“LookIt!” [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Two Artists Haiku

What is in a chip?

Form and meaning see a heart,

Loving reminder.

Kerri sees them everywhere. It’s a seeing-sense that I appreciate: moving through the world finding hearts. Another trait that I appreciate? When she see’s the heart, she stops. She takes time with it. Sometimes she takes a photograph. Sometimes she simply attends to the uncanny heart, taking it into her being. A message or affirmation. “LookIt!” she exclaims as if this heart-find is the first time.

It happens often. Daily.

Sometimes I wonder: is she finding the hearts or are the hearts finding her? “LookIt!” the heart exclaims.

Either way, it’s not a bad way of moving through the world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART

Open The Binder [on Merely A Thought Monday]

He was referred to me because he was failing. His English teacher told me that he was impossible, that he rarely came to class and he “just wasn’t interested in writing.” At the time I was working at the “alternative school” running an independent study program. My job was “to catch the students that were falling through the cracks” or “to retrieve the students who’d already fallen.” To this day, the language kills me.

We talked. We laughed. The assignments I gave him were about fun and breathing space. After three sessions, when he trusted me not to judge him, he came to our appointment with a thick black binder. It was very old. The seams were ripping. It was a sacred object. He tapped his fingers on the cover, still deciding whether or not to share it with me. He wriggled in his chair, vulnerable.

I will always remember the moment he asked, “Can I show you something?” I felt honored. It is what I always feel when an artist comes out of hiding and shares their work with me.

He gingerly opened the binder. It was literally bursting with stories that he’d written and alive with illustrations that he’d drawn. This young man was ditching English class so he could hide in the football stadium and write stories.

I asked him to read to me. As he read, he made marks on the page. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making changes.”

After a few sessions I asked questions about the characters. He shared his illustrations. One day, he came to our session with a new story complete with sketches that we placed in sequence across the floor. As he read, we stepped to the next drawing. And the next. He made more marks on his pages. He made notes on his sketches.

One day I asked if I could read one of his stories to him. As he listened to me read, he began to coach my reading. “Whoa! Did I write that?” he said, grabbing the pages from my hand. And then he asked, “How can I write that in a better way?”

“I don’t know,” I smiled. “What does it mean to be better?”

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE YOU

Have No Ideas [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

I was satisfied with the second pair of frames I tried. For me, the whole process of frame selection took less than two minutes. Kerri? Not so much. She went through every frame in the store, twice. And then every frame in another store. And another. And another. She had a specific idea and none of the choices aligned with the frames-she-imagined or fulfilled the criteria on her list.

This is a crucial distinction and perhaps a key to happiness! I had no idea so everything was a viable option. She had a specific idea and an exacting criteria so the field of options was limited from the outset. The key to happiness: have no ideas. Ditch the criteria.

In the end, after weeks of searching and trying on frames, it came down to this: everyone in the shop voted. And, I mean everyone: the optometrist, the assistants, The manager, the other customers, and some random person who came into the shop to see what all the fuss was about. The vote was unanimous. The selection was made.

Her ideal remains unfulfilled but I am happy to report that after much searching the frames have landed.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FRAMES

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Appreciate It [on KS Friday]

“…where there are people, there is art.” ~ Alex Grey, The Mission of Art

Have you ever Googled the definition of art? I have: (noun) the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.

It’s necessary to pay attention to the two phrases comprising the definition: 1) expression or application of human creative skill and imagination…2) to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power. Appreciated expression. The value measurement is beauty or emotional power.

A deeply personal expression that touches the universal. The art in a small child scribbling is not in what’s “produced” – it’s in our witness to the beauty of a new-human being discovering the joy of expression. Moms, full to overflowing with appreciation, hang the scribble on the refrigerator. There is no purer experience of art.

Very few children survive the moment when free expression tangles with expectation: now we make art. Scribble meets intention. Appreciation is less easy to attain when the circle grows beyond mom’s refrigerator. “Art” meets a bottom line valuation where beauty and emotional power sometimes take a back seat.

It sounds bleak until you look around and recognize what you see. People pointing cameras everywhere. Painted rocks on the trail. A chalk drawing on the sidewalk. Homes decorated. Magazines with recipes and gorgeous shots of possibility. Sculpture on the beach. Youtube videos abound. Architecture and the design of apps. Music! My god, the music. I passed a man whistling a tune that lifted his step and mine.

Expression. Appreciation. Imagination run amok. Mom’s refrigerator is everywhere. What could be more human?

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about ICE

nurture me/released from the heart © 1995 kerri sherwood

Protect The Seed [on DR Thursday]

Lately I’ve been applying for many jobs so I’m configuring and reconfiguring resumes and writing cover letters. They essentially serve as a surface-layer life review. This is who I am. This is what I’ve done. Of course, for me, that means I am thinking about art and artistry.

