Clean White Slate [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The snow fell and the world grew quiet. It seemed that the universe was affording us a much needed pause, an opportunity to be still and reflect. The snow appeared to be our ally, a guardian made of ice crystals wearing a blanket of muted white.

And so, we rested. We agreed that no decisions needed to be made, no projects required completion, no questions needed to be answered, no horizons needed to be explored or ideas pursued. No experience needed defending. No choices required justification. We welcomed our exhaustion and sank into it like a soothing warm bath. Prior to rejuvenation, we recognized the utter imperative of emptying space, the necessity of draining the glass completely so it might someday be fully refilled.

Later I marveled how rare it is in my experience to rest. To truly rest. To just rest. To give myself permission to be. To hold no thoughts, to hold no grudges, to hold no importance, to hold no intention. To open hands and heart and let go. It is not in either of our natures to do nothing.

On a sunny day we would not have been capable of absolute rest. Had it been a sunny warm spring day, our empty tank, our need for rejuvenation, would likely have taken a different route. We would have walked. We would have recounted and debriefed. We would have puzzled. We would have made pictures. We would have turned our faces toward the warm sun piercing the cool breeze.

Instead, the snow-ally brought us a surprise gift. A rare and welcome opportunity. A noiseless mind. A quiet heart. A clean white slate made of a deep appreciation for the essential things.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW

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A New Day [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

A new day.

Sometimes it takes a storm blowing through to make you realize what has value and what does not. The tornado takes the house, scatters the possessions, but the family is safe. No one is harmed. The wind takes the clutter and leaves a certain clarity.

I once knew an accomplished artist who lost his life’s work in a house fire. What I assumed would be tragic, for him was an opportunity: “I’m alive,” he said, elated. “Now I have a completely clean slate and can discover my work all over again.”

The storm comes. The veil falls. The Great and Powerful Oz is nothing more than a man with levers and illusions of grandeur hiding his real face behind a curtain. Dorothy suddenly knows without doubt what is true and what is fabrication. It’s quietly liberating.

She watches The Great and Powerful drift away in his hot air balloon and clumsy illusion. Dorothy realizes that no one can give her what she already possesses, an integrity of purpose, a vibrant spirit, surrounded by honest people who love her in a place she calls “home.”

A new day.

Nap with DogDog & BabyCat, 36″x48″, mixed media

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After All [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Food is the most primitive form of comfort.” ~ Sheilah Graham Westbrook

In anyone’s book, our circumstances at present are extreme. And so, we cook.

My role in the kitchen is sous chef and clean-up. Kerri is the master chef though she is generous and does not require me to address her as “Yes, Chef!” Dogga is the third member of our team. He is an enthusiastic taste-tester and also serves the role of floor clean-up. We are a good team. The simple action of cooking together is large part of our recipe for cooking-up-comfort. We love it.

The actual food that we cook is, of course, a huge part of the comfort infusion. We range from chicken soup to Kerri’s pasta sauce. Lately, we’ve been making grilled cheese sandwiches and, I’ve noticed, recipes that require mashed potatoes. Truthfully, we could probably strip everything else off the plate but the mashed potatoes are the essential. They are the epicenter of comfort. We have in the past made mashed potatoes all-by-themselves and feasted on an intentional mainline of food-cheer.

My theory of comfort food is paradoxical (and obvious). Comfort food takes you back in time. Kerri’s mom made comfort-mashed-potatoes so they are a direct connection to Beaky. Comfort food also drops you into the present moment. The delicious fulfillment of warm expectation. There’s nothing like taste and smell – a happy dance of two senses – to pull everything into the right-here-and-now. And in this moment, wrapped in a yummy warm blanket of tasty comfort, all is well. At least for now. And, in the end, it makes us realize that this bite, this moment, is all that we have. Things are not so bad after all.

right now/right now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

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Life Spilling Out [David’s blog on KS Friday]

If this beautiful winter skeleton of Queen Anne’s Lace was a sculpture – my sculpture – it would be titled The Impossibility of Containment. Trying to hold on to the magic movement of life. It spills out in every direction.

I once had an espresso martini in Aspen, Colorado. It was the single best drink I’ve ever had. It was so good I did something I never do: I had two. I savored every sip. Occasionally since then, in other watering holes on earth that offer a drink by the same name, I’ve tried to replicate the past. To no avail. The bar in Aspen no longer exists so, like a good sand painting, my espresso martini revelry lives where it belongs, on the wind and in my yearning.

This week I completed another trip around the sun. I look in the mirror and am sometimes surprised by the face that stares back at me. My eyes remain consistent, yet what my eyes are capable of now seeing has changed dramatically. Although I occasionally yearn for my younger face, I would never exchange my current eyes for my former sight.

I see possibility spilling out in every direction. Simplicity. I see extraordinary friends all around. Each morning I open my eyes to the one face that fills my heart to bursting. I am, as Nietzsche suggests, loving my fate. Every pothole, every mountain-to-climb, every seeming obstacle, every frustration, a magic moment, a heart-seed leading to who-knows-where. Life spilling out in every direction.

I’m practicing the skill of opening wide my arms, welcoming the impossibility of containment.

Sweet Ballet/Released From The Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

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buymeacoffee is a possibility cast onto the winds of time.

Look To Nature [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Like waves frozen in time, the tall grasses have taken on the persona of an angry sea. We’ve stood in wonder at the whipping wind sending wavelike ripples across a field of wheat; this is not that. These waves are motionless.

They are worthy of Andy Goldsworthy. If they stretched for miles and miles I’d be certain they came from the mind of Christo. Yet no human hand or mind is at work here. Nature mimics herself in these grasses. They merit our awe and attention.

Along our trail there are several nests visible. Sparrows and swallows and hornets. I cannot imagine creating something so delicate and intricate. I have opposable thumbs so would be working with more than a beak yet I doubt I could craft such a miracle. It’s taken a lifetime for me to see beyond the word “nest” and see – really see – these fabulous sculptures made of grass, sticks, and mud.

Admiring the rolling grasses as Kerri kneels to snap her photograph, E.O. Wilson slips smiling into my mind and repeats: “Nature holds the key to our aesthetic, intellectual, cognitive, and even spiritual satisfaction.”

Yes. I remember.

from my long-ago unfinished project: Kichom and Fucci. An illustration study for a story told by Kichom Hayashi

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buymeacoffee is what you make of it. nothing more. nothing less.

Travel Together [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

There are two phases. When I was younger, phase one, I thought everything I had to say was of vital importance. I thought I could help-the-world so I needed to be heard. And, I worked hard to be heard. Don Quixote. “A man of questionable sanity.” Now, each day, I open my site analytics and am astounded that anyone finds value in anything I have to write. Phase two in a nutshell: I am having a conversation with myself and am more and more certain that I know nothing at all.

Not knowing was once a fear. Something to mask. Now it is a certitude. A given. In fact, it is now something of a north star.

I am grateful beyond measure that you-out-there are reading this travelogue of my wandering mind. Truly. I am astonished that you actually choose to spend a few moments of your day with me. I know nothing of real value to share.

And then I remember. Each night Kerri and I watch videos made by through-hikers. Each hiker starts their journey alone and inevitably, through happenstance, finds their travel family. Each hiker-tale carries the same revelation: the real value of the trail is found in the people who walk it with them. No one cares what their companions know or do-not-know. They care that they walk with people of like mind, people who care for them as much as they care for the others in the group. They listen to each other. They create safety together. They laugh. They support. They share.

Although you show up on my screen as a number beneath a bar chart, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can’t possibly be reduced to a statistic. You are my travel companion and I am, in a small way, yours. Sancho Panza both directions. I hear you when your number pops up on my screen; I know that you hear me. It matters not what of my mind-rambling finds letters and words as long as they fly through space-time and find you. As long as your response, as small as a single click, finds me.

And that’s the healing part of the story. Always. I see you/you see me. I hear you/you hear me. I watch for you/you watch for me. It has very little to do with what we know and everything to do with what we experience together.

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buymeacoffee is a gratitude. nothing more, nothing less.

Celebrate And Release [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

If this was a painting it would be titled “The View from the Kitchen Window in the Middle of the Polar Freeze.” It’s lovely and abstract yet also carries hints of an impressionist sky. One hundred years of painting history all wrapped up in a single frozen moment.

When I lived on the west coast I experienced my share of earthquakes. They were of varying intensity, some subtle shakers, another knocked my neighbor’s house off the foundation. And although they were different in character and spanned a few decades of time, one thing remained constant: in the moments that followed the quake, the best of human nature stepped forward. People immediately reached to strangers and friends – it didn’t matter – to ensure that everyone was alright. A shared experience, a shaking-to-the-core, loosened all the protective layers. The light came through the frozen facade.

As we’ve written, the polar freeze has driven us into the basement to clean out the stuff-of-life collected over three decades. It’s been a minor fascination that our cleaning process has inspired stories from friends about the time that they cleaned out the stuff-of-their-lives. Amidst the many stories we’ve heard, there is a triple constant: the stuff they saved, just like us, are the artifacts of their children with the intention of someday giving the treasures to their children. Clothes. Finger paintings. Trophies. Sporting equipment. Children’s books…our collection fills many shelves that now dip from the weight of too many books packed onto too small a shelf.

The second constant: the children do not want what the parents have saved. The museum of parenthood. The cleaning commences once the parents realize that saving the artifacts was, in fact, something they did for themselves. And so their life review is called “cleaning out.”

The third constant: the cleanse is actually a portal. A next chapter, another identity, lives on the other side of the purge. New light calls through the frozen memories. The memories warm in the telling. The sharing of the tales of parenthood, lovingly mourned and with gratitude, celebrated and released.

I Will Hold You, 29.75 x 39.25, mixed media

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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.

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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.

Stand At The Fork [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Once in a vision
I came on some woods
And stood at a fork in the road
My choices were clear
Yet I froze with the fear
Of not knowing which way to go
One road was simple
Acceptance of life
The other road offered sweet peace
When I made my decision
My vision became my release.

Nether Lands by Dan Fogelberg

It happened again. We were making dinner and, before she said it, I knew exactly what she was going to say. “I’ve been here before,” I thought. Deja vu. I understand these moments as affirmations of being on the right path. The first day we met was a festival of deja vu.

Most of my life I was terrified to sing. A professor in graduate school challenged us to walk into and explore one of our fears so I took a class: singing for the utterly petrified. That wasn’t really the title of the course. I can’t remember the title because I was in a heightened state of panic the whole semester. We had to choose a favorite song to sing. I chose Nether Lands by Dan Fogelberg because it was the first album I ever owned and I used to play it over and over and over. I knew the title track by heart. I figured I’d have a better chance of staying conscious if the song and lyrics were already beaten into my brain. The fact that I am writing this so many years later is proof positive that I survived.

When we met I told her, a consummate musician, “I don’t sing and I don’t pray.” Better to spill the beans upfront than to torture her ears down the road. Managing expectations, yada yada.

“That’s too bad, ” she said. A few short months later I was singing in her choir, band and ukulele band. So much for conviction! She told me that my problem wasn’t singing, it was hearing. I had to learn to hear. I loved the implication: walking into fear requires learning to hear. I’m still learning. Deja vu!

It happened again. Carefully opening the small step ladder between the piano and the cello to hang the lampshade in her studio. “I’ve been here before,” I thought, positioning the legs of the ladder. I knew she was going to tell me to make sure the feather clip was in front. I knew she was going to wrinkle her nose. I had no idea what would come next.

It’s what I love about a good deja vu – you’ve both been there before and have no idea where you are going. It stops you for a moment of appreciation. Affirmation. Always at a fork in the road: simple acceptance of life and sweet peace. I have a feeling that, no matter the choice, all roads eventually lead to the same place. Hanging a funky cool lampshade. A wrinkled nose. Learning to hear. A deja vu. An affirmation of being right where I am supposed to be.

recorded on an old iphone on a piano in need of tuning… A Shred of Hope © 2020 Kerri Sherwood

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

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buymeacoffee is a path you’ve previously walked but only now remember.

Count The Surprises [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

The weather by the lake is often different than a mile inland. While the rest of our area was buried in snow, we had slush fall from the sky. This was not graupel or sleet. It was as if the 7-Eleven-in-the-sky opened the Slurpee nozzle and it filled up our back patio with slushy like a kiddie pool. Only the color wasn’t neon lime. And then it froze. I grew up in snow country. I’ve lived all over this nation. I’ve never seen Slurpee pour from the heavens. It was a surprise.

The second surprise was even more curious and beautiful. When it froze, the slush formed into polka-dots. Ice circles similar to the phenomena that occasionally occurs on the lake. I’m certain there’s a meteorologist out there who can explain what happened in our back yard – and it’s on my list to investigate – but for now I want to sit in the awe of the tiny circles.

The third surprise came with the blizzard and deep freeze that followed the next day. Again, our area was buried in snow yet we had nary an inch. What we did have was a waterfall that poured in the back door. Lovely and cold. Definitely surprising. I opened the door to let Dogga out and stared through the streaming water – as if I was standing behind a waterfall. Only then did I realize that my feet were soaked. And then I realized that in the sub-zero temperatures, the waterfall was quickly freezing. Kerri met my soaking wet excitement, “We have a problem!” with her usual stoicism. It arises in crisis moments. She took one look at the waterfall, yawned and said, “Ice damming.”

And then she went to boil water. Focus on the solution and not the problem.

We spent the entire day on ladders, pouring the boiling water and using a hair dryer and rubber mallet on the roof of our house, breaking the dam, and draining the reservoirs that formed behind them. Ice damming usually involves the gutters but not this time. Those ice circles, the miracle delivered by Slurpee from the sky and subsequent freeze, made a perfect wall of ice running the length of the roofline.

It was the fourth surprise, something I’d never seen before. The dam was my least favorite and the most labor intensive, but I have no complaints. In a world awash in “same-old-same-old,” I can say with confidence that this week was nothing less than a festival of the unexpected, a celebration of surprises. Who wouldn’t be grateful for that!

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buymeacoffee is…