Mix Harmonious [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Harmony in color. The place where the language of music finds a home in the visual arts. Synesthesia.

Harmonious color arrangements, like harmonious sound arrangements, must share at least one common “note.” Mix a little yellow into each color on the palette and the colors will work like chords. They’ll be compatible. Pleasing.

It’s probably obvious in my paintings. I’ve never really studied color. I use what pleases my eye (like a musician who plays by ear). Now, I want to know. It’s counter-intuitive; after decades of painting I to want to understand the basics. I want to know what I know and discover what I don’t know. I suspect what I don’t know is monumental.

Long ago, Mike sent me a color study that DeMarcus did when he was in art school. The image is of a cactus. At the base of the painting is the palette that he selected. He framed this piece and kept it on his wall over the course of his very long life and artistic career. It must of been a reminder: don’t forget the basics. It hangs in my studio though, for me, it carries a different reminder: don’t forget your lineage.

Dropping into an episode of Home Town recently, I laughed aloud when Erin Napier said that the only useful thing she learned in art school was the color wheel. I am, as is true of every artist that has been at work for decades, finding my way back to the simple basics.

When I was a kid, pre-internet, I had a cardboard color wheel with a rotating “locator” window meant to help a budding artist know what-color-goes-with-what-color. I didn’t pay much attention to it. It felt like study and I was impatient. I needed to make messes. I didn’t appreciate it at the time but I knew intuitively that I needed to move around to learn. I made swatches for days. I made some terrifically ugly color combinations. I painted some perfectly awful paintings. I still do.

The bubble-of-learning is moving from my body and slowly – ever so slowly – floating up to meet my brain. And, in this contentious world, I’ve decided that the best place to start is with harmony. Harmony in color. A little intentional recognition of sameness to create some pleasing compatibility.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MAUVE AND OLIVE

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Watch Them Play [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I’m not sure if the colors are especially exceptional this year or if I am simply more conscious of them. Either way, every time I step out the door I am gobsmacked by the vibrant hues and color-tones.

An earlier version of me would have been compelled to recreate the color-pop on a canvas. Now I am content to stand still in appreciation. To drink it in. The colors change each day. They change with the light. Grey skies make the color sing. When the sun is low in the sky, the plumes on the grasses are electric.

For fun I downloaded “color tips” from Art2Life. He’s terrific. One of his tips is to make one color the hero of the composition. So, I’ve found myself – in mid-gobsmack – asking “Which color in this autumn symphony is the current hero?” And, to my great delight, there is always a standout, a color hero that commands my eye. And, to my even greater delight, when I return later to the exact location, there is an entirely different hero; the previous hero has no problem moving into a supporting role.

Light flickers. The sun arcs across the sky. The heroes share the stage without an ounce of competition. Theirs is an infinite game. I am so grateful that I am here to watch the colors play.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GRASSES

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Color It Orange [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I’ve read that orange inspires creativity and provides a lift to people’s moods. I saw the orange-effect in action on the trail. The moment she saw the sun illuminating the orange leaves, she gasped, giggled and raced toward them with her camera. “Look!” she exclaimed. “They’re glowing!”

She wasn’t exaggerating. They were glowing. Brilliant and warm. They looked like sacred flame dancing on the end of the branch.

Yesterday I wrote about gratitude. Intentional gratitude as opposed to the spontaneous variety, though these days, the intentional and spontaneous are blending together like watercolor on wet paper. Sunset yellow and red mixing together to make mind-blowing orange against purple sky. Mood lifts. Creativity sparks.

I’ve come to view all art forms as expressions of gratitude. Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow.” I believe soul growth is the purpose of art and one cannot grow their soul without also experiencing intense gratitude.

Standing on the trail, watching the enthusiasm of Kerri’s flame-orange-photo-shoot, I decided the color of soul growth is most likely orange. She couldn’t see it, but the sun streaming through the leaves bathed her in vibrant shades of orange, making her part of the sacred-flame-dance.

Martha Graham would have loved this moment. “Soul growth,” she would have whispered enthusiastically, jumping to join Kerri in the ancient dance.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ORANGE

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Scratch The Soil [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

For some reason this photograph reminds me of Andrew Wyeth’s great painting, Christina’s World. The landscapes are not remotely the same. His Christina pulls herself through dry grasses on the coast of Maine. Kerri’s photo is of a cornfield in Wisconsin. But there’s something similar about the spirit. Maybe it’s the starkness? I feel it in my belly, an inner quality to the outer image.

There is something willful about corn. In the cliff houses of the Anasazi, archeologists found corn. We take it for granted. Since we can purchase butter lettuce grown hydroponically we forget that there was a time when cultivating food was a new experience. A new relationship with the mystery. It’s the reason people worshipped the corn. It’s like an old joke: it’s not the corn, stupid, the worship was with the relationship to the mystery. It’s never about the form. It’s always about the relationship. A lesson we moderns have yet to learn. The joke continues to be on us.

