striking image.

Just what one would expect: blue. Lots and lots of blue, all different shades, used to create depth and perspective. Through there are a lot of colors involved (more than meets the eye), blues and shades of white dominate this painting. The open, then sudden narrowness of the street makes it somewhat unearthly, and I find myself wanting to walk through it, in between this fantastical world of blue and the reality contrasted on the other side. To me, this painting seems to especially focus on the beauty of normalcy, made vivid by the heart poured into it.

I start to wonder if, maybe, there are souls stirring in this place. Souls of these paintings, rich and beautiful, wishing to convey their messages:

“If I could choose an ultimate message, it would be that God is unimaginably good, and He loves us so much that He surrounds us with this astonishing creation.”