We See It [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

It’s rare but it happens. We write a post, read it aloud – and then throw it away. It’s too much, usually a rant, and we realize the point in writing it was to vent – so there’s no need to share. Bellowing rarely helps anyone.

Years ago, completely disgusted by the actions of a school administration, my wise friend suggested I write a letter to the superintendent. After I wrote my angry letter my wise friend read my words of discontent. He smiled and then gently suggested that I put my letter in a file. I was confused. “Sometimes the important point is to write it,” he said. “Beyond that, there’s nothing to be gained.”

He was right and I am grateful to this day that I took his advice. My wise friend taught me to discern between a vent of anger and an effective use of voice.

I fairly raged for weeks following the election. Some of my pals checked in, concerned at the dark turn of my posts. A few told me that they had to stop reading since my words only served to magnify rather than mend their own grief and rage. “It was too much.”

As I learned so long ago, sometimes it is necessary to file it and sometimes it is necessary to say it.

My words were intended to be too much. Our village commons is being torched and outrage is appropriate. Ringing the alarm is necessary. It does no good to turn away from the assault on our rights, to ignore the attack on many of our citizens. It does no good to normalize each successive outrage. There is nothing to be gained in pretending that there is merit to malfeasance. There is not.

In silence there is plenty to be lost. Each voice, demanding from our elected representatives to speak truth amidst an avalanche of lies, seems imperative. Asking our government, our courts, to uphold its values and honor its laws does not seem out of place. To look-the-other-way is too much.

It is not the time to put our letters into the file. There is nothing to be gained in silence.

Sometimes the point is to share it. Sometimes it is necessary to shout into the wind, “I see what is happening here.”

Perhaps, someday, if truth and good-intention reclaim the reins of the nation, there will be a time for mending. It is not now. Now is the time to magnify, to shout together, “We see what is happening here.”

from the archives: Pieta with Paparazzi

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRICKLY

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No Comparison [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“So as long as the mind is comparing, there is no love, and the mind is always judging, comparing, weighing, looking to find out where the weakness is. So where there is comparison, there is no love.”
Jiddu Krishnamurti, On Love and Loneliness

The snow was nested in the pine needles when the wind blew the bundle from the safety of the branch. Together, snow and fascicle landed far below on the well-worn path. I would not have seen it had she not suddenly knelt, pulled her glove from her hand with her teeth and braved the bitter wind to snap an up-close photograph.

Many days later, while choosing photographs for our next Melange, she asks, “Which do you like better?” She shows me the snow-and-pine-needle-embrace among many other photographs. I rarely have a coherent answer to the better-or-worse question. Her photos are always beautiful or curious or interesting – they are certainly moments-in-the-world that I would have missed had she not stopped to capture the image. While she gazes at the beauty on the trail I am generally lost in my thought. It is generally impossible for me to compare the worth of one photograph over another.

I am working on a painting and have given myself full permission to make a mess. It’s harder than you might imagine to turn off the inner-critic, the one who demands better work, the one that compares me with others. In comparison, I always lose.

I am employing a strategy to silence my inner voice of comparison: when the critic roars I pick up a rag or wide-tool incapable of nuance and I smear. I am afraid that I don’t know what I am doing – so I make certain that I don’t; I dive head-long into not knowing. In splodging paint, I guarantee that there can be no comparison to others or to any version of my past-artist-self.

“When you are comparing, you are really not looking at the sunset which is there, but you are looking at it in order to compare it with something else. So comparison prevents you from looking fully.”
― Jiddu Krishnamurti, On Love and Loneliness

In the moment she kneels on a bitter cold day to capture the embrace of snow and pine needles, there is no comparison. She is looking fully. What I see when she shows me the photograph is a moment of seeing, a moment of beauty recognized. Love realized. It’s the same reason I stand at an easel and wipe away my trepidation. To see, subject and object undifferentiated. For a moment, no comparison. One.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNOW AND PINE NEEDLES

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The Future We Plant [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Milkweed seed pods in winter. It’s mauve flowers are by now a distant memory yet their remembrance also must serve as a desire. What would be the point of releasing its seed to the wind if there was no dream of future mauve blossoms?

