Cranky, Earnest, Docile [David’s blog on KS Friday]

I can’t help it. I see animated characters in these spiky thistle-balls. Three spiny stooges who are sharp, sharp, sharp on the outside with nary a thought on the inside. Bullies all.

Look closely and you’ll see that each has a different character. There’s a leader who has no idea where he’s going. There is the faithful number 2 who follows the leader without question. This thistle has no idea that he’s lost. And then there’s the character I love the most: the butt of every joke, the low-man-on-the-totem-pole. The follower. This thistle is just happy to belong. He doesn’t care where he goes as long as he’s with the pack. A directionless devotee.

What I adore about my budding animated-thistle-story is that each character is defined by their relationship with the other two. Leaders cannot lead without willing followers. Likewise, the role of faithful servant, blind follower, the second in command, only knows himself relative to number one. Number two puffs up on hot air borrowed from of the boss. And the low man, the thistle picked last for the team, will take any bone thrown his way. The other two are careful not to throw too many bones. Status games are like that: high status leaders need grovelers on the bottom rung. Mo, Larry, Curly.

Cranky, Earnest, Docile.

Cranky, the thistle leader, is ego-driven. He can do no wrong so, being directionless, he is constantly proclaiming himself a victim. “The forest is out to get me!” Earnest works hard to validate Cranky’s reality. If Cranky says it is true, it must be true! “The forest has it in for Cranky!” Docile, in turn, will perform any task without question. Docile will march in the streets, break windows, lie, hide documents…all to be one of the gang and, by association, feel one-rung-above. Docile is dutiful. The noticeable absence of question or thought is what makes Docile such a rich character. He is a lemming in thistle-clothes.

The absence of direction or thought or moral compass is what makes these three spiky stooges so utterly comical. So utterly frightening. So utterly close to home out here in the real world. Animation. Our poor thoughtless cartoon nation.

Boundaries/Right Now © 2010 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blog about THISTLES

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buymeacoffee is a thumbs-up for thinking, a nod of approval for curiosity and questions.

Choose Your Metaphor [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

It was demo day in the forest. Even though I intellectually understand habitat restoration initiatives, witnessing the actual process is disturbing. Large rolling-tractor-mulching-mouths pushing down trees and grinding them to pieces nearly as easily as I mow my front lawn. Kerri said, “I can hear the trees screaming.” In a matter of a few minutes, large swaths of the dense forest – trees and all that grow and live beneath them, reduced to “a layer of material.”

A forest fire could not have done a better job though a natural process would not have seemed so brutal.

The sun came out for the first time in many days. We went to our trail to catch our breath and clear our minds. The rapid eradication of the invasive species – and anything else that went into the mechanical mouth – took my breath and filled my mind with questions. I pondered the ubiquitous necessity “to do things fast.” Plow through.

Kerri has lately been cautioning me to go slow. We could – and by all rights should – be running around the farmyard like Chicken Little. The sky isn’t falling but sometimes seems that way. Panic is good for elevating the step count and lowering insurance costs but generally not a good strategy for dealing with…anything. Rather than cluck, react and put out fires, we are sitting steadfast in our fire. We are making choices. One step, one day at a time. One step on the trail. And another. Presence.

It was when we looped away from the machinery and screaming trees that I realized – beyond the obvious – why I found this destruction so disturbing. It was a mirror of our lives. A metaphor that cut too close to home. And, it was happening in the place where we always go to sort our challenges and restore our peace-of-mind.

And so, we walked the loop again. This time, in addition to the decimation, I saw space. I could see through what was previously a dense thicket. Had we chosen to do so we could have walked into areas that last week were impenetrable. Another metaphor, more palatable. Devastation is not an end. It is a step on the trail, a moment in time. A color on the palette of life (I could go on but I won’t). I decided that I was spacious enough to hold and appreciate two metaphors. Hope. Clear seeing. New perspective. and, the shock of rapid erasure of the woods – of life – as we knew it.

Through the creak of machinery, the buzz of chainsaws, the screaming of trees and shouting of work crews, I glimpsed some distant hope. The area of the forest eradicated last year for habitat restoration is now showing signs of renewal. The same must be true for us.

Kerri gasped. A juvenile eagle perched high in the branches of a native white oak. A stalwart and steady witness to the sudden ravages. “Beautiful,” we whispered simultaneously.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TREADS

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buymeacoffee is a hardy sprout bursting through the crusty soil and reaching for the energy and life of the sun.

Unbridle Your Enthusiasm [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

In our house, no single question evokes more genuine excitement than, “Do you want to go on errands?” Vertical jumps. Full body wags. Circle zoomies. Finally, a “sit” so we can clip on the small leash that we call his necktie. He gets gussied-up for errands.

Last week Kerri wrote that our bar of contentment is low. It’s true. We don’t need much to feel fulfilled. A walk in the sun. A good cup of coffee. Cooking together. Laughter with friends. Life reduced to the moment.

We recently had a significant-morning-conversation about our egos. We discussed how these past few years have lowered the bar on our self-images. “I’m not all that,” she said, summing it up.

Quinn used to say that, “There are six billion people on this planet and you’re the only one that gives a damn about what you think.” Or how you look. Or what you feel. The other five-billion-nine-hundred-ninety-nine-million…are more concerned with how they look and what they think and feel. You are not the star in their movie. He was a terrific perspective-giver.

