Gather And Share [on DR Thursday]

Back in my Don Quixote days, with the onset of a camera in every phone, one of my favorite exercises to give to groups was to send them out in search of textures. Gather texture. Gather pattern. It was quite literally eye-opening. It was also, quite literally, presence-enabling and life-invigorating.

There is enormous power in the simple phrase, “Stop and look.” See.

In “gather” there is no judgment. Consequently, the photos that came back, rich in texture and collision of texture, patterns revealing themselves everywhere, were gorgeous. Dynamic. But, mostly, they were revealing. Otherwise serious adults, who believed that there was nothing new, that life was less-than-exceptional, came back from their texture-gather with open eyes. Some giggled. These people, claiming that they did not possess an ounce of artistry, would show their photos to the group and say, “I pulled that in so we could see it better.” Or, “Don’t you just love how those two things come together?” Or, my favorite, “You didn’t give us enough time! I couldn’t gather it all!”

Ah. Not enough time to see it all. Not enough time to take it in. Now, isn’t that a statement of the-love-of-life? Isn’t that the epicenter of an artist’s life. Isn’t that a more interesting path than, “Same-old-same-old”?

Dots. Diamonds of dots. Lines. Pattern. Texture. Too much to see. Too much to experience. And the best, most simple way to step into vibrancy is to stop and look.

But, there is one more step, the part that made the exercise powerful. The essential part was and is almost always overlooked. Stopping and looking and gathering is great but only has meaning – only becomes artistry – when it is shared. Without fear or judgment. Stop. Look. Gather. Come back to the center and share what you see.

read Kerri’s blog post about TEXTURE

yoga series: meditation ©️ 2012 david robinson

Adore The Peeve [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

One of my favorite Kerri-pet-peeves is spinach stems. Nothing will invite a rant faster or with more gusto than spinach with too-much-stem. “AHHHH! Stems!” she clenches her jaw, takes up one of the offending spinach leaves, and shakes it in my direction. “Who thinks this is a good idea!?” She narrows her eyes and looks my way, as if I designed the stemmy-leaf for maximum displeasure. I, of course, say nothing, keep my head down and eat my spinach.

A few years ago I lost a fight with a tick. In fact, I didn’t even know I was in a battle until my fever skyrocketed, my joints ached and I was babbling more nonsense than usual. We were on an island and after a few days of delirium, we took the ferry to find a doctor. The doctor ordered blood work and my panel revealed two problems. Lyme disease. Low iron. For the Lyme I received antibiotics. For the iron deficiency, I received advice: eat more spinach.

We may or may not have had spinach in our house before I took the doctor’s advice. I don’t think so or I would have known about the stem-peeve. I confess that it delights me. We have spinach with our breakfast. It hides under the potatoes which hide under the egg. “Oh NO!!!” Kerri cries aloud, “It’s spinach day!” And suddenly, my wife is 5 years old, pouting. That’s where my delight enters. I get to see what she was like as a kid. Knitted brow. Clenched fists. “You didn’t tell me it was spinach day!”

Her childhood nickname, I am told, was “Brat.”

I offer to eat the spinach by myself. After all, it is my deficiency. “No!” she crosses her arms and stares at her plate. A challenge. Solidarity. I offer to cut off the stems of her spinach. “No.” Bottom lip thrusts forward. Stem suffering brings absolution or builds character or…

Of this, I am certain: her spinach-stem-pet-peeve will be a future smack-dab. No doubt. I’m drawing the panel in my imagination even as I write. It’s too adorable not to share.

[20 tells me that real men don’t use words like “adorable” and he worries for my machismo. Of course, he finishes his admonishment by telling me that he recently used the word “cute” and finds that we two are brothers in the same club].

read Kerri’s blog post about STEMS

Witness The Tide [on Two Artists Tuesday]

“You’ll know you are doing something important,” Tom McK said, “by the size of the tide that rises against you.” He spoke those words to me thirty years ago and yet, each day in these un-united-united-states, I hear his voice in my head. Look at the size of the tide rising against BLM. Witness the extraordinary measures Republicans are taking to block access to the vote, to gerrymander and obstruct, to deny an insurrection on the institutions they are sworn to serve.

