Sit On The Tooth [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on May 8, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

you can sit on the tooth copy

It is a massive understatement to say that Kerri is NOT a happy camper when a trip to the dentist is necessary. A childhood filled with dental work sans novocaine has left her with some serious dentist ptsd. All you need do is say the word, “dentist” to her and her motor functions seize; that is, she locks up and cannot move.

Our dentist is kind. Someone is always available to hold the door open when I carry Kerri into the office. They take her in immediately so that I don’t have to peel her off a wall or otherwise pry her fingers from the furniture. The assistant knows to have the chair pre-reclined and the snap-on bib at the ready. The dentist is used to entering the room and finding me holding my wife firmly to the chair (truth: I sit on her legs so she cannot move). The dentist and I chit chat while my wife-chair bucks and curses. He pretends that all of his patients require spousal restraint.

And then, for reasons unknown to all, Kerri gives in to her predicament. It is not accurate to say that she relaxes but the struggle ceases. She sighs a mighty sigh and says, “Okay.” I look to the dentist for my cue and, mercifully, he says, “You can sit on the tooth.” There is a tooth-shaped stool in the corner and, exhausted from the patient delivery process, I slump onto my tooth stool.

Nothing of what I wrote is true but all of it is accurate. I lie outrageously while telling the absolute truth. Kerri fears dentists. Getting her there is, well, a process. Our dentist is world-class-kind. There is a stool shaped like a tooth. I am always grateful when I finally land on the tooth. The details, exaggerated or otherwise inflated, are true by degrees.

All that I know is, her dentist-ptsd is now my dentist-ptsd.  I’d much rather face the drill myself than face the fury of getting my wife there. The words I most fear in our house: “Oh, no, I think I cracked a tooth.”

 

read Kerri’s blog post about SIT ON THE TOOTH

 

 

not our best morning minturn website box copy

weeping man ©️ 2015 david robinson

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Study It [on DR Thursday]

Posted on April 25, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

Although this news will come as a blow to my ego, I am not a genius. My work is not opening new and exciting doors in the trajectory of western art. My boyhood fantasy of becoming the next Picasso has evolved into the happy reality of becoming the only…me. I love to paint. That is more than enough. Becoming, with no end in sight.

I rarely do studies or rough drafts. Only when a painting is giving me fits do I stop and study it. And, if I actually stop to do a study, the next step is to wipe the painting off the canvas. You might say that the act of doing a study is a warning to the elusive painting. “Last chance, dude.”

FACE THE SUN began as a study, a warning to CHASING BUBBLES. I was ready to wipe it away. In fact, I was cackling at the satisfaction a fresh start would bring. Kerri intervened. She has an uncanny sense for knowing when I am about to wipe away a painting. More than once, at the very moment my hand is reaching to annihilate the trouble-maker-painting, she rushes in to plead its case. I knit my brow. “You’re kidding, right?”

CHASING BUBBLES lived to see another day. Cleaning the studio, I saw the study that saved the painting. I liked it so I finished it and called it FACE THE SUN. Kerri came into the studio and said, “That painting makes my neck hurt.”

“What?! You’re kidding, right?”

She smiled her “gotcha” smile. Not only am I not the next Picasso but the painter that is becoming me is gullible. I am not a genius but I am an easy mark.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about FACE THE SUN

 

 

snapchat website box copy

 

face the sun/chasing bubbles ©️ 2019 david robinson

 

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Step In The Box [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on April 16, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

bcat tape box copy

Jen told Kerri about it. Make a square on the floor with blue tape. It will act like a siren call to your cat who will NEED to sit inside the square. I was a doubter. Worse, I was a loud doubter.

During one of our famous Sunday night dinners, Kerri told 20 about the blue tape square and its kitty magnetism. I remained a stalwart disbeliever. After a glass of wine we retrieved the blue tape from the studio and slapped down a rough square on the kitchen floor. We poured more wine and waited. I scoffed.

In a few minutes BabyCat (lovingly known to me as Sumo) thump-thumped into the kitchen, went directly to the tape, circumnavigated the square (counterclockwise) and like a kitty in a current, was  pulled as if by a force into the square. He sat down. Kerri roared with triumph and took a picture for proof. She knows I am capable of denying the undeniable so she was quick to get photographic proof. 20 shook his head at me and said, “I thought you’d have learned by now that she is always right.” I am, as previously reported, a slow study. Very slow.

