Stand Out [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Yesterday, in our basement reorganization shuffle, I moved my paintings. It is not a small task to move the remains of a life’s work. At this point, I’ve moved them hundreds of times: between studios, into and out of shows, within a studio space to make more space. Paintings take up a lot of space. Besides my clothes, my unsold paintings have been the extent of my possessions most of my adult life. During this latest painting-location-change I realized what an oddity I must sometimes seem. It sparked some random recall and minor revelation.

It’s not always easy to be a sore thumb, the one one that sticks out; the one doing life a bit differently than the expected norm. The lone tree in a vast field.

I read this quote this morning from Robert Pirsig‘s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: “Schools teach you to imitate. If you don’t imitate what the teacher wants you get a bad grade…Originality on the other hand could get you anything – from A to F. The whole grading system cautioned against it.”

One of my favorite activities to do with teachers comes straight out of Augusto Boal and the Theatre of the Oppressed. Each teacher “reenacts” for their peers the simple ritual of preparation they do each morning for the upcoming day. The revelation was always the same. “I’m preparing to control my students,” a wide-eyed teacher gasped when the penny dropped, “It’s the opposite of what I want to do.”

We live in the church of the individual yet the message we actually preach is conformity.

I had the opportunity to create a school-within-a-school and I followed the popcorn path suggested by Neil Postman. He wrote that “learning” in our system conditions students to suss-out what teacher wants and regurgitate it. It was possible to kickstart their original impulse toward curiosity but it would require a bloody battle of about six weeks. Hold the line. Don’t fill in the blank for them. And one day, in a fit of anger and defiance, one student would take the brave step and say, “This is what I want to learn!” Support the step of the defiant one and the rest of the students would follow. They would dare to speak their truth and follow their passion. Postman was right! The battle was bloody. It took exactly six weeks.

This is the ubiquitous misunderstanding about originality: it requires the removal of boundaries, the absence of control. A free-for-all. The opposite is true. The most disciplined people I’ve ever known are artists. Their discipline is internal, not imposed. It was the seed of the question I’d ask the teachers after their uncomfortable revelation: “What would it look like if each day you prepared to unleash the student’s curiosity? What, then, would you have to control?” It was an uncomfortable question. It would require them, probably in anger and defiance, to take a brave step. To stand out. To do something different. To expect their students, through the pursuit of their burning questions, to control themselves.

Everyone has a unique star to follow. Sometimes they simply need help to see it.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LONE TREE

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buymeacoffee is sustenance for the journey.

Ding! [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Inspiration rarely looks like we think it ought to look. It rarely comes from the direction we expect. This little bell throws Kerri into advanced fantasies about her “store.” Her imagination is unbridled; her internal space is large enough to hold more than one store. For instance, she has visions of a food truck called And Sauce. Hungry people come to the window and order her special pasta sauce on a variety of delivery options. There are many variations of craft and clothing shops, art stores, there is a series of online products that follow The Little Pillow world-wide explosion. This composer, singer-songwriter has a heart for retail. It’s why she owns her own label and mourns the onset of the age of streaming: selling CD’s was too much fun.

The little bell also makes an appearance (in her mind) each time she sells something unearthed from the basement. “Ding!” she sings with excitement, when the folding screen or the bag of books find a new home. Sometimes, as we sort through the next layer of stuff in the basement, I hear her sing, “Ding!” Another sale made in her mind.

To be clear, we do not own the bell. We saw it one day in an antique store. “I have to take a picture!” she said. “To remember.” It’s among the many lovely quirks that she developed through her life as an artist. Wanting does not necessarily mean possessing. When we first met, showing me a magazine of women’s clothing, she explained, “If I stare at the picture long enough I don’t need to have it.” The yearning is satisfied by the yearning, not the having.

And, the yearning inspires new ideas, clever combinations of what’s already in her closet. This little bell works on the same principle. Retail mania in many configurations rolls out of her yearning for the bell. You’d be amazed at all the clever combinations on the menu of And Sauce. You’d be be delighted – as I am – with the joy-feels that ripple across the house every time the sing-song imaginary bell rings. “Ding!”

Another sale.

Unfolding/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s music is available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BELL

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buymeacoffee is whatever you imagine it to be.

Gaze Inside [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I suppose most people would first notice the beautiful glaze and transfer pattern on the outside of the cups. We were caught by the beautiful color, the glaze on the inside at the very bottom. Gorgeous. Simple.

The cups were a wedding present from Kerri’s good friend and long-time collaborator, Heidi. Together, they toured the country. Heidi telling the story of her breast cancer journey. Kerri performing her compositions written for the cause of cancer research and celebration of life. I was not in the picture when they were doing their good work but I can hear in their stories the potency, the absolute epicenter of the power of art, their art: inspiring, encouraging, healing, up-lifting spirits.