It’s a powerful day when you realize that you are not all that. It’s a powerful day when you realize that you are the single steward of your gifts and like any other gift they are meant to be given with no regard to how they are received. Your job is to give your gift. It’s an especially powerful day when you realize that your gift is no better or worse than any other person’s gift. It is just uniquely yours. It is not better-or-worse-than.

When the measurement falls off, when the ego takes a much needed belly punch, then the fun really begins. Flow. Love of what you do and who you are. A giddy return to child-eyes. A low bar of contentment means more and more contentment. Paint to paint. Play to play. Unbridled enthusiasm at the simplest of things. Like full body joy when going on errands.

read Kerri’s blog about ERRANDS

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buymeacoffee is a low bar of contentment offered to the artists tilting at the rowdy windmills of ego.

Stand In A Word [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Poets and philosophers have been trying to define beauty for eons. What is beautiful? It’s an impossible task since beauty is not a “thing.” It’s an experience, meaning that it is a relationship – so it is not possible to squeeze it into a fixed word definition. Like all rivers and relationships, beauty is fluid. The best we can do it recognize and appreciate being part of the relationship. We can approach it through language but will never capture it.

The English language is hard. It turns everything into a noun, a thing. I just wrote “being part of the relationship.” Even if I’d written, “being a participant in the relationship,” I’d still be stuck in the noun-trap. Participant (a thing) in another thing called “relationship”. It’s no wonder we have such difficulty wrapping our small-noun-minds around huge-global-relationships like climate change. Through language we can easily compartmentalize the most intimate of interrelationships; as a dedicated thing, climate, has nothing to do with me, also a thing. Two things rather than one relationship. Where’s a verb when you need it?

It’s always there. Our language prejudices us against our interconnectivity.

If Kerri and I have a cathedral, a place of worship, it is nature. Our trails. We go there to get quiet. To clear our busy minds. We go there when we have questions too big to merely solve. We go there when we are overwhelmed and need to ground ourselves. We go there to fill up on inspiration. We go there for the same reason we each go to our studios – to enter a conscious relationship with something bigger than our little selves. To experience that which cannot be defined. We go there to release the noun-mind, the problem-solver, and enter the relationship with beauty. To stand in another word that, like beauty, is a flowing river, impossible to contain: possibility.

Always With Us/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about CATHEDRALS

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buymeacoffee is an action, a verb, that has positive impact on the pronoun in the phrase.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FREEZE

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buymeacoffee is…

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.

Be Where You Are (David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday)

“Your soul knows the geography of your destiny.” ~ John O’Donohue, Anam Cara

A picture of Joseph Campbell floated across my stream. It included a quote, a reference to Nietzsche: “the love of your fate.” “It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment–not discouragement–you will find the strength is there.”

Love your fate. Bring love to the moment. You will find strength there.

When I was a teenager I was on a bus trip to camp. Imagine it. A bus filled with excited teens, bristling to hit the mountains for adventure and mischief. And then the bus broke down. A tsunami of disappointment was rolling through the bus until the counselor laughed at us. He challenged us to embrace this, our fate, part of the adventure. “This is it! Your adventure has already started.” he said, “Why resist it because it doesn’t fit your picture?”

Kerri and I are addicted to watching mountaineering documentaries. They boggle the mind of the average homebody because the conditions for the climb or the hike are often miserable yet there are smiles and laughter amidst the misery. In a recent film, a trek through extreme circumstances and conditions, one member of the team said, “You have to focus on the adventure and not the plan. If you fill yourself with expectations of good weather and an easy path you will be miserable.”

On the broken-down bus or the trail with the adventurer, the message is the same: get out of resistance of the reality of the moment. And, maybe, that is what it means to bring love to your fate. It’s great to have a plan. It’s necessary. But when the bus breaks down or the snowstorm blows in unexpectedly, when the job falls away, when the wrists break…As philosophers, poets, and sages across the ages have advised: be where you are.

We daily remind ourselves: the adventure has already started. Why resist it because it doesn’t fit the picture.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE YOUR FATE

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buymeacoffee is the place where fate meets support and support generates titanic appreciation.

Babble [David’s blog on KS Friday]

This could be a Jackson Pollack splash painting or an x-ray of arteries, veins and capillaries. A winter sun attempting to reach through the cover of clouds and trees.

If I believe the forecast, as hard as it tries, the winter sun will not reach us today.

I’m paying attention to language a bit more than usual. Looking up through the veins and arteries of the tree, I ask myself: What could it be? What could be? What is “it”? I shiver and am reminded of a quote I used in my book. It is appropriate for our times:

“One must be leery of words because words turn into cages.” ~ Viola Spolin

Language Matters. A double entendre. One of my favorite. It’s right up there with my favorite double entendre title of a book: The End of Education. Classic Neil Postman.

The question is, in our day-and-age, amidst the torrent of words and the easy belief-systems that words construct, how to stay out of the cage?

It’s a question with roots back to The Tower of Babel. A human race united by a single language builds a tower that reaches into the heavens. It is a threat to Yahweh. To protect his status, he confounds their speech and scatters them around the world. Language is the barrier against unity.

A bramble of branches to a Pollock painting to the inner working of life-blood to a weather report and landing at last in the Tower. An epic journey in just a few words, reaching through metaphor and pattern.

Language can be a cage. It can also set us free. Language Matters. A double entendre.

Nurture Me/Released From the Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about WINTER SUN

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buymeacoffee is. nothing more. nothing less.

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.

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.