BabyCat sat tight in his blue tape square throughout our turmoil. He seemed oblivious to our antics, He was content. And, to add further insult to my injury, he laid down. He closed his eyes. He purred. He fell asleep, safe and sound in his blue tape box.

DogDog runs in circles. Circles are in his DNA. I suppose box attraction, real or imagined, must be encoded into BabyCat. It was true. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping into the box. I imagine the defined space made him comfortable. It made him feel safe.

I found myself wishing that somewhere in my DNA was the coding for box attraction. Or, at least a balance to the chain-of -command written into my coding: box avoidance. I wondered what it must feel like to see a defined space and not want to stir it up or redefine it. To open it up. I wondered what it must feel like to see a box, step inside, and give in to contentment. To purr with confinement.

20, watching me move through my troubled thought process, laughed. He sipped his wine and said, “You’ll never learn.”

True. Too true.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about the BLUE TAPE SQUARE

 

babycatContemplating website copy

 

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Yawn! [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on March 20, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

wide mouth babycat copy

As I’ve mentioned before, BabyCat is not a stealthy kitty. When he jumps off the bed it sounds like someone dropped a cannonball on the wood floor. Mice feel particularly safe in his realm because they can hear him coming from a mouse-mile away.  That, and BabyCat can’t be bothered to actually chase mice. He prefers to yawl while watching them skitter (note: a yawl is a two-masted sailing vessel but I think it is also a near perfect match for the sound BabyCat makes when not-mousing. My apologies to sailors worldwide for my cat-sound-co-opt-yawl-onomatopoeia).

Often, we write these posts from the raft with BabyCat snoozing at Kerri’s side and DogDog chewing his bone at the aft of the raft. When the posts are written, prior to posting, we read them aloud to each other. Inevitably, in mid-read, BabyCat yawns a mighty yawn. Commentary? Oxygenation? Both, most likely. He is not a fan of having his post-breakfast snooze interrupted by our blather.

After his mighty yawn he yowls at us (we are not mice so the vowel is different), and hops off the raft (cannonball drop) and thump-thumps off to find a quieter spot, a place to take his pre-lunch nap.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about WIDE MOUTHED BABYCAT

 

babycatContemplating website copy

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Bust Yourself [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on March 18, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

something wrong with me box copy

As you know, I am a lover of the paradox. Among my favorite incongruities in this American culture is the hyper-celebration of the individual amidst the hyper-pressure to swim in the mainstream. To belong by standing out. To be distinct by shopping the brand stores. Within our national schizophrenia, we are, each of us, a festival of quirks, a riot of split intentions.

I laughed out loud when 20 told us his grocery store story. Standing in an aisle of hundreds of soap brands; ice-blue, blossom-pink, orange-orange, lemon-yellow, cool lilac… stacked taller than most people can reach, 20 carefully scrutinized all of the bottles. He gasped! He spotted a bottle of dish soap that seemed to have an ounce more in it! Elated, he looked left and right to make certain no other shopper had yet seen what he saw. With stealth, he reached way to the back of the shelf to snag his prize. The hunter trapped his game and wrestled it into his basket. He quickly sped from the aisle putting distance between him and other dish-soap-hunters. “There must be something wrong with me!” he exclaimed laughing at himself.

A mountain of choices, an ounce of triumph. Do you recognize it? Life lived in the paradox. It is in our national dna.

It makes for a festival of beautiful quirks. A riot of split intentions. We laugh when we bust ourselves standing in the paradox. You’ll know you are there when through your amusement you exclaim, “There must be something wrong with me.”

 

read Kerri’s blog post on SOMETHING WRONG

 

 

closeup at jonathans website box copy

 

 

 

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Organize Your Principle [on Not-So-Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on February 27, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

tupperware wall cropped copy

On a snowy cold day a few weeks ago, Brad and Jen rearranged the books in their library according to color. Their shelves are now a gorgeous gradation of color through the spectrum. “It’s cool,” Brad said laughing, “but now we can’t find anything.”

Organizing principles. They are the silent partners in most collaborations and conflicts. If shared, they make things easy to find. If not, they make things impossible to see. The genius of our government is based on the simple recognition that there is more than one way to organize. The breakdown of our government comes with the refusal to consider that there is more than one way to organize. My-way-or-the-highway is a great organizing principle if you are a hermit but a lousy choice if community is part of your equation.

