Listen For The Splash [on DR Thursday]

I’ve shown this painting more than a few times and it always generates interest. More people have considered buying this painting than any other in my catalogue. Yet, it remains the bridesmaid. Angels At The Well.

What a crazy title! I can’t remember why I painted it or why I thought angels at a well was such a compelling subject. In fact, I chose it for this week’s Studio Melange because I pulled it out of the stacks and thought, “Really, what a bizarre subject! What was I thinking?”

In mythology, wells are sources of rejuvenation, places of fate, the future can be read in the waters, omens uttered, they are holy, cursed, or a place where wishes are cast. Spirits get caught in them. Stories begin or end at the well. They reach into the earth, the element of  water disappearing deep into the element of earth.

Angels are messengers (remember that the next time the postal person delivers the mail). They are liaisons between gods and people, between the vertical and the horizontal realms. They meet you at the crossroads. They stand watch. They announce. They fall.

Perhaps symbol collision is why Angels At The Well piques so much curiosity but is consistently left behind? What kind of well? What kind of angel? And, maybe that is why I found it compelling enough to paint. Or, it occurs to me that it might be this: drop a pebble into the well. Listen how long it falls. With the splash will come new knowledge, an answer to a wish, a question, or there may be no splash at all. Then what?

 

read Kerri’s blog post about ANGELS AT THE WELL

 

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Happy Thanksgiving (for all of you USA-based angels)

 

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angels at the well ©️ 2004 david robinson

Talk To Yourself [on DR Thursday]

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softly she prays, mixed media, 40 x 30IN

Sometimes an image exploration does not feel finished. This painting went into the stacks a year ago. I pull it out all the time because something about it is calling me.

Each time I pull it out I sit with it. We have a long silent conversation. I am compelled to work into it again. I should have named this painting The Siren.

I’ve promised Kerri not to work into this piece – or paint over it. That used to be a common practice for me. This version will remain untouched.

It amuses me because this painting was the result of another version, a very colorful painting that hung in a public space for so long that I forgot about it. I left Seattle without it. A few years ago, an honest gallery owner sent it back to me. It inspired this chatty descendant, Softly She Prays.

If my math is correct, when I one day in the future decide that the next version is complete and toss it into the stacks, I will have had a twenty year dance with this image, a sketch from a long ago sketchbook. A thirty year conversation.

It occurs to me that I  am now talking to a much younger version of myself. The figure/image is the same. The prayer is much, much different. Maybe I’ll title the next version Reaching Back In Time. Or, perhaps a better title is Just Another Way Of Talking To Myself.

Either way, there’s so much more to discuss.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about this painting

 

 

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softly she prays ©️ 2018 david robinson

Wait [on KS Friday]

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Here in the northern hemisphere, these are the dark days. It is cold. We go inside (literally) for warmth and we go inside (metaphorically) for reflection. We wait. We look toward the solstice. We have faith in the light’s return.

The return of the light. In the sweep of the cycle of the seasons there is a time for waiting. A time to stop all pursuit. A time to pull the cloak tighter, to conserve. To hibernate. To light candles and fires. To sit with friends and make soup. To appreciate. To warm the core.

Rest and appreciation go hand in hand. After the harvest and after the festival it is appropriate to stop, to let the deeper work happen. To rejuvenate the root.

Reflection IS movement. Rejuvenation IS growth. It is necessary. It is beautiful. It happens slowly in the dark. And, as Kerri’s quiet composition suggests, it feels like hope, like WAITING.

 

WAITING on JOY! A CHRISTMAS ALBUM is available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about WAITING

 

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waiting/joy! a christmas album ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

Have Fun [on DR Thursday]

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I actually wrote and illustrated my children’s book, Play To Play, for adults, for grown-ups who’d lost the love of play in the tangled weeds of incessant competition. At the time I was facilitating workshops for people dulled by the daily grind of corporate America or the under-siege-mentality of education. When I’d scratch their paint, get beneath their veneer, they’d confess to feeling that life was passing them by. Their creative impulse was waning or worse, being snuffed. They’d forgotten how to play. They’d forgotten why to play.

