Edge Of Time [David’s blog on KS Friday]

It was here for a moment. The snow on the wall. The tall grasses bowing beneath the weight. Today the grass is standing. Time moves on. Circumstances flow and change.

Yesterday we sat at a counter in the Public Market and ate gumbo. Kerri and the server, a young woman, talked about the oddities of aging. It was Kerri’s 65th birthday so the topic was vital and current. Both women laughed at how out-of-sync they feel relative to the number of their spins around the sun. “What is this supposed to feel like?” they asked in unison. The old man sitting next to us almost spit out his salmon.

We arrived at the art museum an hour before closing. She said, for her birthday, she wanted to visit her boys: Richard Diebenkorn. Ellsworth Kelly, and Mark Rothko. We sat in front of the Rothko for several minutes and I swear, like a good wine, the painting opened. The longer we sat with it the more it beckoned. The richer the color became. “I wish there was a bench in front of Richard,” she said. She loves her other boys but Diebenkorn is her favorite.

On our way out we stopped by the enormous Anselm Kiefer painting, Midgard. The mythical serpent doing battle at the end of the world. It’s a metaphor in darkness: cycles of renewal amidst constant destruction. A crucible. I always visit Anselm as he is a favorite of my friend David. I sent him a photo of the painting and realized that it has been almost eight years since I have seen him.

Catching a glimpse of my image in the window and not fully recognizing the man that looked back, I said, “This time thing is crazy.” She squeezed my hand.

“Tell me about it,” she said. And then asked, “So, what’s the next part of our adventure?”

Boundaries/Right Now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW

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Pull The Thorns [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Matthew and Rumi agree: “You hypocrite! First take the beam out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

 The Buddha is purported to have said: “The faults of others are easier to see than one’s own.”

The message is ubiquitous. The teaching is universal. If you wish to wander in the fields of flowers, pull the thorns from your heart. And, like all simple truths, it’s easier said than done.

History is riddled with the greatest persecutors loudly proclaiming themselves victims. It’s a pattern. Sometimes the odor of hypocrisy is faint. Sometimes it stinks to high heaven. Currently, we are watching this age old drama play out on our political stage. No-self-awareness. Not-an-iota-of-personal-responsibility.

It’s worthy of Aeschylus. It’s a theme that runs through the greatest works of Shakespeare. Othello. Hamlet. MacBeth. Lear. Tortured thorny hearts with split intentions. It’s ever-present because it’s a bear-topic that every human has wrangled. Psychologists call it “projection.”

There is no path to inner peace that does not begin with dedicated self-reflection, self-revelation, and a subsequent healthy course of eye-beam-removal. A good honest look at the thorns carried within the heart before the plucking. What’s true of an individual is also true of a community.

And, if we are lucky and brave and honest, “…at length, truth will out.” A good test of truth is the flood of peace that ensues. A wander through the fields of flowers.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PULLING THORNS

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Grok The Rule [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“A good poem looks life straight in the face, unflinching, sincere, equal to revelation through loss or gain.” ~ David Whyte

A good rule of thumb in the visual arts: areas of high contrast, in color-or-value, come forward while areas of low contrast retreat. Landscape painters use this rule to create the illusion of foreground and distance. Abstract painters use this rule to move the eye around a composition.

Storytellers and poets use the same rule. High contrast creates interest. It grabs attention. Low contrast sets the environment, the mood. “Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing/ kept flickering in with the tide/ and looking around./ Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly…” Dogfish by Mary Oliver.

Misused, it’s the rule-behind-the-reason that most of our news is “Breaking News!” False contrast. Hype. It’s the reason our national portrait is continually painted as divisive. High contrast pulls focus. The money follows the ratings so attention-grabbing is highly prized. Low contrast – like agreement, collaboration, sameness, community…truth – doesn’t generate the same level of interest or income.

Like all rules, there are worthy reasons to wield them. In the arts, the contrast principle is used to illuminate unity. To break an individual through to the experience of something bigger. To open questions. In our news-of-the-day, the rule is used to whistle a song-and-dance of discord and distraction. To separate into tribes. To manufacture the illusion of depth while sitting in shallow water.

The reasons to wield the rule are diametrically opposed.

It was a sad day when the young man, standing in our living room, told me that he would educate his child at home. His reason? He didn’t want his son to be stuffed with ideas. “Just the facts,” he said. “Just the facts.”

“Poor souls,” I thought of this man and his young child. How will they ever stare into the fiery face of democracy – an ongoing idea born of high contrast and wild ideas – the artistic kind, meant to bring people together in one nation under every possible god – like a poem. They won’t recognize democracy’s death when without question it slips like ashes through the fact of their fingers.