‘I am my brothers’/sisters’ keeper’ is an organizing principle. As is ‘every man/woman for him/her self.’ “We The People…” is a declaration of an organizing principle.

With growth comes new necessities. That generally also brings a need to revisit the principles of organization. A teenager operates according to an entirely different set of imperatives than did their 5 year old self. Nations grow and change. They mature (one hopes). We have courts ostensibly to help us hold a common set of principles amid the pains of growth and change.

Distraction and deflection, intentional clutter, concocted chaos sometimes obfuscate the presence of organizing principles. But the greater principles do not go away. Dust settles. The principles remain. We will hear them again when we speak in quiet voices.

Kerri and I walked through School Days Antique Mall, through booths, many stacked with clutter. It is fun to sort through but hard to see what’s really there. Because I am usually awash in metaphor I thought how much the Mall felt like our nation. Stacks of chaos. Warring organizing principles. But, just when I felt like I couldn’t breathe, we rounded a corner into a highly organized room of colorful Tupperware. Hope! There was space and air. It stopped me in my tracks. Tupperware organized by color. The same system as Brad and Jen’s books!  I laughed aloud. The color-organizing-principle! Applied to Tupperware, I could in an instant find anything. I could see.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about COLORFUL TUPPERWARE

 

kettlemoraineacornwebsitebox copy

 

 

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Reason The Random [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on January 29, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

ice pops copy

It’s cold and getting colder. Alaskans might call us namby-pambies but the wind chill is racing for -52 degrees, so I’ve decided warmth is a much more valuable commodity than pride. DogDog agrees. He’s definitely more interested in a belly-belly than his usual Rin-Tin-Tin backyard run-around fantasy. Usually when I say, “Do you want to go out?” he jumps and yips and races me to the door. A few moments ago I asked and he rolled on his back and yawned. Never underestimate the power of circumstance to influence your choices and change the arc of your day/life!

We chose this image of snow on Sedum long before we knew that the next ice age would begin today.  After last week’s big snow, Kerri called to me from the porch, pointed to the Sedum and said, “Doesn’t that look like ice pops?” Pour Kool-Aid into Tupperware molds and put them in the freezer. The popsicles, ice pops, are shaped just like the snow on the Sedum. A good treat for a hot summers day. A good image to invoke good memories. A good image to invoke even more powerful yearning for a hot summer’s day! From snow on Sedums to ice-pops to the desire for summer sun on my face! I delight in how mind works! Random associations. Color my life rich.

Right now, as I write about the randomness of life and the power of circumstance, Kerri  is sitting next to me. She’s snickering, using a Snapchat filter to send a message to her niece, Wendy.  Amidst a sudden blaring polka, she just smiled and said to her phone in an impish little voice, “Here’s what I look like with a nose ring, lipstick and pink hair!” She laughed, sent the chat and showed her new pink doppelganger to me.

Cogito, ergo sum. Yeah, right! Someone should have told Descartes that thinking has almost nothing to do with it.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about ICE POPS

 

-52 website box copy

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Play Your Part [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on January 22, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

tissue box copy

It is our grocery store ritual. We wander up and down the tissue aisle and Kerri disparages the box designs. “Ugly!” she exclaims. “Who designs this stuff?!” she howls as frightened shoppers turn their carts and flee.

My role in the ritual is to suffer silently, to feign agreement. “Yes, it’s horrible,” I say. Inside, I wonder why I’ve never noticed or given any thought to the design of tissue boxes. “We should get a box cover that you like,” I suggest in ritual male fix-it-mode.

Kerri huffs in disapproval. “They should let me design the boxes!” she mutters as she rejects another design. I imagine the layers of security assigned to prevent her from gaining access to the tissue box design studio. A kind of tissue TSA. I turn away to hide my smile. This is serious stuff!

True to our ritual, on the third pass down the aisle, after each box has been considered and rejected at least twice, she pulls two from the shelf and thrusts them in my direction. “Which of these is least offensive,” she glares, making the decision mine. “Hmmmmmm,” I respond in a desperate attempt to stall. I’d be a fool to express a preference, especially since I don’t have one. I pretending to scrutinize the boxes. I stroke my beard, “I don’t know. What do you think?” I ask in ritual male-avoidance-mode.

“It doesn’t matter!” she frowns, tossing a box with a happy phrase into our basket, handing the losing dot pattern box to me. I gently place the second least offensive design back on the shelf.