Based on the tide of resistance, equality for all must be mighty important. Especially since it is central to our rhetoric, the ideal that we espouse.

As a nation we’ve just celebrated the 4th of July, independence day.

Juneteenth was just celebrated for the first time as a national holiday. The Emancipation day of enslaved African Americans.

Are you reading, as I am, of the tsunami of resistance to Critical Race Theory? In a nation that essentially legislated slavery into existence, legislated that black people were lesser-humans, legislated slavery out of existence but created a series of laws enforcing segregation, Jim Crow laws, it wouldn’t be threatening to suggest that racism is embedded in our laws. It’s in our tax codes. In banking practices. It is, today, being legislated in voter restriction laws across this nation. Laws. Laws. Laws.

What’s the big deal with stating the obvious?

Here is the definition of Critical Race Theory: “…that race is a social construct, and that racism is not merely the product of individual bias or prejudice, but also something embedded in legal systems and policies.” [Education Week]

Perhaps stating the obvious is the big deal.

It leaves me wondering (not really) why we as a nation are so resistant to telling our story – our full story. The size of the tide rising against the full story is – and always has been – breathtaking. We forget that this American experiment is just that, an experiment. And, just as no human can ultimately succeed standing on a lie, no nation can succeed until it comes clean with itself.

When the full story of our nation rises to be told, the forces of suppression have always risen with it. Witness the tide. It must be a very important story that, for all of our sake, needs a full telling.

read Kerri’s blog post about RBG

Ask A Coneflower [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I was surprised to learn that Echinacea is a coneflower. Actually, the opposite is more correct. The coneflower is Echinacea. Filled with antioxidants, immunity booster, inflammation reducer, it is a heavy lifting herb. It’s also beautiful.

“I want to use the coneflower on Monday,” Kerri said. “It would have been Momma’s 100th birthday.” I asked if Beaky liked coneflowers and she smiled and said, “No. It’s just beautiful. And falling away. It just reminded me of my mom.”

Beautiful and falling away. I only knew Beaky for 18 months but felt as if I knew her a lifetime. She was rare and special. A gifted teller of stories. She was like the coneflower, filled with antioxidants, an inflammation reducer. I watched her more than once boost someone’s spirit, cool an angry intention. She was a dedicated see-er of the positive, a believer in the goodness of people. These days, those qualities are not easy to come by and even harder to cultivate.

On the morning that she was going into surgery, we wheeled her down the hall of the rehabilitation center en route to the ambulance. The staff lined the walls to wish her well, to cheer for her. It was a Beaky parade. I think the Beatles had it right: the love you take is equal to the love you make. She made people want to be better. She made me want to be better.

When taking your leave from her, she would always say, “Be kind to one another.” It’s a proper wish for all of us, a baseline expectation in a time of deep division. Beaky’s wish at age 100, I imagine, is the same as it was when she was 93 or 82 or 56 or 30. Be kind. One to another. The path to a better world is not so complicated after all. Just ask a simple coneflower.

read Kerri’s blog post about CONEFLOWERS

Note The Weather [saturday morning smack-dab.]

I’m the guy at the party that doesn’t mingle. I generally fall into a deep conversation with one person who is polite enough to fake interest in what I am saying. Kerri is trying to help me with my ineptitude. She tells me to “Gear down.” We’ve even developed hand signals so that she can communicate across a crowded room that I need to release my too-polite-listener from my diatribe.