When I write the words “art” and “artistry”, I am aware that they mean something to me that I will never be able to convey through language. They are not “things” that I do or have done, they are not welcome career paths or positive attributes that potential employers desire to see on a resume. I wish I could count the times someone has said to me, “Yes, but what are you really going to do?”

“No, no, no!” I think. “You don’t get it! It’s not something I do.” I’ve learned over time to keep that thought to myself. There’s no point debating the worth of a way-of-life in a world that measures value in dollars and cents. Against this calculus, artistry makes no sense.

What am I really going to do? Paint. Write. Perform. And bring my artist’s sensibility to an organization. The people who hire me will fully realize the benefit of someone who sees through my eyes, someone whose artistry permeates everything they do. At this stage in my life, I’ve run companies, I’ve saved companies, I’ve held people’s hands and led them into and through impossible conversations, I’ve stood in organizational fires and, sometimes, taken Tom’s advice and let the place close-down. “Make space for something new to enter.”

As I write my resumes, I am daily reminded that we are embroiled in a culture war. We are standing in a historical teachable moment: we will either tell our full story and grow or we will do what we’ve done in the past and ignore our addiction to fantasy and opt for history-censorship. There’s never been a better or more necessary time to be an artist. Artists hold, express, and reflect the identity of their community. Nihilism has brought us here and that empty “anti-woke” sun is setting.

What we say matters. That’s an artist’s thought. How we say what we say matters. That, too, is an artist’s thought. Mattering is a word of relationship. Consideration of others is the province of mattering. That, too, is an artist’s thought. It’s an artist’s imperative: tell all sides of the story.

Kerri and I walk the trails to clear our minds and our walks have provided me with a perfect metaphor; artists are pine cones. The pine cone holds the seeds. It’s a protective, nurturing organism . It’s “…the female reproductive structure of the tree.” It’s the keeper of the essence and promise of the next generation.

From the deep archive. A painting from another century. From the estate of Marian Jacobs

read Kerri’s blogpost about PINE CONES

painting from another century (I can’t recall the title) © 1990, 2023 david robinson

See The Cycle [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I want to re-read Hermann Hesse’ book Siddhartha. Lately I’ve been thinking about cycles of nature, cycles of growth, cycles of life. Chaos-to-order and back again. Daylight-to-dark-night and back again. Nature, Hesse writes, is a self-fulfilling continuous cycle.

In the book, Siddhartha “achieves” illumination when he realizes the lesson of the cycle: that inside every “truth” is the potential for its opposite. Arrival is departure. Birth is death. Both/And.

The demands of language necessitate slicing single moments from the cycle. Isolating a “truth” from its opposite thereby fragmenting the wholeness inherent in the cycle. Slicing the cycle stops the fluid motion and calcifies the “belief,” making it hard, rigid in separation.

And then there’s this, the reason I want to re-visit the book. At the end of his life Siddhartha, as the ferryman, watches the river in full knowledge that what he sees moment-to-moment is never the same river. In the cycle, the moment is always unique. Both/And.

Standing on our trail, having stopped and witnessed many, many sunsets, the thought was so pure it swept the dullness from my eyes. This sunset is Siddhartha’s river. I’ve never seen THIS sunset or this forest or lived this moment. Quietly electric, I watched Kerri, caught in the beauty of the moment, point her camera as if for the first time toward the trees and the setting sun.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNSET

Accept The Gift [on Two Artists Tuesday]

The third time she said it, I finally heard it. “This is a gift.” It stopped me in my tracks because it was true. We see life as a gift.

It is mostly unspoken. When we go out on the trail, we leave the stresses of our life behind. We slow down. We live the famous John Muir quote: “And into the woods I go to lose my mind and find my soul.” Our walks become a meditation on “the daily gorgeous;” gratitude, surprise, the bombardment of the senses with color, bird song, and the scent of winter grasses. Appreciation of the moment. Soul is nothing more or less than connectivity. We drop the tale of woe-and-separation and join the abundance of the trail.

I want to believe in the signs. We’ve seen more deer in the past two weeks than in the past two years. Sunday was extraordinary. We caught a glimpse of flashing white tails early in our walk. It was the middle of the day and unusual so we counted ourselves lucky. Later, by the river, there were 3 more. And then the young deer just off the trail, staring at us. And then, a deer jumped across our path, with another 2 disappearing into the woods just a few steps down the trail. “This is a gift,” she said for the third time.

As we wound our way back toward the car, another deer crossed the trail right in front of us. The entire herd broke through the woods and bounded across the trail, disappearing into the thick brush on the other side. We were speechless. She didn’t need to say it. A gift.

