Look Closer [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

It is not in my nature to look closely. I more easily jump into the sky and see clearly the lay of the land. It’s why I am drawn to metaphor and appreciate the universal stories. It’s what made me useless as a consultant: no one really wants to know where they are going or what icebergs lurk over the horizon. They particularly resent it when you tell them that the big horse is filled with Greek warriors. Ask Cassandra!

Detail, on the other hand, has been an acquired skill that I am and will be forever acquiring. Kerri is a master teacher. Detail is her forte’.

What I am learning at this phase of my life: the real riches come in tiny packages. The miracle of a snowflake. Holding hands. 20’s laughter. The sound of crunching leaves. A hope held close. Savoring the broth. A gesture of kindness, like a smile or holding open a door. Expressing appreciation to the bus driver or the wait staff. Sitting still inside a poem to fully taste the sound of words.

Paying attention. I know I write about this often. It’s a part of the learning…

Of course, the tiny doors (a closer look) always open on infinite passageways so there remains great worth in jumping into the sky to see how vast is the landscape of the heart. Both/And. Beautiful either way.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SNOWFLAKE

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Hope Is Like That [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

A project has me spending some quality time inside Thornton Wilder’s play, Our Town. Grover’s Corners. Emily, after her death, takes the opportunity to revisit a day in her life. It’s not what she expects. Returning to her grave on the hillside she says of the living to Mother Gibbs, “They don’t understand, do they?”

“No, dear. They don’t understand.”

She learns, as another character in the graveyard, Simon Stimson, says, “Now you know! That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those…of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another.”

I thought about Emily and Simon Stimson as we walked with Dogga along my favorite stretch of the DesPlaines River Trail. It’s an eight mile out-and-back section. Deer. Heron. Sandhill cranes. Hawks. It passes through meadow and grove, the river snaking close and moving away.

The day was brisk and clear. When we came to the small land bridge, Dogga’s delight filled me with delight. We always stop at the bridge to look for turtles and frogs. This late in the year it is unlikely to find them but we stop anyway. Hope is like that.

And, just for a moment, I stepped out of my cloud of ignorance. Kerri, holding Dogga’s leash, peering with great expectation into the trickling stream. “Do you see anything?” she asked. So overwhelmed at the beauty of it all, I could say nothing.

Had I been able to speak I would have said, “I can see everything.”

For a fleeting moment…

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CREEK

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buymeacoffee is a moment in time begging you not to miss it. that’s all. that’s enough.

See Like Seuss [David’s blog on KS Friday]

If you’ve ever pondered where Dr. Seuss got his idea for the fabulous hairstyles on many of his characters, look no further than the dried flowers in the field. Thing One and Thing Two wave to us as we walk by. The Grinch wrinkles his nose and grins.

Of course, I made that up. I have no idea where the good doctor found his inspiration. It’s a good bet that he, like most creators of characters, found a visual spark from the crazy shapes and wild styles in nature. I look at the zany filaments of this yellowing pod and see a cartoon henchman, narrowing eyes beneath a spiky do. Of course, my henchman, like all good cartoon thugs, has no real power. He likes to think he can intimidate, an omega with alpha delusions. It’s what makes him lovable. I’ll name him Thistle.

I personify everything. Projecting my human-ness on everything is a quality that identifies me as uniquely human. We see angry volcanoes. Trees that talk. Cartoons animals are a festival of personification. Wily Coyote. Humorless gods in the sky. A cat in a hat. Mother Earth.

We are a miracle of creativity, whether we recognize it or not. Projecting ourselves, infusing our fears and fantasies, the sacred and profane, on every mountain, rock and weed. Even on other people. What we see is…what we see. A creative lens. Is it any wonder we’ve filled volume after volume seeking but never finding truth? Agreement is the best we can do.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I just saw a fox in socks…

transience/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THISTLE

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buymeacoffee is an animated feature length movie comprised of characters drawn from nature who unwittingly support the artists that drew them. It’s a must see.

Color It Red [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Red is the color of anger. Unless it’s not. It’s also the color of Santa suits and fire trucks. It’s the color of embarrassed cheeks, burning bushes and carpet pathways for the glitterati when bubbling with the anticipation of receiving an award. Red is associated with the base chakra. It’s the lowest vibrating color-energy on the spectrum. It’s easy to see. Male cardinals want their perspective mates to see red.

Red is the color of fall. And orange. And yellow. We walk toward it on the trail. Sometimes it’s too much to comprehend.

Horatio just told me of a trip he took through Canyon de Chelly. Red Rocks. He told me that he always feels that something is “right” when he’s there. Like humans and this big universe belong together. Timeless. Ancient. Mystical. Impermanent. Not separate. Red is the color of belonging.

That’s how I felt standing before this sumac. A staghorn sumac on fire with the season. My only purpose: to appreciate. To witness. Red is the color of awe.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED SUMAC

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buymeacoffee is…

Watch Them Play [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I’m not sure if the colors are especially exceptional this year or if I am simply more conscious of them. Either way, every time I step out the door I am gobsmacked by the vibrant hues and color-tones.

An earlier version of me would have been compelled to recreate the color-pop on a canvas. Now I am content to stand still in appreciation. To drink it in. The colors change each day. They change with the light. Grey skies make the color sing. When the sun is low in the sky, the plumes on the grasses are electric.

For fun I downloaded “color tips” from Art2Life. He’s terrific. One of his tips is to make one color the hero of the composition. So, I’ve found myself – in mid-gobsmack – asking “Which color in this autumn symphony is the current hero?” And, to my great delight, there is always a standout, a color hero that commands my eye. And, to my even greater delight, when I return later to the exact location, there is an entirely different hero; the previous hero has no problem moving into a supporting role.