It’s the same lesson that every artist learns and relearns. It’s not about the painting, the final image. Andrew Wyeth’s painting was not about Christina. It is his reach into the mystery. He must have touched something because his painting opens the mystery to us.

Standing before a blank canvas is like the Anasazi scratching open the soil, the wonder of the seed. The planting of the corn. The promise of nourishment.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CORN

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Play Well [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“It takes a very long time to become young.” ~ Pablo Picasso

Early in our collaboration, when my plan seemed too fun-loving for our corporate clients, it struck fear in the heart of my business partner. I was fond of telling her, “Everyone really wants to play.”

And, I believed it. I believe it still. Everyone really wants to play. The challenge of stimulating entrepreneurship or innovation or creativity is never about opening minds; it is to scale the fortress walls we erect around our light hearts. The same is true with change initiatives and diversity-equity-inclusion. The heart is the target and playfulness is the path.

In general, the epicenter of what ails us is that we take ourselves too seriously. The cure: play. When the mask of seriousness falls, there’s nothing left to do but play well with others.

I am reminded of the cure every time we assemble at the cabin with The Up North Gang. The overriding intention of our gatherings is to take nothing seriously. To play. We eat too much. We snack with abandon. We adventure. We make space for fun and eschew all serious pursuits. We laugh. Spirits are lifted. Eyes and hearts open. Ideas and imagination flow like a raging river, so warm, safe and impish are our companions.

Play is an action but it is also the fruit of an environment. People cannot play if they do not feel safe. Another truism I learned during my walk in the organizational wastelands: environment creates behavior. So many serious faces; so much fear of being seen “as”… There’s nothing like a safe space to foster a hotbed of creativity.

A warm autumn day, a blue-blue sky, the leaves vibrant with fall color. A quiet mind. An open heart. A great relief. I realized that over these many months Kerri and I have not felt safe, swimming as we are on the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy. I was suddenly and profoundly overwhelmed by the lightness in my heart, the ease in my being, the great gift of our Up North Gang.

A gentle reminder that the path forward is rarely found by squeezing together synapses and figuring-it-out in-the-mind. The path becomes clear when illuminated by the lively spirit of play. Heart-paths become visible. I smiled at all that I know and too often forget. Everyone really wants to play.

read Kerri’s blogpost about AUTUMN UP NORTH

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See The Unseen [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

20’s collections are surprising and always thought-provoking. For instance, he has a rich collection of images from the world that he calls “It’s good enough.” Jobs done poorly. The least amount of effort necessary to address a big job. Solutions that merely shift the problem. Beneath his series is a potent observation: this is what the world looks like when no one cares. Good enough. He is an artist of subtle yet powerful statements.

Another series that always makes me laugh is his “found faces” series. Electric outlets, manhole covers, utility plates, door knobs, that, once seen, gaze back at the viewer and can never be unseen. Now, it’s become a group sport. Kerri will stop suddenly, saying, “Oh! A face for 20’s series!” She adds to his collection. He adds to her collections.

It’s what artists are supposed to do for each other and the world. Open each others eyes to the whimsy and worth that surrounds us. To make the unseen seen, the familiar new.

Recently, at a coffeehouse near Madison, I heard the scuffle. Kerri and 20 both saw the face in the door and leapt to capture it. “Did you see it, too?” they simultaneously chimed, snapping away, bobbing around each other to capture the found face.

They are like siblings, a brother and sister competing to get the first photo. Laughing and jabbing ribs. My job is to sit back and appreciate the beauty of being surrounded by so many artists’ eyes – wide open and helping each other – and me – see and fully experience this surprising and mysterious world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOUND FACES

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Color It Vivid [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

These two beauties are Black Swallowtail butterflies in the making. Caterpillars that look as if some artist applied yellow and green paint pens, decorating their black bodies with line and dot. The pop of vibrant color drew our eyes and brought us to our knees to investigate. “Unbelievable!”

I felt the same way the day we saw the orchids at The Chicago Botanic Gardens. The shock and variance of vivid color challenged my dedication to the notion that mother earth paints exclusively in earth tones. She does not. Her palette extends from neon to neutral, her color combinations are as enthusiastic as they are subtle.