A sign? I think so. Heart. Inspiration. Grace in the face of difficult situations. If this is nature talking to us then there is only one thing to say: thank you for this gift.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ANTLERS

Sip The Hope [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I keep a Post-It note by my computer. It reads: Grace. Questions not answers. It’s there to remind me to write about possibilities rather than rants. There’s so much in this world that seems upside-down to me; it’s easy to get lost in the weeds. For instance, in preparation for this post I was doing a comparison of the percentage of GDP dedicated to the arts, to education, and to the military. What if we lived in a world in which the percentages were flipped? What might be possible?

And, then, I saw my note. Get out of the weeds! To embrace a world of possibili-teas begins with embracing the world as it is.

Possibilities. Wouldn’t it be lovely if a cup of tea opened hearts and minds to hope? In fact, I believe a hot cup of tea is capable of such a monumental feat. I warm my hands on the cup. I smell the comfort. I sip the hope. There are other, similar, small gestures capable of big-heart-opening: A smile. A hug. A helping hand.

I stared at the word “grace” on my Post-It note. Simple elegance. Refinement of movement. I like this definition: courteous goodwill. Or. combine both definitions: to move in the world with simple courteous goodwill. Intentional benevolence.

As I’ve learned, the flaw opens space for grace to enter. Wabi-sabi. Beauty in imperfection. Compassion in our world is possible, especially if we embrace it as more necessary than lobbing insults or bombs. Friendliness, thoughtfulness, decency…As my Post-It note suggests, I am left with a question: What if we lived in a world in which amity garnered more attention than aggression? What might be possible?

Just like a cup of hot tea: a wee-bit of warming hope.

read Kerri’s blogpost about POSSIBILI-TEAS

See The Signs [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

“You know you’re getting older when…” you delude yourself into thinking life used to be simpler. Lately, I am a festival of delusion. Or, perhaps, I’m a keen observer of social trends! Yes. That must be it. I can’t possibly be like other people!

Case-in-point: most people have muses or angels that sit on their shoulders. I have a “Savvy.” My Savvy tells me things like this: we live in app mentality: the notion that we can personalize our “screens” with an infinite selection of choices is post-modern bubble madness. Choices for the sake of choices but not necessarily meaningful choices. Personal preference run amok!

Of course, my Savvy might be taking advantage of my weakening eyesight. Just like angels that perch on shoulders, I have two Savvies. A Good one. And a Savvy with a sense-of-humor dedicated to making me the butt of every joke. Actually, the good Savvy has probably already retired and is sunning herself in Boca Grande. Bad Savvy is having too much fun to retire. I can’t really tell if Good Savvy is still around because I can’t see like I used to.

In addition to seeing Good Savvy, I mostly want to see the traffic signs at night. That’s it. How many choices are required to achieve my simple desire?

read Kerri’s blogpost about GLASSES

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Shape The Story [on KS Friday]

“It’s amazing how a little tomorrow can make up for a whole lot of yesterday.” ~ John Guare

Jen’s question sparked a many-days-conversation between Kerri and me. She asked about my favorite childhood birthday memory. I stared into space. My memory pool was empty. There was nothing but white noise between my ears. I sputtered something about awkward valentines in elementary school. Later, on the drive home, I confessed to Kerri how unnerved I was to have little or no distinct memory to recount. Both Jen and Brad had palpable stories to tell – and many of them.

Since that evening we’ve talked about the power of reminiscing. Neither of us has lived near our families. We’ve had relatively few opportunities to sit around a table and tell stories of childhood, recount foibles, ask questions, laugh at where we’ve been and what we’ve done with the people who shared the experiences with us. During our recent trip to Florida I was startled at Bill’s precise memories of his time in Vietnam. Each year he gathers with the surviving members of his squad and they tell stories of their service. His memories are clear because he regularly tells and hears the stories. It’s a ritual meant to keep vital the thread of connection to the past. Shared story is the glue that holds together a family, found-family or otherwise.

Last night we were wide awake at 3am. We turned on the light and returned to our conversation about the power of reminiscence. The power of enlivening stories with others who hold the same memory. Kerri can tell me stories about raising her children but I wasn’t there. We were not parents together so I am able ask questions but I am unable to spark a visceral memory with, “Do you remember when we…” A one way street is not as accessible as a memory street shared by two.

Inevitably, as the sun began to rise on our sleepless night, our conversation turned toward what we want to create. Together. What are the shapes of our dreams? We began to tell stories in the other direction. We imagined and, so, we created. The power of reminiscence balanced by the power of aspiration. We laughed and built metaphoric houses. We populated studios with creations. Kerri challenged me to paint in a new way, not images but to give color and shape to my feelings.

Feelings. Suddenly, I remember a birthday from a time I was very young, single digits. In the basement, made from refrigerator boxes, Columbus built a birthday surprise. A train or an airplane? I can’t remember. But I felt like it was yesterday, the thrill of running down the stairs to see what my father had made for me.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TRACKS

meander/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood