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

I doubt that our bird feeder experience is different than most people. The chipmunks and the squirrels get most of the bounty and the birds play clean-up.

In another life, were I to aspire to be an acrobat or gymnast, I’d study the amazing antics of chippies and squirrels. They scale the impossible pole. They leap the impossible leap. And then they fill their cheeks to bursting, kick gobs of seed to the ground, and fling themselves – fully loaded – into space and somehow catch a limb or bit of fence and escape into the great unknown. They are fearless.

The birds alight on the feeder, too, but mostly they find their fortune on the ground.

Over the summer, directly beneath the feeder, corn plants appeared. We let them grow for a while. I confess, the corn made us smile. “We have corn!” we’d giggle at the absurdity even though the origin was obvious. Apparently we are easily amused.

And then the corn plants sprouted across the yard. A stalk grew right next to Breck-the-Aspen-Tree. And then we found a few lively plants pressing through the tall grasses in the front yard. We’d unintentionally set into motion a small-sample-experiment of corn migration as carried by birds and mini-beasts.

Across many cultures, corn has long been a symbol of prosperity and representative of the cycle of life. It’s easy to understand why. The fields are magical places. In our film mythos, baseball teams of yore emerged from the corn, bringing good fortune to the family that built a field on their farm. Giver of dreams. Fulfiller of hope. Ancestors return to the corn.

In addition to the summer of the bunny and the surprise frog-named-Hope, this is the summer of corn-on-the-move. As the leaves begin to turn, as the harvest comes in, we take comfort knowing that we are surrounded by so many symbols of plenty.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CORN

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Lay On Your Side [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“We are fragile creatures, and it is from this weakness, not despite it, that we discover the possibility of true joy.” ~ Desmond Tutu, The Book of Joy

The heart-leaf lay on its side. Light peaked through its cracking surface. I was afraid to touch it lest it crumble in my fingers.

Only a few short months ago it was vibrant green, connected, durable. It’s destiny was -and is – as certain as mine. My surface is beginning to crack. Only a short time ago I felt myself vibrant. I thought of myself as indestructible. I am, and always have been, on my way to brittle.

It is this very fact that reminds me to slow down, to turn and feel the sun on my face. It is my limited time on earth that prompts me to lay on my side on warm grass so I might see the full beauty of the delicate tilted heart. To feel the warm hand that squeezes mine.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART

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Expect The Meadow [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I was a doubter. Over the winter, heavy machinery eradicated invasive species – and seemingly everything else – from the forests and meadows of our beloved trail. It left a wasteland of splintered wood and debris. “It will take years to recover,” I mumbled, saddened.

I was wrong. With spring, new green shoots poked through the mud and detritus. The frog chorus returned with a vengeance to a marsh that just weeks prior had been little more than a scar. Slowly through the summer, the mayapple and coneflowers flourished.

And then there’s the meadow. In the waning weeks of August and the coming of September it has burst with yellows, purples and subtle blues. “Unbelievable,” I utter each time we pass through. Were I a plein air painter of landscapes, I’d spend many days seated on the trail, peering beyond my canvas, dabbing paint in an attempt to capture the riot of color.

The meadow is now my go-to metaphor for the power of renewal. In just a few short months, what seemed like utter devastation has revealed unstoppable regeneration. The wisdom of necessary disruption as seen in nature.

It gives me hope as we stand in the debris of our current wasteland. Just beneath the scorched earth of our circumstance, a vibrant meadow is preparing to burst forth. In a few short months, from this eradication, this intensive stripping of our invasive species, new color and life will bloom. And I will be most happy to utter, “Unbelievable,” in the face of my doubt and share with you the tale of our extraordinary rejuvenation.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MEADOW

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

If we call someone “green”, we mean that they are inexperienced. Innocent or new. The term “green-on-green” implies a team that has little experience. Young pilots. Mixed doubles swatting at tennis balls. Newly minted detectives. New growth. Immature. Seedlings.

A green issue is environmental. Renewable energy. Wind power. Green is the color of nature.

In street slang, green has two possible meanings. Money. Green is the color of currency. Or, weed. Green is the color of marijuana. A surprising twist on green-on-green!

I can be green with envy. Or green with jealousy. Green is the color of illness. Apparently coveting makes us sick. “Do you feel okay? You’re looking green.” The Romans thought so. Shakespeare, too.

Google the meaning of green and you’ll find it symbolizes peace, hope, and harmony. Optimism.

In spiritual circles, green refers to fruitfulness and fertility. New leaves. New growth. And so, a full-circle return to the first meaning of green, only “new” need not imply ineptitude as much as promise. Hope. A weave of the many meanings of green!

I’m left pondering why I rarely use green in my paintings. Van Gogh did not shy away from green. He was bold enough to smear his green adjacent to vibrant reds and orange. Opposites on the color wheel. A bang to the eyes. Perhaps there is some green in my future.