As for me, I’ll stick with the high and low contrast of Rumi, MLK, Shakespeare, Kahlil Gibran, Mary Oliver, Maya Angelou…

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” ~ Rumi

[another worthy rule of thumb: never read the headlines prior to writing a post. All the icky-mush rushes to the foreground and permeates my brain]

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG

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buymeacoffee is a counterintuitive, highly appreciated, offering of support amidst a high contrast environment that keeps the artists among us hopping and hoping.

Circle Back Again [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

I could have sworn a famous John Singer Sargent painting featured hibiscus. He painted poppies and roses. There is his famous Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose. Google isn’t helping me very much – or, today, I have very little patience.

The truth is I want to dig out my old art books and have a full analog experience. I want to turn pages and smell the ink and the dust. It’s a cold wet day. Dark. I want to sit in my studio rocking chair and revisit the version-of-me that used to sit for hours studying the paintings of masters. I have traveled full circle. I am back to believing that I know nothing. I am a beginner again.

In Scotland, a long time ago, John Singer Sargent’s portrait of Lady Agnew stopped me in my tracks. I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to encounter. Rounding a corner I saw the portrait hanging at the end of the hall. The brushstrokes were easy and free. Get close to it and you’ll discover there is no wasted motion. The paint speaks. It’s not a large portrait yet I felt it as a gut punch. Had I not been blocking the view of others, I would have stood before it all day. I left the museum certain that I knew nothing at all.

I’ve learned to appreciate these phases of not-knowing. They are not necessarily comfortable. Yearning never is. There’s nothing like empty space in your chest and a lump in your throat to set in motion a walk toward the next horizon. What’s over there?

On the trail yesterday I re-remembered the-one-thing, the one-essential-ingredient that makes a walk toward the horizon and away from the safety-of-the-known an adventure: under no circumstances must I take myself too seriously. Do not eat the ego-illusion that my work must or will change the world. It won’t. The world does not need changing. It only needs to be experienced. And I only need to express what I find as I circle back, sharing what I discover.

underpainting for what’s next

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read Kerri’s blogpost about Hibiscus

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Arrive At Wisdom [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

The meeting of sand and surf. In the children’s-book-of-my-mind, at the beginning of the story, sand and surf have completely different points of view. They have radically different understandings of each other and opposing orientations to ebb-and-flow, to the movement of the earth and their place in it. They insist that they are in conflict.

And yet, they meet. Every day. In the story of sand and surf they eventually learn that they can focus on their differences or they can focus on what they have in common. They are surprised to learn that one could not know itself without the other. They are gobsmacked by the knowledge that one would have no purpose without the other! In fact, they would have no identity without the other!

With their new understanding, sand and surf begin to ask a different question: who do they want to be together.

At the end of the story, the climax of this children’s tale, they come to understand that their reason-for-being is each other. They are not, in fact, separate. They are symbiotic. They transform each other in their mutual dance. Thus, they arrive at wisdom.

Sand and surf. Harmony, in the children’s-book-of-my-mind. Nothing really changes other than their choice of where to focus. And then, of course, everything changes.

my favorite illustration from Lucy And The Waterfox

Peri Winkle Rabbit Is Lost. A book I wrote and illustrated for a hurricane Katrina relief project. The organizers asked for an original story to help children understand and cope with loss. Original illustrations, no copies. I loved making this little book and i hope some child, somewhere, now an adult, loves it, too.

My gallery site

read Kerri’s blog post about SAND AND SURF

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Keep It Pure [on DR Thursday]

I have favorite paintings. I do not love all of my children equally. Yet, to my great dismay, many of my most treasured pieces get nary a second look from viewers.

When I’m approached by someone interested in buying a painting, Kerri has an uncanny knack at predicting what painting the person will buy. Even if they approach us with a piece in mind, Kerri will squinch her nose and say, “They’re not going to buy that one. They want this one but they don’t know it yet.” She is almost always right.

In one famous case, I was about to destroy a painting and she stopped me. I disliked the painting to the point of embarrassment. “It’s gorgeous!” she cried. “Some one will want to buy that painting!” she insisted. I scoffed but let it live another day. Two months later the piece sold. “See…” she smiled, triumphant.

We’ve been hard at work reimagining and rebuilding my website. It’s coincided with the making and remaking of my resume. Two life reviews from diametrically opposed perspectives happening at the same time. That’s a lot of navel-gazing. I wanted to blend the site, make it a place to find my performance work, books, and organizational/coaching path. Kerri was adamant that I NOT do that. “Keep it pure,” she said. “You’ve done the other thing before so if you want it to be different, then do something different this time.”