Light flickers. The sun arcs across the sky. The heroes share the stage without an ounce of competition. Theirs is an infinite game. I am so grateful that I am here to watch the colors play.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GRASSES

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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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Go With Abundance [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The sound of the tree cracking sent us scurrying. We didn’t know if the falling branch was above us so it was best to move until we could locate it. Fifty feet behind us and well off the trail, an enormous branch collapsed, snapped, fell, and broke into several pieces. “What are the odds that we’d be here to see it fall?” Kerri asked. “I wonder what it means when you see a limb or tree fall?”

We Googled the symbolism and, not surprising, it’s either a good omen or a bad omen. It depends on what you choose to believe. It might not mean anything at all. To re-use a favorite quote from Alan Watts, “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.” We decided the falling limb was a terrific sign of positive changes on the horizon.

There’s a sigh of relief that comes when you realize that meaning isn’t found, it is made. It is given. We are, all of us whacky humans, in every moment, giving meaning to our experiences. Is it good or bad? That depends on what we choose to see. The real magic happens when the measuring stick of meaning is not based on a polarity. There are infinite colors available between good and bad.

A chance meeting happens because of a missed plane. The loss of a job opens new avenues of possibility. A closed road leads to an amazing discovery. We found a lost puppy on the side of a county road because we made a detour to avoid road work. My heart blew wide open when that puppy leapt into my arms. “We were meant to come this way,” agreeing on the meaning we wanted to make.

Earlier on the trail we found a blue jay feather. The blue bird of happiness. A sign of abundance and healing. Of course, it might also signal the opposite. “I think I’ll go with abundance and healing,” I said.

“Me, too,” Kerri agreed. “Why not?”

[If you want your heart to blow open, listen to Kerri’s THE WAY HOME. It gets me every time]

the way home/this part of the journey © 1998 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost on BLUE JAY FEATHER

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Exercise Your Glimmer Eyes [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

They are easy to miss. Glimmers. They appear and disappear so fast. The first sip of coffee in the morning. The hint of fall on the cool breeze. Dogga snuggles in for a pet.

At a dinner party with friends, Kerri and I caught each others eye. It’s good to be alive. Together. With these treasured friends. A tiny smile of a shared recognition.

We made Joan’s tomato soup recipe. Even before we tasted it, the soup wrapped us like a warm comforting blanket.

We set our chairs to catch the waning sun. Also, to see the hummingbird feeder. “I love them!” she exclaimed as the first tiny iridescent bird buzzed in for a drink.

We cursed Jay when we opened the party-size bag of Cape Cod chips. We cursed Frank for saying that Apothic was a very drinkable wine. “Now we can’t help ourselves!” we giggled, having fully divested ourselves of responsibility, diving headlong into our guilty pleasures.

After an exhausting day, we climb into bed with newly washed sheets. “Oh, god!” I sigh.

They are easy to miss. Glimmers. They appear and disappear so fast. They are abundant, like stars in the night. Too many to count. Perhaps that is why they are so easily overlooked.

It’s an odd quirk of human nature to focus almost entirely on the low hanging clouds, to ball our fists and curse our misfortune. Yet, with the smallest bit of intention, focusing on the glimmers is infinitely doable. It’s like a muscle. The more you exercise your glimmer-eyes, the easier it is to see the sparkles. Even through the clouds.

The unique sound of her fingers tap-tapping on the keys. The comfy anticipation of our morning ritual: sharing what we’ve just written.

[I LOVE this piece, Good Moments. If you never have, give it a listen. It will give you a sweet lift]

good moments/ this part of the journey © 1998 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about GLIMMERS

what you can do: share it. like it. support it. comment on it. any and all are greatly appreciated.

buymeacoffee is an online “tip jar” so you might support the continued work of the artists you value.

Expect Surprise [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Hiding in the cornfield that currently grows beneath our bird feeder is a sweet morning glory. The pop of pale blue drew our attention. “Where did this come from?” I asked. “Maybe a morning glory seed was mixed in with the bird seed.”

Kerri rolled her eyes. “Maybe a bird brought it,” she said.

“A landscaping bird!” I reveled. “The blue accent does wonders for the corn.”

The surprise morning glory reminded me of the frogs that used to appear from nowhere in our little pond. There are very few routes to our pond that don’t include a ride on a bird or other form of critter transport. I can’t imagine the frogs made a dedicated pilgrimage to our pond though that’s not a bad idea for a children’s book. It’s been a few years since we had a surprise-frog-in-residence and we miss them.

Cultivate your surprise. It was among the teachable notions that the younger version of me used to peddle to clients. Cubicle sitting, rote learning, the daily grind…can dull your eyes and lead you to believe that today is just like yesterday. It’s not. Frogs appear in ponds. Pale blue calls from the corn. Insights come. People smile and offer a hand. Old friends appear from nowhere.

In one of the social streams I read that entering the day with a simple shift of language, from “today I have to” to “today I get to”, can change your world. The power of language is the power of perception. Decide what you see. Entering a mystery is much more fun than stepping into a rerun. The same idea bubbles beneath cultivating surprise. Expect each day to be filled with surprise. Look for it and you will find it. A pop of blue in the corn. A frog from nowhere. An opportunity knocking. Where will the next surprise come from?

I couldn’t help myself. This is Eve. 48x48IN, Acrylic on panel. A surprise apple;-)

read Kerri’s blogpost about MORNING GLORY

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