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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Breathe Again [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

To say I sobbed is a bit of an overstatement. I’d been raking leaves all morning. It was clear and crisp. I’d just finished stuffing the last green bio-bag in the front yard and hauled it to the curb for pick-up. All that remained was to collect the bags from the backyard and move them to the curb. That’s when I heard her playing the piano. I couldn’t believe it! I slipped beneath her studio window and listened. This was no small moment.

She played after she fell and broke both her wrists. She couldn’t open a doorknob or button her shirt but, somehow, she found a way to play. She had to. The pandemic had already taken one of our jobs. Her bosses could not find the heart or moral compass to afford her time off to heal. One hand in a cast. One hand in a splint. Nine useful fingers and an immobilized thumb. She played. Nine months later, nearing complete healing, she fell again. A wet floor. No signs. This time, the injury was debilitating. The depression that followed was a deep dark crevasse. She stopped playing altogether. She sometimes stood at the door of her studio but rarely entered.

These past few years I can count on one hand – well, two fingers – the times she played. When Rob visited I asked her to play for him. She chose a few pieces. Rob was moved to tears. I could tell it hurt her. She was asked by an old friend to play for a transgender memorial service. With her brace she was able to play the two 15 minute sections.

Sitting beneath her studio window, listening, the pain and loss, the weight of the past few years flowed out of my eyes. A flood of relief. She was playing. For herself. For no other reason than to feel the muse. It was a step forward. A step toward. A step back into the light. A moment of possibility.

I felt as if I’d been holding my breath these many years. Now, perhaps, on this crisp fall day, it was time to breathe again.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LEAVES

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buymeacoffee is a moment of possibility, a sigh of relief at the continued creation of the artists you value.

Imagine It [David’s blog on KS Friday]

It looked like a spiny dragon’s tail or Nudibranch that abandoned ship eons ago and, somehow, its petrified remains traveled from the deep of the sea to a trail in Wisconsin. Perhaps it was the skeleton tip-of-the-tail of a dinosaur. My imagination flooded with mythic-creature-possibilities. As Kerri knelt to snap her photos, I carefully scanned the woods. One cannot be too careful when dragons and dinosaurs might be lurking about.

While I was pretending to be watched by Jurassic critters, it occurred to me that imagination is a muscle. In order to exercise it, to make it strong, it must be used. With intention.

In truth, we (humans) daily exercise our imaginations though we don’t know it. Imagining that we can control what other people see or think. Imagining that the worst will happen. Imagining what might have been. Imagining that our day will be mundane. Imagining ourselves too small in the story of our lives. Imagining ourselves as superheroes saving the day.

That’s one way of exercising the muscle. Another way is to imagine possibilities. Imagine the ridiculous. Pop open the expanse of conceivability. In this direction of imagination exercise, it’s hard to take yourself so seriously.

And, I suppose, that’s the point. Hope slips in when life is held lightly. Hope and imagination-in-the-direction-of-impossible-possibilities are one and the same thing. Spacious. Surrender. In my reckoning, when I have been in the tightest bind or stuck in the worst scenario, the person who shows up, the door that opens, the hand that extends…is beyond my imagining and arrives when I let go.

Last night, deep in the night, I lay awake and listened to Kerri’s soft breathing and Dogga’s gentle old-dog snores. The window was cracked to allow in the cool night air. The chimes sang softly in the midnight breeze. A decade ago, I couldn’t have believed such riches of life would be mine.

But like a dinosaur watching me in the woods, I must have, somewhere way back then, closed my eyes and imagined it.

blueprint for my soul © 1996 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SPINY STICK

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buymeacoffee is a dragon tale whispered to your soul from the deep woods in hopes that your imagination will take over and run wild. It could happen.

Invite The Bacon [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Of course, the problem with leaving well enough alone is that the phrase only pops up when things are not well enough. When change is on the horizon, when a hidden truth is about to breach the crusty surface, when the globe spins and a new insight dawns, it is a sure bet that the keepers of the conservative will bellow, “Leave well enough alone!”

Call it creative tension. The space between progress and conservation is a taut rubber band. Both poles serving a necessary purpose, neither is trustworthy when absent the other pole. So, phrases like, “Leave well enough alone” are signal flags, signs that the tension on the band is high and the snap forward is inevitable. Pulling back always signals an impending forward step. Always.

I’m particularly fond of this image. A tomato slice demanding inaction. And won’t this crabby tomato be surprised in a day or two to see the icky green results of inactivity! Better to invite the bacon, lettuce and toasty bread to the plate, a bit of salt and pepper, and get on with the business of yummy sustenance. Progress by any other name.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE

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buymeacoffee is a progressive impulse meeting a conservative over-reaction causing deep distress that can only be cured by an action in the direction of intention to make a better world for the tomatoes that envision it.