Kerri and I are not so different from the Milkweed. We write everyday; our words are seeds released into the e-wind with the hope of reaching fertile hearts and minds. Who knows what blossoms our word-seeds might inspire?

Much of what we write is the mauve blossom of word-seeds sent on the e-wind by others. The thought-seed of others lands and is planted in our hearts and minds. Over time, with warmth and consideration, the seed cracks and sends new-thought shoots to the surface, seeking sun and expression. And so we write. We send. Others receive. In turn, they write or draw or dance – they send – and we receive. It’s a cycle of sharing that goes mostly unrecognized. A riot of unseen interconnectivity. It’s called inspiration.

Words, even the most casual, are more powerful than we realize. They are symbols. They are seeds of future-thought in others. Some, like invasive weeds, are capable of doing harm. They choke the inner landscape where they are planted. Some are like acorns. They land in timid hearts and produce towering strength beyond imagination.

When I listen to the discourse in our media and politics, I shudder at the seeds being planted. I marvel at the ease of misinformation, the ubiquity of lies. Words meant to mislead. Words meant to do harm. Words meant to hurt. Mean-spirited seeds.

I can’t help but wonder what fields of flowers we would produce if we understood the real power of our words. I wonder what future we plant in each other through the words we so easily release into the wind.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MILKWEED

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Walk The Path [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

On the first day of the new year we bundled ourselves against the cold and walked our usual loop. It is our custom to go outside, no matter the weather, and visit our trail as a ritual start to the new year.

The wind was bitter. Stepping onto the trail we were surprised and perplexed. The recent snow had melted off the path yet the tread-marks of walkers-past remained. It was as if a small group of people stepped in a pan of white paint and, oblivious of their tracks, continued down the trail.

We’ve seen lots of footprints in the snow. Never the reverse, snowprints on dirt.

“This could be our metaphor for the coming year,” I said. “Everything is the opposite of what is natural. Of what is normal.”

She wrinkled her brow. “I no longer know what normal is,” her quip muffled by her scarf. Too true. We are stepping into uncharted territory. Certainly unnatural.

“Shall we?” she asked, offering her gloved hand.

“Yes. Let’s.” There is nothing to be done now, in this new year, in this unnatural circumstance, but hold hands and walk the path.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOOTPRINTS

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The Fallout [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

The Economist magazine cover story, Oct 17, 2024: America’s economy is bigger and better than ever. The cover headline blared: The Envy of the World. The subtitle question: Will politics bring it back to Earth? Now we know the short answer: Yes. [check out the link*. You’ll need to sign in to read the full article but the bit you can see actually tells the full story].

The truth of our economy couldn’t penetrate the MAGA misinformation bubble. The truth of the Biden administration – in an effort to restore the middle-class – finally stimulating the economy from the middle out instead of the long debunked trickle down. An economy that is the envy of the world. Too bad. I suppose it’s possible that the promised tariffs, Project 2025, the economics of mass deportation and the full impact of the oligarch’s DOGE will pop the MAGA fantasy. We’ll see.

What’s certain is now it all starts. The fallout of mass-misinformation, the plummet back to hard reality. The full impact of the nation landing hard on its mind-bogglingly-self-destructive choice.

*The Economist is a published in Britain. It has no skin in our game.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FALL OUT

smack-dab © 2025 kerrianddavid.com

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Upside Down and Wide Open [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Years ago I had a dream. It was visceral and has stuck with me. In my dream the world flipped upside-down. What was heavy was now light. What was difficult became easy. And vice-versa. What I once did effortlessly was suddenly impossible. I could move a mountain but I could not lift a paintbrush. I awoke from my dream both frightened and enthralled.

What is possible? What is impossible? These are good questions to ask on the threshold of a new year. Earlier this week I sat down to write some intentions for the new year and the page is still blank. I’ve decided it is best to leave the possibilities wide open. A blank page has become my intention.