At home, we need no hand signals. I know when I’ve crossed the line because I invoke an immediate hot flash in Kerri. It is my cue to hush up, lighten up or perhaps look up and note the weather.

read Kerri’s SMACK-DAB THOUGHTS

smack-dab. ©️ 2021 kerrianddavid.com

Mark The Passage [on KS Friday]

Just after we met, we dug a small pond in the backyard. It was a party that Kerri called The Big Dig. People came with shovels. We drank mudslides. I met many of her friends and neighbors. We laughed. It took less than ten minutes with so many people to dig the hole. The liner went in and rocks placed around the edges. The pump was placed and the water rushed in. It was a marker in time. It was meant to be a marker, a ritual of passage into the new and the unknown.

She’d planned The Big Dig before we met. Originally, it had nothing to do with me. It was serendipity that I could be present for The Dig. Serendipity or design. Who knows.

The morning after the party, sipping coffee, we sat in lawn chairs on the muddy ground surrounding the now bubbling pond. Kerri used the “M” word, married, “When we are married…” She realized what she’d just said. She blushed and apologized and backpedaled. I was, at the very moment she used the “M” word, doing something I’d never done before: imagining myself married. To her. I was seeing it and, laughing at her anguished retreat, I confessed what I was seeing. We sat by the pond and stared at each other. A ritual passage into the new and unknown.

The pond has always been mine to care for. This marks its eighth year. We just replaced the liner. We had to put flagstone around the pond because DogDog was cutting a deep velodrome path around it, racing in excitement every time John and Michele let their Dachshunds out. Each day we walk to the pond to try and catch a glimpse of the frog-in-residence. This year we named the frog Magic.

Just a few days after The Big Dig, Kerri took me to the marina where the 4th of July celebrations are staged. Bands played. There was a carnival. Too much food. The dog jump is a big attraction (dogs running and leaping into a pool of water in a distance-leap competition). After dark we sat on a blanket and watched the fireworks. Sitting on that blanket, vibrant color exploding in the night sky, I imagined myself living in this town, so far from the west coast that had been my home most of my adult life. “Can I live here?” I asked myself. The answer was immediate: you can’t live anywhere else.

DogDog was born on the 4th of July, probably while we were watching the dog jump. We will celebrate his eighth birthday on Sunday with a rowdy race around the pond. His favorite thing. And then snacks. Also his favorite thing. And then a visit with Unka-John. His really, really favorite thing.

A step into the new and unknown. Ritual passages. You have no idea where they will take you or what the reality of the step over the threshold will bring. You cannot know. You can only step.

“This looks like fireworks,” she said, showing me the up-close-photo of the plant. “I love it,” she smiled.

“Me, too.”

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blog post about the FIREWORK PLANT

i didn’t know/this part of the journey ©️ 1998 kerri sherwood

Find It [on DR Thursday]

Although it probably does not appear this way to you, this photograph is the road back to my easel. It was an immediate inspiration. Kerri did not intend for it to spark the cold coals of my artistic fire, but it did. It was immediate. I couldn’t stop staring at it.

This painting is called Joy. Look at the floral shapes and lines both within and around the figure:

Joy, mixed media, 50x56IN

Many of my paintings of the past several years are floral wonderlands. They infuse the figures, they are bouncing balls of symbolic trees and oversized shrubbery. They remind me to have fun. To play and experiment. I must have forgotten all of that or turned away.

I hit a wall when I painted my red mess. It’s been on my easel for months. Beneath the red mess, the painting that I’d originally sketched on the canvas, is this:

I think I’d had too much of despair-and-comfort and needed to explode my themes. Thus, the red mess.

When Kerri showed me her photograph of tiny pink flowers, I saw the painting, this painting, complete in my imagination. Not despairing, but vibrant and subtle, alive with those amazing floral shapes, five-petal-bursts of life. Contemporary. Huge. Broad strokes. Almost a sculpture.

There is a story from Plato’s Symposium that I’m using as the basis for my script revision for The Creatures of Prometheus , the original human, cleaved by the gods because it was too powerful, searching through life to find its other half. This painting is (or will be) about the search for love, the transcendence of separation. Finding.

And, as you know, once it lives in the imagination, all that remains is the volition to get there.

read Kerri’s blog post about PINK FLOWERS

joy ©️ 2014 david robinson