It is the same spirit that Rachel Stevens, the potter of the cups, imbued in her work. It’s why we were immediately captivated. The free flow of her artistry lifted our spirits. A perfect talisman for our union, a reminder of my favorite day of life – our wedding.

We brought out the cups for our wine. I love the delicate weight and textures, the feel when I hold them in my hand. Before pouring, I gazed again at the inside color and had a minor revelation, the kind that will simmer over the next few months:

I’m sitting in a quiet space with my artistry. The imperative to create remains as strong as it has ever been, but it is the time to journey into the root. Early in my life I created for myself, for the pure pleasure of the presence it provided. The gift of solitude. Another kind of union. Later, the root required a reaching out, a branching relationship with others, to light the dark path, ask the unanswered question, explore the uncharted territory. Yet another kind of union. The cycle is coming back around; I am returning to the pure pleasure of creating. The root. Now, there can be – there is – no other reason.

Simple. Gorgeous.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CUPS

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buymeacoffee is a beautiful glaze at the bottom of a delicate pottery cup that, when you hold it, makes you feel good to be alive.

Stir It [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Kerri explained to the woman at the shop that she rarely uses things for their intended purpose. For instance, we have a collection of old coffee pots that she uses as canisters in the kitchen. The end-table beside our couch is the drawer section of an old desk. It was sawed-off when she found it. Our walls sport old window frames and screen doors. We have a stack of old suitcases that we call “special boxes”. They hold the memorabilia of our life together: programs to performances, adventure day train tickets, cards from friends…

Things used as other things. It’s the hallmark of a creative mind. It’s the joy of her creative mind.

At the time, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the chunk of concrete. She just knew it had to come home with us. The woman at the shop had no idea what the chunk of concrete was originally used for – and the mystery made it more attractive to Kerri. It was signed and dated on the bottom. More mystery. More attraction. “What are we going to do with it?” I asked, wondering if I could actually lift it into the truck.

“I don’t know yet,” her eyes sparkled, the imagination-wheels turning. “Something.”

“Something,” I gasped, hoisting the chunk of concrete to the tailgate of the truck. I was grateful that it was round and rolled it the rest of the way into the bed. “You are something. You will be used for something.” I sat on the tailgate, catching my breath as Kerri and the woman disappeared into the shop to look at things-used-for-other-things.

I remembered once, running a spotlight for a show, the light broke mid-performance and I fixed it between cues with a frostie cup from Wendy’s, duct tape, and the sleeve of a jacket. It’s a valuable skill in the theatre: things used as other things. Ask any prop-master. The entire art form is recognizing the multitude of potential uses inherent in the most mundane objects.

My artist group once challenged me to explore beyond of my known art form so I sculpted crows from found objects. Wood, clamps and wire hangers. I loved it. It stirred my imagination.

Stirring the imagination. It’s what I appreciate about the home Kerri creates. Nothing is what it was intended to be. Everything is a wonder and can be transformed. Even a chunk of unidentifiable concrete. After a move into the house that made me appreciate the toil involved in building the pyramids, the chunk of concrete has now met its destiny. It is a side table and sports an old-school iPod sounddock. It couldn’t be more perfect. “I love it,” she says every day.

Me, too.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the CHUNK OF CONCRETE

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buymeacoffee is anything you can imagine it to be.

Work Forward And Back [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Writing the first draft of a play, I’ve just entered the “swimming upstream” step in the process. I’m working my way from back-to-front to make sure all the story dots connect. It’s detail work. It requires looking close-in. I used to hate this part of the process because I’d get lost. I’d forget what I was doing and prematurely rework sections. Painters ruin paintings when working too small too soon. Writers are subject to the same peril. Now, I adore this step. Life is funny.

A few years ago I realized that my change in process-love, my capacity to work in detail without getting lost, came when I stopped trying to race to the end. Now, I am in no hurry to finish. I want a full relationship with my story as it reveals itself to me. It is a child, holding my hand, guiding me to the wonders of the playground.

Working forward. Working backward. Stepping in and then stepping away, like the tides. Big brush washes first, attending to the overall composition. Structure. And then detail. It’s much like building a house. Foundations and then finishes.

I have learned from watching Kerri to use my camera to see detail. To step in and look. Seeing-as-a-relationship. To pay attention to the dew on the small pine, the reason it glistens. And then to step in further. The platitude: a single drop of dew contains an entire world. Beyond the platitude: step in and it’s possible to fall into another world. To experience the surprise available in the enormity of the minute. And bring back to the big, big world of hurry-here-hurry-there the astonishment that is found there.

Forward Back, 18 x 36IN, mixed media on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about DEW

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buymeacoffee is a dew drop in a sea of possibilities, a tiny window into the realities of another reality.