I am aware that the further I walk down this life-road, the more I see – or am able to see – the feisty mix of color calling from the hummingbird and cardinal, the caterpillar and coneflower, the sunset and sea foam. I know they’ve always been there. I’ve always appreciated them in a passing way. Now, they catch me in their color-nets and hold me captive. My eyes are willing prisoners. “Unbelievable,” is my patent sigh and I find myself grateful beyond words that I have access to a world that spins color beyond my tiny expectation, my limited belief.

read Kerri’s blogpost on COLORFUL CATERPILLARS

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Burst [David’s blog on KS Friday]

If there is a metaphor for Kerri and me, it is this. A seedpod filled to bursting, ready to release into the world an abundance of the new.

We write more than most people care to read. I’ve calculated that, at this point, we’ve written the equivalent of ten full length novels. We have readers all over the globe – yesterday someone in Mongolia showed up. “Why would someone in Mongolia want to read what we write?” we asked, delighted. No matter. It’s what happens when you love what you are doing.

Yesterday, in a fit of no-duh, I reformatted the Smack-dab page on our site so it might be readable (I’m not sure what took me so long…) and I was astounded at our output. I fell into it. Smack-dab joins the comic canon of Chicken Marsala, Flawed Cartoon, At the Door, Flip, and the KnowNow series.

We love to share what we love. Sometimes I see-just-for-a-moment that our ordinary is extraordinary.

We have the third of Beaky’s books to produce. Kerri’s written a children’s book that someday she will allow me to illustrate. I have new ideas every day that get written on slips of paper and tossed in a bin called Someday.

Our Roadtrip is ready to roll and join The Lost Boy in our canon of plays performed together. I am working on a draft of a new play that I’ve been thinking about for years. I allow myself an hour of space away from the job hunt to write or work on a scene. One scene a week. I’m awaiting the decision whether or not my Last of the Old Gods will be rescheduled into the PCO season. It’s a timely story. It needs performing and I need to perform it.

Kerri stares at her piano. There is so much more music to make. I know it. She knows it. I can personally attest to the fact that some of her best vocal pieces have yet to be recorded. I am the sole recipient of such riches.

Each day I stand in my studio and close my eyes and feel the pulse. There are so many more paintings to paint.

Years ago, Joyce, staring wide-eyed into my future, said to me: You express what is true. You reach people through their hearts. You help them to believe.

It’s not a career. It’s an imperative. Seedpods. Ready to burst.

That Morning Someday/The Best So Far © 1995/1999 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEEDPOD

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Give It Shape [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Learning to draw begins – or it did for me -with seeing shapes. Cones and squares and spheres. Shape is the first illusion to acquire.

Lately, I am spending an inordinate amount of time revisiting “beginnings.” My beginnings. Our beginnings. We open bins long stashed in the basement, the musty vaults securing evidence of our passage. We dig through the artifacts and discuss what gave us shape.

Important people shaped us. Many unimportant people shaped us, too. Circumstance and serendipity chipped away the stone that now reveals who we think we are. Shape, I am learning, is as much about what we hold onto as what we determine to let go. At long last setting down a closely held burden creates inner space, shape by another name. Picking up the burden of another to help them with their load necessitates a change of shape inside and between.

I recently decided that it was time to go back to basics. I have my sketchbook close at hand. I’m paying attention to shape, both inside and out. I wonder what I have forgotten about shape and what I need to re-member. If shape, in all its permutations, is the first illusion to acquire, I suspect it is also the last illusion we learn to release.

Some themes remain incomplete. I’ve painted this series-of-shapes over and over again.

my online gallery

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHAPES

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Be Unbearably Small [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“We fought so long against small things that we became small ourselves.” Eugene O’Neill

“On my last day of work, the back wheels of my car won’t be out of the parking lot before they erase everything I’ve worked for,” Tom said. He was right, of course. I was there and witnessed the dismantling. His words were not resentful. They were matter-of-fact. He helped me understand that a life’s work is not about achievement. Rather, it is about integrity of process. Relationship. Bringing instead of getting.

“I’ve fought my battles. It’s time for someone younger to pick up the fight,” another in my tribe of dear-wise-guides reminded me when I was pushing him hard to care. I am a few years down the road now and I understand to my bones his position. I have limited time here. I have (mostly) turned my eyes away from the fight and toward the wonder-of-it all. I have no idea how to paint it so I am reticent to touch my brushes. How do you contain – or try to contain in an image or word – the inexplicable? It’s the artist’s dilemma and I love it.

Sitting on the back deck staring into the pastel sky, I thought about their words. Quiet summer nights are prime for reminiscence and reflection. I thought about the battles I have fought in my life. The hills I chose to die on. The art meant to heal or change or provoke. To reach and touch a heart. To shake a sleeper awake.

I have been fortunate to have had such wise guides showing me the way. To give me the rare gift of perspective. I am fortunate to understand how unbearably small I am in this limitless universe. Were I to believe myself grand I would not have access to the awe of this summer night, this rolling pastel sky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the PASTEL SKY

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*happy birthday, columbus.