On our hike today I can say with all honesty that I was completely taken with the many shades of green.

read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN

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Share Through Your Eyes [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

We slept on the living room floor last night. Our chugga-chugga air conditioner doesn’t reach our bedroom at the back of the house. Record breaking heat drove us to improvisation. “We’re camping!” we exclaimed, spreading blankets on the throw-rug, Dogga jumping with enthusiasm into our bed-making-attempts, ruffling our efforts.

In the morning, we could barely move. “My shoulder is killing me!” I whined.

“My hips are burning,” she frowned.

We laughed and together howled, “OUCH!” I creaked to the kitchen to make coffee.

While waiting for the coffee to brew I thought of the underpass. On Saturday we explored a new part of the river trail that ran beneath several busy roads, including the interstate highway. As we left the heat of the sun and entered the cool of the underpass, Kerri asked, “Do you think people sleep under here?”

“Yes, I do.”

Standing at the coffeemaker I was awash with thankfulness. I slept on the floor by choice. Our dog woke us this morning nuzzling our faces. Our ancient air conditioner kept us cool through a brutally hot night. We laughed at our aches and pain.

It’s funny the way thoughts tumble and connect with memory, constellating into well-worn images or plowing new conceptual pathways. Udayana University, Bali. One of my graduate school peers had just completed a presentation on homelessness in the United States. The Udayana faculty was horrified. “But you are the richest country on earth,” a wide-eyed Balinese professor stuttered. “How can you let a member of your community go without a home?” To him, it was the height of shame for a community not to care for their own. It was, in fact, inconceivable. This moment was central to my memory: I saw in his eyes the high esteem he held for us fall into the dark basement. He was suddenly very proud to be Balinese. His community might not have financial resources but they had a form of wealth that made paupers of his American guests.

“It’s the contrast principle”, 20 says. Oppositions illuminate. Cultural differences clarify. What we normalize we cease seeing. I’ve stepped over people sleeping in the street. In Seattle, I routinely rode my bike on paths under a freeway lined with tents and shopping-cart-possessions. In Bali, a man stopped his work in the fields and walked with me because it was rude to let a guest walk alone. We did not speak because we did not share a common language. When I reached my destination, we nodded and shared through our eyes that most universal of gratitudes: genuine appreciation for the companionship of the other; an authentic wish for the well-being of all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE UNDERPASS

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Create Ease [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Reading The Marginalian this morning I was taken by these two quotes:

“The whole process of nature is an integrated process of immense complexity, and it’s really impossible to tell whether anything that happens in it is good or bad.” (Alan Watts)

“…learning not to think in terms of gain or loss.” ~ The Marginalian, August 16, 2023.

It came at the right moment. There was a river of anxiety running through our house. I opened the newsletter because the title was Seneca on the Antidote to Anxiety. I needed an antidote. Actually, I needed to be reminded of what I already know.

Most of our monsters are invented. Most of our stresses are made-up. What we fear rarely happens. Such is the power of the human imagination. We are capable of making ourselves sick with make-believe, ill with assumptions, fearful by assigning meaning to an experience before it actually happens.

We fret. We worry. We brood. We lose sleep. We get worked up. We torture ourselves with our untethered thoughts and wild-imaginings. It’s the heart of my argument to all people who’ve labeled themselves as “not creative”. We are so abundantly creative that it hurts. Check your inner monologue. It is a riot of creativity! A stampede of wild-horses!

We are capable of imagining ease rather than angst. We are capable of creating love rather than hate. It’s true, but creating ease, creating love, first requires a complete surrender of black-and-white thinking. Good or bad, gain or loss, better or worse…control fantasies, all. Creating ease is borne of an understanding that every experience – every single experience – has many possible interpretations. And, fully comprehending that you are the creator of the meaning you make. And, most of all, recognizing that making meaning of an experience is best done after it happens, somewhere down the road. I guarantee, no matter the meaning made today, it will change again and again over time. Creating ease.

Side note: compassion for self and others lives on this non-binary road.

Reminders of what I already know.

I loved the sunflowers when we placed them on the table. They were a gift and were fresh from the farmer’s market. I thought I might like to paint them, which is unusual for me. A few days later, the sunflowers bowed their heads and I found them more compelling. They seemed like gentle beings in a posture of reverence (how’s that for imagination!). Both Kerri and I raced for our cameras.

Were they more beautiful or less? And, isn’t that the exact wrong question to ask?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNFLOWER BOW

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Take A Second Pass [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

It was the second time we’d walked the loop. The first was many months ago in another season. Though the path was the same it felt as if we were walking an entirely different trail. This time, instead of seeing across brown and yellow winter marshland, we walked through a tunnel of tall viridian reeds. Not able to see the landscape, I looked up through the green at a rain-threatening sky. If our first hike on the boardwalk felt like a discovery, the second pass seemed directed.

The second pass. In life it’s called a memory and it is never the same as the original walk. To begin, it is viewed from a different season. Time alters details, rearranges events, begs questions. The second pass is made with a different purpose-in-mind. To re-view. It is directed, replayed, questioned, run forward and backward. Different endings are tried on for size. Different beginnings, too. Destiny or accident? Did that really happen?