Follow The Lines [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

There was a time when humans didn’t know how to translate three dimensional space into a two dimensional rendering. We either had no capacity for understanding visual perspective or no reason to pursue it. Art was symbolic, purely. And then came Brunelleschi. An architect. Linear perspective, a mathematical construct, became all the artistic rage. The wilds of symbol met the dictates of the representational. Horizon lines and vanishing points, the one-two step of perspective danced into the arts in a crazy time we know as the Renaissance. A painting could pull us into its world. The ghost of the ancient Greeks whispered 15 centuries into the future.

With perspective came a wholly new set of questions. The magic of math. The study of nature. How close can we come to understanding how things work? What are the secrets driving the universe and what we see? What lurks behind and beyond the symbol? What do we not see?

The trees in Kerri’s photo are roughly the same size. The trees retreat into the distance so the furthest tree appears to be smaller, the closest tree taller. It’s an illusion that we take for granted, so steeped are we in the necessities of perspective. The smallest child with a crayon wouldn’t care or perhaps even see the distance. They’d happily scribble the symbol: tree. An older child would put down their crayon and insist that they couldn’t draw because the magic of perspective is intimidating. Trying to “capture” reality in two or three dimensions is a tall order. Trying to place yourself and others inside it is overwhelming.

On this foggy day on the coast of Lake Michigan, I admire the perfect lesson in perspective taught by the trees stretching out in front of me. The fog brings to mind string-theory and the mathematics of multiple realities existing in a single space or Stephen Hawking’s bubble theory, many many universes brushing each other as they pass. What would Brunelleschi think of that? Follow the lines of perspective far enough and it becomes necessary to sail beyond the known horizon. Expressionistic. Conceptual.

Both Picasso and Einstein broke apart our understanding of space and invited an entirely new form of perspective into our conversation. The mystic and the mathematical. Multiverse and many dimensions.

Standing in the park, fingers cold, swallowed by the dense fog, I am a lucky child with a crayon knowing that all I can manage to do is scribble.

read Kerri’s blogpost on PERSPECTIVE

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buymeacoffee is a an impression left by a crayon meant to let others know that someone is out there and paying attention to the lines of perspective.

Honor The Error [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“Art is human. Error is human. Art is error.” ~ David Bayles & Ted Orland, Art & Fear

I adore all three parts of this syllogism. Just don’t ask me if the reasoning is inductive or deductive since the three characters in the play are suspiciously unreasonable: Art, Humans, and Error. Applying reason to the unreasonable seems dubious for the get-go. In a world of rationalizing the irrational, who cares if the path is general to specific or vice-versa?

We made Christmas dinner at Craig’s house last night. Since he is nose-to-the-grindstone trying to make a career from his music, we talked about what he is experiencing. What he is learning. “It’s hard,” he said. Kerri smiled, knowingly. Yes. The music industry is Hard. Art-making is a joy. Making a viable career of art-making is akin to pushing a rock up a steep hill and never reaching the top. Sisyphus. No joy. Despite common stereotypes, no one works harder than artists-with-a-passion. “Talent and hard work is no guarantee that you’ll make it,” he said, sharing a recent revelation.

Trial and error. I’m currently writing a play and each day I remind myself of John Guare’s famous observation: you have to write ten bad pages to arrive at one good page. In other words, error making is the path. Any master craftsperson can tell you that. Make enough errors and you’ll eventually develop a wee-bit-of-discernment. What works. What does not. Discernment does not stop the error-making, it embraces it. It uses it.

I asked Craig if his definition of “good” had changed in the many months that he’s been producing and performing music. What is good work now relative to good work last year? His answer tickled me. His observation is ubiquitous to all creative pursuits. What seemed good last year often looks like doggerel this year. “I can’t believe I released that track,” he said. It’s a very good sign. He’s stacking his errors. He’s developing discernment. That, too, is a life-long pursuit, a steep climb with no top. Van Gogh looked back at his early work and wrinkled his nose.

So hope-full. The courage to follow an inner imperative. Honoring an undeniable impulse makes no sense. Intuition-listening. Eschewing illusions like “perfection” for a more gritty heart-filled error-strewn path. A more realistic human path, riddled with blunders and happy accidents. Now, isn’t that a lovely paradox! So honest. So art-full.

Kerri asked, “What does this post have to do with the pink ornament?” My answer: “These are the very pink thoughts I hang every day on my thought-tree.”;-)

read Kerri’s blogpost about PINK ORNAMENT

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buymeacoffee is an error filled path that leads to appreciation of the very flawed artists you appreciate.

Tell The Deeper Story [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Walking on our trail in the middle of December, we rounded a corner and stopped. The dramatic shadows of the trees made long and distinct by the low-to-the-horizon winter sun. “It’s mid-December,” she said, “And the grass is green…” Looking at the photograph I’d guess that it was taken on an early spring day. In the era of climate change, it’s not so hard to see the story behind the story of this green, green grass.