I’d tell my groups that they ought to read James Carse’s book, Finite & Infinite Games. Most couldn’t be bothered. No time to read. Or, possibly, a book recommendation is a lousy response to someone who is suffocating.

In any case, I decided to condense the central idea and draw some cool pictures mainly because I like to draw cool pictures. Drawing cool pictures is one of the many ways I tend my creative flame. I thought that fewer words combined with fun pictures would be a better response to suffocation.

I wrote it. I drew it all. I put it in a folio. I stuck it on a shelf. I’d show it now and again to someone who’d ask, “What’s this?”

Inevitably, I’d ask myself, “Why didn’t you try and publish this?” Drawing the cool pictures, writing the tiny story, must have served its purpose: I took deep long breaths and laughed heartily during the process. I drew pictures to draw pictures. I had fun for no other reason than to have fun. I played to play. In the end, I suspect, this book must have been written for me.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about PLAY TO PLAY

 

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Be An Antonym [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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It is becoming increasingly apparent that I am not fashionably current. In truth, I have never been near or even remotely close to being in-the-know. I am not a first adopter. The evidence is right beneath my typing fingers; were my computer a child it would be attending middle-school.

I have hermit tendencies. I am at my core a wanderer. I am more comfortable alone in my studio than at a gallery opening (or any other human gathering space, for that matter. Parties strike fear in my heart). My idea of fun is to take a walk in the woods.

It occurred to me – later in life than it ought to have occurred to me – that I am a margin sitter. A looker-in rather than a center-dweller. All of these characteristics that I have embraced as personal deficits, judgments that I have held against myself and used like a sword to cut myself in two, are, in fact, my greatest gifts. Beowulf’s bees. From the margins I can- and do – see. I am supposed to be an antonym.

On the flight to meet this woman named Kerri, a woman I’d been writing to for months, I was worried that she would see me and dismiss me outright. I am – to put it mildly – not the norm. I thought she might reject me for my absence of hip. Emerging from the concourse, to my great surprise and amusement, standing before me, was a woman dressed just like me. A black sweater. Blue jeans. Boots. Another margin sitter. A fellow antonym. We cackled at the realization.

Later that first night, we crawled through a window, sat on on the roof in plastic chairs, and drank wine, looking at the world from our place on the margin, comparing notes on our oddness. Burgers and champagne to this day, partners in seeing from the edges, occupying the place we were always meant to inhabit: the polar antonym of hip.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about the ANTONYM OF HIP

 

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Allow [on KS Friday]

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“If we allow time for soul, we will sense its dark and luminous path. If we fail to acquaint ourselves with soul, we will remain strangers in our own lives.” ~ John O’Donohue, Beauty

These days are edge days. We began to feel strangers in our own lives. That is a sign to be heeded. It’s time for us to sit in silence.

“Beauty inhabits the cutting edge of creativity – mediating between the known and the unknown, light and darkness, masculine and feminine, visible and invisible, chaos and meaning, sound and silence, self and others.” ~ John O’Donohue, Beauty

Kerri doubts her beauty. And then she approaches the edge. She stands at her piano. When she plays all doubt leaves the room because the polarity finds its middle way, there is no this or that.

Sometimes it is enough – it is necessary – to stand at the piano with hands nowhere near the keys.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about UNDER CONSTRUCTION

 

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Kerri on iTunes

 

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Say Less [on DR Thursday]

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Under construction. I’d like to say that I was undergoing construction (a lifetime job) but at the moment the shortened phrase is more apt. The construction is on top. I am under it.

This is week 91 of our Studio Melange. 91 DR Thursdays. It might not surprise you to know that I have more than 91 paintings in my stacks though Kerri cautions me against posting the nudes. She worries that Facebook might ban me if my naked art hits the e-waves (unless, of course, my paintings of naked people were used for misinformation campaigns, then they’d be safe;-). Combing through my stacks for this week’s post left me at a loss.

I learned that the real skill in painting is knowing when to stop. Knowing when to put the brushes down.