“You’d think they’d design more attractive boxes,” she says, completing this ritual and heading for the laundry detergent aisle. Pushing the basket, I prepare myself for our next custom: opening bottles of fabric softener and huffing scents to find the least offensive smell.

As I roll toward this ritual assault on my sense of smell, I always think, “Well, at least the tissue ritual doesn’t give me a headache,” and I wonder how I lived so long without thinking about or at least considering the scent of fabric softener.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about TISSUE BOX DESIGN

 

wideopenmouths website box copy

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Take A Walk In The Snow [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on January 16, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

snow on the lakefront copy

I just wrote a post about global warming and then I cut it. In truth, I spent a about an hour reading and researching and cross-checking things. We’ve been measuring the ocean temperatures everyday for decades. We’ve been recording levels of human carbon emissions into the atmosphere for decades. The data is there. The science is there. The evidence is there. So, too, is the counter-narrative. A Chinese hoax? The Deep State? So much conspiracy! And, really, what does that have to do with a photograph of snow at night? Delete!

The embrace of the counter-narrative fascinates me. The committed belief in what is demonstrably false -led me to read a bit about denial psychology. Here’s the dictionary definition: “a defense mechanism in which confrontation with a personal problem or with reality is avoided by denying the existence of the problem or reality.”

So, then, I started writing a post about the denial psychology run amok these days in the USA. If you don’t know what I’m writing about then (to borrow a phrase I read today) you are either a Martian or a watcher of Fox news. I cut that post, too. I suspect you are as sick of the lazy-minded debates, entrenchment and ever-present fearmongering as I am. Even I am bored by what I wrote. Nothing new! Nothing new! And, what does that have to do with a photograph of snow? Delete!

It is not uncommon for Kerri and I to take late night walks in the snow. Especially, when it is actually snowing. There is peace. There is quiet. We hold hands and listen to the sound of our feet crunching the new snow, the whisper of wind through the trees. Peace. Quiet. Listening.

We haven’t had one of our late night walks lately. There hasn’t been any snow. A dusting here and there but that hardly qualifies. And so, we wait for the return of the snow. The return of the listening, the quiet, and perhaps, too, the return of the peace.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about SNOW ON THE LAKEFRONT

 

snowheart website box copy

 

snow on the lakefront ©️ 2016 kerri sherwood

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Posted on January 9, 2019 by davidrobinsoncreative

Sometimes it is inconvenient to see all of life as a metaphor. Forever exercising the capacity to make the familiar strange and the strange familiar. Everything referential to something else. It’s no wonder people avoid me at parties!

A bar at the airport. Both the bar and the airport are liminal spaces. In-between places. Neither here nor there. Doesn’t this sound like the beginning of a detective story? Waiting for our flight at this gathering place of strangers, we decided to celebrate the beginning of our trip, some much-needed time off. A break from the grind. We ordered two glasses of wine. No sense jumping into space without sampling the airport’s finest red!

With multiple games of football playing all around us, awaiting the bartender to bring us our wine, Kerri asked me if I wanted to bowl. She was already placing the tiny yellow pins and blue bowling ball on the bar. Placing our wine beside the pins the bartender said, “Well, look at you!” Apparently we were not the first people to bowl at his bar.

I was first up. I rolled the ball. It hit the pins and bounced off. I caught the ball before it rolled off the bar. Now, as metaphors for my life go, this one is frighteningly accurate. Kerri cheered, “Do it again!” as if my direct-hit-with-no-result was intentional. My wife is hysterical. She pulled out her phone and set it up to record my ineffectual nature for posterity. I complied. I rolled. You can see the result. Kerri stopped recording before she howled with laughter. She packed up the pins before taking a turn. She promptly sent to video to many of our pals. “They’re going to love this!” she giggled.

Never, ever think that I do not serve a purpose on this earth, in this life.

In a world of metaphor, one pin falling is actually worse than no pins at all. It’s like a 25 cent tip or a 1 percent salary raise. Insult to injury. As Horatio would say, “Always the bridesmaid….” of course, it’s why people periodically sit with me at parties. Feeling good about yourself is often a product of relativity.

And, if all else fails, there is a healthy pour of the airport’s finest red. Have a good trip!

 

read Kerri’s blog post about BOWLING AT THE AIRPORT

 

gate f8 website box copy

 

 

 

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