For a time I was conflicted. In my moments of I’ll-never-work-again-panic I want to unload all of the possibilities on any potential employer. “I can do this, and this, and this, and this, too!” My my, aren’t I valuable.

We were walking our trail and I was embroiled in the inner debate when we stopped so Kerri could take a photograph of the flowers. Bright, beautiful, warm yellow sunburst from a dark brown center. They are what they are. No apology. No embellishment. No lobbying. Happy. They stopped us in our tracks. It was the Black-Eyed-Susans that convinced me that Kerri was right. Keep it pure. Keep it honest. Keep it simple.

“I am what I am,” I thought. Kerri is right. Mine is not to determine or argue for my value. Mine is to put my work out into the world as honestly and simply as I am able.

forward back, 18 x 36IN, mixed media

visit my new site.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BLACK-EYED SUSANS

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Find The Hidden Message [on Two Artists Tuesday]

This morning, while the storm raged outside, thunder and wind shaking the house and dumping buckets of rain, I worked on my website. More specifically, I added a visual resume to our melange site. It’s a map of an artist taking his artistry into the marble halls of organizations…

In the past six months I’ve had several resume reviews. Advice from experts. Suggestions from friends. Modification upon modification akin to rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. This mixmaster of my work history has had one incredible silver lining: I’ve had the opportunity to revisit every era of my career, the passions that drove my choices, the curiosity that necessitated stepping off the edge. In essence, so much thorough review and conversation has illuminated for me a through-line of my life-in-work.

My primary actions? I scatter ideas on the wind. Tom used to say, “You Johnny Appleseed-ed your way across the district.” I’m a consummate cross-pollinator: concepts from the stage introduced to the boardroom. And vice versa. But this most of all: I began this life with so little faith in myself that, over time, I became adept at guiding people to their self-belief; something I had to do for myself so I knew the path. I know the path well. It leads to center.

In the past I’ve been hyper-critical of my choices. They’ve often been less-than-lucrative, made from a different criteria – and have left me vulnerable. Now, from my view in the crows nest, looking back at where I’ve come from, I delight in my journey. To some it looks like the drunken path of a butterfly. To me it’s been a dedication to bringing my gift to the place where it was most needed. I followed the call. Every time. I continue to follow it. Following a calling rarely makes resume-sense.

Last week I wrote about sailing toward the horizon with the knowledge that your questions will only bring more questions, that masterpieces are made by sailing into unknown territory. And, if you are lucky, you’ll come to realize that what’s just over the horizon is more horizon. More curiosity. More experiences. More discoveries. More vital life.

This is the message hidden in my resume: I am unbelievably lucky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THISTLE

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Ponder It [on DR Thursday]

As you know, Breck-the-aspen-tree almost didn’t make it. Three years in a pot and one ill-conceived planting in the backyard left our poor Breck withered. A new spot in the yard restored Breck’s health but her growth was minimal. We removed dead branches. We assumed we’d stunted Breck’s growth so she would always be beloved and diminutive.

And then…It seems Breck is growing an inch every day. We began the summer looking down at her. Now, we crane our necks to see the new leaves sprouting at the top of her gangly reach. We joke that Breck is doing her Jack-In-The-Beanstalk imitation, though, at this rate of growth, it’s no joke. I confess to having a sit-down chat with her, cautioning her to not grow up too fast.

Last night I was awake most of the night. I thought about Breck and new growth. I thought about the cicadas, a surprising new form emerging from a discarded old body. I hoped against all hope that nature was talking to me, sending me a message. Be patient. All in good time. I’ve been sitting in the hallway for a very long time.

Perhaps, like Breck, I too am waiting for the optimal time, some intrinsic trigger and, suddenly and without warning or inhibition, I will reach to the sky. Perhaps, like the cicadas, in a moment of surprise, my new form will burst out of the old body, amazed at the sudden addition of wings.

In the meantime, I continue to do as I was taught: my job is to “put it out there”. The rest is out of my control [meantime: the intervening time. The hallway]. The operative word is “it”. It. I write and publish almost everyday. I paint and publish. We cartoon and publish. I toss resumes into the wind.