The next skill, truly the center of all artistry, is how to say more with less. This week, what I have to say is this: I got nothin’.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about UNDER CONSTRUCTION

 

 

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[a nude? tough to tell. you decide]

 

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Follow The Map [on KS Friday]

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These days I am more interested in the rough draft than the finished piece. Recently, 20 gave me a great gift as we sorted through Duke’s old sketches and throw-away paintings. Duke was brilliant and his explorations were free and full of art-frolic.

When Kerri brings out the box of rough cuts I secretly clap my flippers. It means I am going to hear the story behind the composition. We listen and she tells me of the day she recorded the piece or about the problems she and her producer faced. The unforeseen, the discovery-in-the-moment.

My favorite days in this life happen when I am down in the studio and, upstairs, Kerri begins to noodle on the piano, when she allows herself to fall into composing. Our house fills with an enchantment, an invocation of all that is essential. A creative pilgrimage that has no leader and no follower, only the pull of the impulse.

WAIT A WHILE, a rough cut, will give you some sense of what it feels like to be in my studio when Kerri begins the pilgrimage. Like Duke’s free flowing sketches, this rough cut is a map to the sacred place.

Listen to WAIT A WHILE, the rough cut piano track here:

https://www.kerrianddavid.com/ks-friday

 

Kerri on ITunes

 

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wait a while: rough cut ©️ 1995 – 2019 kerri sherwood

Pick Up The Tool And Play [on DR Thursday]

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If every life is a journey of self-discovery then it follows that every life-journey is supported with a unique series of challenges. The challenges reveal ourselves to ourselves [how’s that for an awkward use of language!]. Obstacles wake us up.

My challenges require a special set of tools. Master Miller sends photos of his young son, Dawson, painting. I love those photos because Dawson is free in his use of paint and brush. His exploration is pure pleasure. It is beautiful (seriously. It is Beautiful).

Last night I sat on the floor of my studio and played with the tools that support my unique series of challenges. I scraped paint with knives. I mushed around color with a fan brush. I was not free. My challenge is to circle back to what Dawson already knows. I think too much. I study too hard. I seek rather than simply experience.

What Dawson knows: I don’t have to look for it. What I seek is already here. I merely need to pick up the tool and get out of the way.  It’s a platitude for the aging but true nevertheless.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about MY PAINT BOX

 

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Approach It [on Merely A Thought Monday]

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“Because we have lost reverence of approach, we should not be too surprised at the lack of quality and beauty in our experience.” ~ John O’Donohue, Beauty

There was a common thread that ran through the lessons my mentors taught me: how I treat my space is a direct reflection of how I approach my artistry, my work.

Whether they said it directly or not, they understood artistry as sacred, artistic spaces as sacred spaces. Places of communion.

Paul Barnes used to tell his acting students, “Never underestimate your power to influence another person’s life.” There is a responsibility when getting on the stage. There is a responsibility when designing for the stage. There is a responsibility for how tickets are sold. There is a responsibility for how the theatre is cleaned and maintained, the studio, the shop… Tom’s students were famous for sweeping the parking lot of the theatre because they believed the audience experience began with the approach to the building. The sweepers understood themselves as artists.

During our last days on island, Kerri and I began cleaning out the theatre. We began the process of introducing a new approach. We started our job mid-season and were asked to come to the island and watch and learn. All summer, as a watcher, I repeated this phrase: everyone wants to use the theatre but no one wants to be responsible for it. Responsible to it. Groups entered and dumped their stuff. When they left, they left their mess for Pete to clean and why not? (Pete gets it, he is meticulous, and loves the space. But he is a lone sweeper fighting the tide of a dedicated mindless approach.)

TPAC is understood as a place to be used. It is a space the community fights over. A territory to be claimed. It is not yet approached as a space where beauty is touched, where actions matter because they are capable of unifying, where artistry is understood, not as a personal domain, but the grace of collective creation.

Sitting on the empty stage, the season closed, Kerri and I sat and listened. “It’s time to make the space ours, ” she said. “I think I’ll clean out the fridge.”

 

read Kerri’s blog post about THE END OF SEASON

 

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