This morning a quote by Noam Chomsky rolled across my screen: “If you assume that there is no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope.”

I was entering 2025 with a sense of dread and then, in a matter of 24 hours, my picture for what’s possible completely flipped over. An unreachable opportunity sparked a series of heart-conversations. My heavy dread dissipated like fog meeting a warming sun. My eyes refocused on the essential instead of the periphery. I stepped across the dateline filled with hope.

Sometimes, when you least expect it, mountains move. Sometimes the world flips over. Sometimes dreams come true.

Riverstone on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about REFLECTIONS

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Howling Inside! [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by see only a wisp of smoke” ~ Vincent Van Gogh

It’s become an inside joke. She always protests when I write the phrase, howl-with-laughter. “You do not howl,” she insists, “You use the word ‘howl’ but it’s never true!” She’s a tough editor, demanding truth. I insist that I am howling with laughter on the inside and what hits the surface only looks like a giggle. It’s really a howl.

So far she isn’t buying it. Now, when we are in public and I find something amusing, I am quick to point out that my grin is really a howl. “Did you see that!” I exclaim, “That’s me howling.” She rolls her eyes.

It’s also true when that when we are out-and-about and I see something that irritates me and I scowl, I say, “Did you see that! That’s me howling.”

“Me, too,” she says.

She is more apt to accept the truth of my inner-editor-claim when I am suppressing a howl of disdain.

When I was in the first phases of my artist-life many of my paintings were howls that hit canvas. Howls of pain. Howls of resistance. Howls of fear. Even now I am not sure what a howl of laughter would look like on a canvas but I’d like to find out. I’m ready for a full spectrum howl.

Weeks ago Horatio suggested that I let myself paint “crap.” He meant that I should howl on canvas without discernment or restriction. Howl with abandon. A few days ago he attached one of Kerri’s photos in an email – sending it back-at-me – and wrote: “Dude. Make some crap from this absolutely stunning photo. Riff on it. Mess with it. Do it more than once. There’s juice in this image.” He’s working for my muse, stoking my fire, and I hope she’s paying him appropriately.

Of course, Kerri said, “Did you see what he wrote about my photo?” she gloated, “He said it was absolutely stunning. Stunning. Absolutely. Stunning. There’s juice in it. Juice!”

I maintained my best poker face. I allowed no expression to hit the surface. I did not want to feed her swagger. She smiled, saying, “I know. I’ll bet inside there you are just howling!”

one of my howls, a totem circa 1990

Visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FIRE

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The Fruit of Now [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“But the Tzutujil, with no verb “to be,” spoke about their temple as a non-rigid, fluid thing to be added to and fed with offerings. These offerings kept the world alive, like the fertilizing and watering of a tree, an ancient tree that continually bears the fruit of “now”. “ ~ Martin Prechtel, Long Life Honey in the Heart

The fruit of now.

Sometimes I try to imagine living in a culture that believes their actions matter not only to the health of the world, but the very existence of the world. All the world a sanctuary. What must it feel like to live with the understanding that what we do and how we behave, what we honor and what we bring to the sanctuary more than sustains it? It recreates it. No action is insignificant. To be the collective stewards of an ancient relationship rather than pursuers of an individual abstract heaven. The fruit of now.

Day one of a new year. Yesterday I wrote about my resolution, to be careful what I pretend to be.

Yesterday Kerri wrote about being a source of light. A luminaria. Illumination. “A lamp kept burning before the sacrament.” To be a source of light in a dark time.

This morning I awoke thinking about kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It was mentioned in the Hallmark movie we watched on Sunday night. A cherished angel, broken and repaired. Kintsugi is meant to take what is broken and make it more beautiful by highlighting rather than hiding the cracks.

Kintsugi is a nice compliment to my resolution of being careful about what I pretend to be. It is a worthy intention, rather than hide my broken bits, I might spend this year gluing them back together in such a way that I highlight rather than conceal them. To be an honestly messy human is to be a source of light in a dark time. In that way, might I become more beautiful?