Plotting backward through memory provides ample sense-making. Event chains, choices, that lead to this place, this day, this story called life. Looking forward from the current first pass, this present walk, there is a wide open vista. What if I stepped off the path? Is there a path? It’s all discovery though we rarely experience it that way. The routine of the day or the master to-do-list obscures the newness of each and every step. Same-old-same-old is a sorry reckoning.

Kerri and I are having an ongoing conversation about how quickly and dramatically life can change. Just when you think you know what the day holds a strong wind huffs and puffs, forever altering the arc of your life. The tiniest of choices hold the seeds for the most profound changes. The boardwalk suddenly disappears. Or the opposite, when you are lost and least expect it, a boardwalk magically appears. In a flash a path seems certain.

And, isn’t it awe-some that we are capable of twice-storying this grande life adventure? Giving to each step a meaning and shape the very moment we take them. Giving to each step a different meaning and shape, over and over again, on the return loops, the second pass. Memory.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BOARDWALK

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Discover Again [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Some books sit idle on my shelf for years and then, one day, with no warning, they leap forward and demand to be read. And so it is with Vāclav Havel’s book Disturbing The Peace. It is my new 2-page-a-day-meditation-book. I’m only a few pages in but already finding the words of this playwright-become-president of the Czech Republic, published in 1991, speaking clear thoughts to the un-united-united-states of 2023.

“It seems to me that if the world is to change for the better it must start with a change in human consciousness, in the very humanness of modern man.”

The change in consciousness? It is this:

“He must discover again, within himself, a deeper sense of responsibility toward the world, which means responsibility toward something higher than himself.”

He writes that we must extricate ourselves from “the mechanisms of totality” and the “manipulation” of media. We must “rebel against [our] role as a helpless cog in the gigantic and enormous machinery hurtling god knows where.”

Climate change. Attempts to white-wash history rather than learn from it. Populism and a republican party dedicated to authoritarian rule rather than the democratic ideals they are sworn to uphold. The absence of a moral center and, to use a phrase from the past, common courtesy. Courtesy to the commons.

Vāclav Havel led his country through their great chaos, the tension of their divide, power struggles, and the collapse of repressive communism. He was an absurdist playwright. He did not pretend to have answers. He had abundant questions. He argued for the simplicity of confronting the tasks at hand, tasks that are the responsibility of all the people in a nation, tasks like honestly looking at and dealing with their full history. Tasks like turning away from anger-inducing propaganda, conspiracies and lies – and learning to discern what has merit and what does not. In other words, transcending individual-self-serving-belief-bubbles in order to realize and secure the higher ideals of the community.

Every book has its time. I find it extremely hopeful that this book chose this moment to jump off the shelf.

read Kerri’s blog about SKY-THROUGH-TREES

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Listen To The House [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

When it’s humid our refrigerator has an incontinence problem. Upon entering the kitchen and stepping into the latest puddle, we call out as if it was normal, “The fridge tinkled again!” Sometimes I wonder if the neighbors can hear us. And, if they can, do they double-lock their front doors against our madness? Do they pull down their shades as we pass by?

We think we know the problem with the fridge’s urinary tract. We ordered a part months ago that arrived magically through the mail and now sits within view of the tinkling-fridge. It’s like knowing you’re going to need a hip replacement, ordering the part, and setting the titanium hip on the kitchen counter for months until you have the courage to schedule the surgery. “Yep. There’s my hip. Someday I’m going to install that thing…” Our new part has been in view for so long that I no longer see it. I’ve incorporated it into my visual expectations. We’re still working up the courage.

The refrigerator’s incontinence began when the ice-maker went on strike and refused to make ice. We met and negotiated but the ice-maker negotiating team is difficult. We’re having a hard time discerning their demands and are clueless about the original issue. We know the ice-strike and the fridge-tinkle are connected but are somewhat mystified by the humidity-trigger. So, in the meantime, thoroughly mystified but incredibly adaptive to our circumstance, we bring in ice from our beloved the corner market, Morelli’s Deli. We place towels on the kitchen floor.

And what might this have to do with living the good life? “Deferred maintenance is a fact of life!” Kerri insists and she is right. As I’ve learned from our sweet old house, there is always something to fix and that’s what gives our beautiful home its character. And, in the face of the obvious-never-ending-list, the best plan of action is to relax. Do what you can do when you can do it.

This may come as a surprise but, in the face of a long to-do-list, I had to learn to relax. I had to practice the skill of letting go. I’ve had to exercise the muscle of realistic expectations. I was not a willing student at first – I had to recognize that I had lessons to learn! …so many lessons…

How fortunate am I that our house is a master teacher? When you visit, I’ll show you how to jiggle the door. And don’t ask me about the cabinet handles in the kitchen! The first lesson from our house: explain nothing. Smile, relax, and say, “Yes. I know. It appears that needs fixing.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about ICE

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