In the dark of night, thinking of aspen trees and cicadas, I ponder worthy questions. Breck needed assistance to move to new soil and then required recovery time. Storing energy for the right moment. The cicada lived underground until it felt an internal imperative to climb – an imperative that I imagine made no sense but had to be heeded just the right moment. For me, if nature is talking to me, it has me pondering what else – that I’ve not yet considered – might “it” be that I should “put out there”? Or better, does “it” matter at all? Perhaps all that I lack is the right moment. And there’s nothing to be done about that.

weeping man, 48x36IN, mixed media

My Site. Up and Running. At Long Last.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BRECK

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Make It Someday [on DR Thursday]

More than a few times, we’ve stood at the display of wind chimes in a store. We sound them. We compare the tones. We close our eyes and feel the vibration. Some we like immediately. Others we shrug, not-so-much. We give them a second try, ringing a few together to make mixed tones. We never buy the chimes but we always try them on for size. It’s a form of dreaming. We leave the display with the magic phrase, “Someday.” Yes, someday we’ll have to get those.

Someday. What a double-edged sword is this word!

A few years ago, when Kerri’s digestive system went awry, we dedicated ourselves to the Whole 30 diet so she might regain balance. There’s no sugar allowed in the Whole 30. We learned a valuable strategy for coping with the intense I-must-have-that desire. Walk past the plate of brownies and count to 5. In five seconds, without fail, the desire dissipated. We learned that what-we-must-have is a healthy system. The road to “someday” meant not biting the illusion of sugar-fulfillment.

Delayed gratification. Accelerated health.

Today we learned of Jonathan’s passing. The news floated by on the Facebook stream. We were stunned. In addition to being a very bright light in the world, a peer, he was one of the hardest working people I’ve ever known. He was stockpiling money for his retirement. He had vision. He had plans. “Someday,” he’d say, a twinkle-of-delight in his eye. We lost touch during the pandemic. This morning Kerri said, “I always thought we see him again. Someday…”

Delayed gratification. Accelerated health. Missed opportunities.

I’m given to looking up the words I’m batting around. The antonyms of “someday” are “immediately” and “never.” Two choices, polar opposites, both unforgiving.

Today we will celebrate the life of a friend. We’ll lift a glass in his honor. We’ll share a brownie bite. We might just go to the store and sound the chimes. And, who knows, maybe today will be someday. “Why wait?” I’ll ask.

surrender now, 24x24IN, mixed media © 2016 david robinson

my perpetual placeholder site

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHIMES

[dinner at Jonathan’s house]

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Steward The Radical [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I’m reading Gordon MacKenzie’s brilliant book, Orbiting The Giant Hairball: A Corporate Fool’s Guide To Surviving With Grace. There’s plenty to love in this little book that extrapolates beyond the corporate cubicle. This morning I laughed heartily when he compared two organizational systems, the pyramid and the plum tree. Traditional versus Holistic. Mechanistic versus Organic.

For me, the point of his Fool’s argument, sketched on yellow-pad-paper, comes down to this: the traditional pyramid, a hoosegow of compartmentalization, kills collaboration and snuffs the creative. It is purposeful division. The holistic plum tree, an integrated dynamic continuum, enhances collaboration and stimulates the creative. He draws an arrow pointing to the words “Enhancement of collaboration,” and writes, “This is radical.” [his underline]

It might seem radical to suggest that a system that intends collaboration is radical until you consider our current state of affairs. The latest attack on “the woke” by “the traditional” is, in essence, a pyramid that fears a plum tree. Pyramid people have an investment in exclusion, in standing on the top. Supremacy, white or otherwise. Keeping the cubicles intact, keeping the hierarchy in place.

Plum tree people, the proudly “woke,” reach across and eliminate division because they recognize the truth and power of the continuum, “integrated in a single creative ecology” otherwise known as a “community.” It is the opposite of supremacy. Float all boats.

There’s a race to the bottom in these un-united united states: the recent scrubbing of diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, the banning of books, red-legislators knocking themselves out trying to bleach our history, bury our past, snuff a questioner’s right to question (i.e. to learn), eliminate a woman’s right to choose; to squeeze gender-identity into a too-tight-airless-box…

In this environment, to suggest a system that intends collaboration, a system that enhances collaboration, is radical. Of course, democracy, by definition, is a system that intends collaboration. It is a system that needs collaboration to survive. It is a plum tree. The real and present danger of the pyramid, as Gordon MacKenzie points out: a pyramid is a tomb.

Democracy is radical. That people of diverse backgrounds and orientations might come to the table together with full respect for their differences – in fact a celebration of their differences, and intend to create “a more perfect union” is-as-has-always-been, a bright star to follow. It is a radical dream that demands open eyes, the capacity to ask questions of ourselves and each other, to tell our full history, to consider the perspective of all the human-beings sitting across the shared table. A radical dream, an ongoing creation stewarded into the future by the radical collaborators, keepers of the dream, the proudly woke.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PROUD BUTTONS

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