Or, perhaps the becoming-more-beautiful never stops. Kintsugi is not an achievement, an end result. It is an ongoing process. I can imagine, as one of the many stewards of the ancient relationship, responsible for the health of the sanctuary, the ancient tree, becoming more beautiful is an intention, a daily practice. And, knowing that what I-and-we-do-and-say matters to the health of the whole, in this ritual passage into the new year, I-and-we might enjoy the fruit of now, taking this step across the threshold into the new year as if what we do matters to the health of the world, shining as a source of light in a dark time.

read Kerri’s blog about A Luminaria

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What We Pretend To Be [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“A Republic is an empire of laws, not men.” ~ John Adams

On the eve of the new year it is customary to make resolutions and, borrowing from the great Kurt Vonnegut, I have a suggestion for both a national and personal resolution: “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”

This year we must resolve to be careful what we pretend to be.

I grew up hearing that we are a nation of laws and that no one – no one – was above the law. That founding principle, long held, understood by all, honored by all, was applied to all. Even presidents. It is a principle at the epicenter of what defined us. It was what we once pretended to be. Recently, the Supreme Court ruled that we must pretend to be something else, the law of the nation cannot – or will not – touch everyone. In these past months we’ve been witness to the fall of the law. We are now pretending to be an empire of lawless men.

The 14th Amendment of our Constitution disqualifies former government officials from holding office if they took an oath to support the Constitution but then betrayed it by engaging in an insurrection. It is written into our Constitution, our highest document of law. Where-oh-where are the keepers of the law? What now are they – those lawmakers in both houses of Congress, sworn to uphold the Constitution – pretending to be? They must be pretending that they swore an oath, nothing more. Law-less men and women.

I can – and have – read The Constitution. It is easy to find, easy to read. The 14th Amendment is not ambiguous.

Where-oh-where are those conservative members of the Supreme Court who pretend to be literalists, interpreters and champions of the letter-of-the-law as written in the Constitution? They, too, swore an oath. They must be pretending to be blind. What letter of the law are they literally pretending not to see?

They certainly want us to join them in pretending not to see.

I can see. I know an insurrection when I see it. I know who incited it. I cannot pretend otherwise. Why are we pretending not to see it?

My resolution: to be very careful what I pretend to be. I hope you will join me in my resolution.

read Kerri’s blogpost on THE NEW YEAR

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Sanctuary Creation [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We arrive at another eve’s eve. This year we will slide across the line into 2025 with little-to-no fanfare. We’ll make pizzas and perhaps work on a puzzle. “Working-on-a-puzzle” will be our metaphoric theme for the upcoming year: how do we assemble these disparate pieces into a cohesive picture?

It’s difficult (for me) to move into the new year without trepidation for what’s ahead.

During Covid, with great intention, we made our home a sanctuary. A peaceful space. We created comfort-rituals like our happy-hour so we might ground our days in the positive, in something we looked forward to enjoying at the end of each day. In 2025 we are anticipating a return to the sanctuary since we believe the incoming kakistocracy is a deadly virus rolling across our nation. Social-distancing seems prudent.

This weekend we had a break in the weather and hit the trail. The textures in winter are gorgeous. Water rushing beneath ice, milkweed pods long since exploded and empty of their seeds, a stand of trees barren of their leaves, islands rising from a sea of ochre grasses. Silhouettes against the setting sun.

Among our holiday rituals is to watch the movie, Love Actually. In a famous scene (one among many) Rufus (Rowan Atkinson) giftwraps a gold necklace for a very impatient Harry (Alan Rickman). It is a classic collision of expectations and, even though I know what’s coming, it has me chuckling every time.

Enjoying rituals of comfort. Assembling our disparate pieces into a cohesive whole. Noticing the gorgeous. Returning again and again to tried-and-true sources of laughter. Moving into 2025 I am most grateful that we are adept at sanctuary creation.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FLASHES

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