What’s the story behind the story? There’s always a deeper story to tell. Always.

On my easel is a canvas marked with a few charcoal lines. A bare-sketch of two people and a puppy. The story? On a rainy fall day, driving the back county roads, Kerri and I rescued a puppy. It was lost and scared.

The story behind the story? When we saw the puppy we had a long drive ahead of us. We were trying to get to Madison. We spotted it at a crossroads. Turn right and go to the puppy. Turn left and keep our appointment in Madison. We turned left. And then in one swirling circle motion, immediately turned around. The first impulse: we’re late! This is not ours to do. The second impulse: who cares! this is exactly ours to do. The moment the shivering-scared soaked puppy jumped into our arms, nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing. The superficial dropped away and the essential came roaring into focus.

We named him County Rainy Day. Rainy for short. We dried him off and fed him crackers. He didn’t have a collar so we called Jen and asked her what to do. We played and laughed and snuggled with him in the cab of the truck. Finally, after giving our hearts to the puppy, we took Rainy to a shelter. He was reunited with his family.

I confess, we’ve returned to the spot where we found him. Just in case. He stole our hearts but more importantly, he brought us to our hearts. There is always a moment of choice. Turn left. Turn right. The list or the life? Behind each act of kindness is a moment of choice. Behind each act – of any kind – is a moment of choice. The story behind the story.

a detail of a sketch. a work barely in-progress. county rainy day

visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN!

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buymeacoffee is a choice made at a crossroads. nothing more. nothing less.

Remember Heaven [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

A lifetime ago my live-work space was above a movie theatre. It was once an office space but somewhere along the way it was converted it into a quirky living space. The largest room had 16ft ceilings and an expanse of wall where I could staple canvas. I loved it. I painted up a storm in that space.

It had been vacant for a long time. I imagine most people took one look and ran away screaming. It needed a serious cleaning. It needed some attention and a few fixes. It needed someone with imagination to see the possibilities. Mostly, it needed some life and energy infused into it.

I put candles everywhere. At that time I painted at night, after the city went to sleep. I had a ritual to begin my work: turn off the light in every room but the studio, light the candles, choose my music, sit far away from my canvas for a few moments until I heard the call, and then begin. Usually I blew out the candles after sunrise, the work session ended with the awakening of the day.

Working after the world went to bed was my pattern for years. It started when I was a child. The house grew quiet. After my parents, brothers and sister tucked into sleep, I’d light a candle, turn on the light, and paint on the wall. There was nothing more comforting or inspiring to me than the quiet of the night, a candle or two for company, and a blank canvas calling me out to play.

Hans told me that “Everyone has their heaven.” Last night, deep into the night, as I lay in bed and listened to the chimes make sweet music of the howling wind, I was suddenly thrust back in time to my movie-theatre-studio, to a particular era in my life, I could feel the candles and the quiet of the night, a brush in my hand…my perfect heaven.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CANDLE

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buymeacoffee is a warm studio late at night, alight with candles, and a clear reason for being.

Trance Dance [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Our son is an artist. He composes EDM – electronic dance music. The proper term is “DJ” but that doesn’t begin to describe the art form. He does more than select tunes and spin discs. He builds layer-upon-layer of sound to create new and uniquely styled pieces. A surprise weave of repetition and pounding rhythm; it is a master class of tension-and-release. Improvisation meeting intention. Storytelling in sound.

His artistry is a pure root reaching into trance traditions, ancient impulse colliding with modern technology. To me, it is an invocation of ecstatic dance, freeing human bodies of their inhibitions so they might give over to the rolling wave of music. It is an invitation to ecstasy. It invites full-body surrender allowing the music to shake free the spirit. Earplugs are the only requirement.

I love the juxtaposition, the music composed by the mother and the music composed by the son. Kerri’s piano compositions are meditative, they turn the eye inward. They slow the pace like a rich memory. She eschews vocal acrobatics preferring a simple line. Craig’s EDM compositions thump every thought from the noggin, assault the senses, accelerate the pace, tossing bodies into the movement of the moment in a fête of complexity. Both mother and son induce a type of trance; one gently, the other with ferocity.

I’ve watched him watch her play. I’ve watched her watch him play. There is wild respect both ways. On the surface it would appear that their artistry – their music – is worlds apart but, like all things, surface impressions miss the greater depth of the human spirit. There is harmony in their appreciation. There is a shared center in their impulse to make music.

I am the lucky bystander. The proud husband and father. I am in awe no matter which way I look.

figure it out/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

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

Listen to Craig’s music here or visit his site here

read Kerri’s blogpost about EDM

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buymeacoffee is a full body ecstatic dance of appreciation for the artists who get you there;-)