Be Woke [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Tonight we will go to Pride-Fest Milwaukee to see our son Craig perform. He’s an EDM artist. His star is rising. This night, he’s performing with his friend and collaborator. Together, they perform as The Doggpound. We couldn’t be more excited or more proud.

This morning I read an angry response to a post (not mine). As a conclusion to her tirade, the woman wrote, “Aren’t you ashamed to be woke?” I admit to being perplexed to the point of mystification. Why should I or anyone be ashamed to be alert, aware, and concerned about all forms of discrimination and social injustice in our nation and the world? My idea of a better world means “liberty and justice for all.” Equality. It is the vibrant promise of this nation. It is the ideal behind our struggles. It is, after all, our pledge. Indivisible with.

I would be ashamed if I wasn’t woke. I find nothing to be proud of in dedicated ignorance.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRIDE

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Sing A Love Song [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Watch for all that beauty reflecting from you and sing a love song to your existence.” ~ Rumi

Deep in the night the thunder rumbled and shook the house. The rain came in buckets and reached through the open window. She leapt out of slumber to close it and then retreated beneath the blankets. She was almost as quickly fast asleep. A leap both ways. I counted the space between the flash and the boom. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand…Sky’s grumble.

Needless to say, I was awake and on a mind-wander. I remembered students who were invested in the belief that something was wrong with them. Young artists and visionaries desiring to fit in. When young, it’s hard not being one-of-the-crowd. My job at the time, I now believe, was to help them recognize that they were unique in all the world. To flip their perspective. To love in themselves that which made them stand out, that which they feared and rejected.

I understood them because I had walked their path. At this age, I continue to walk the path.

In my mind-wander I reviewed my day. Once, I thought a love song to my existence was somehow a product of achievement. I’m no longer confused about that. Twice today, the dogga came to find me and I was moved to tears. Kerri and I sat on the deck watching the cardinals and she took my hand and I knew to my core that I was the luckiest man alive. She showed me the photo of a daisy drinking in the sun. I am surrounded by generosity and friendship. Rob sends a daily pun in an attempt to keep our spirits high. Dan brought a plastic bin with all the fixings for Southern Comfort Old-Fashioneds – and seed for our lawn because he had extra.

Watch for the beauty.

The lightning flashed. The sky rumbled. I reveled in the sounds of my love song, marveled at my existence.

In A Split Second/As Sure As The Sun © 2002 Kerri Sherwood

Grateful/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 THE DAISY

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Just Gorgeous [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

It wore a small plaque, a designated historical landmark. Even so, it’s a study of contradiction in decay. The building is a little worse for wear. Like an old skin, weathered tar shingles crack and peel from the corners. Pieces are falling off. And yet it is beautiful in its collision of textures. The weather-beaten wood carries the same green and orange as the copper hinge.

And, oh-the-hinge! Made in a time when function was an opportunity for ornamentation, now grown more beautiful with the patina and wreckage of age. It’s missing part of the pin. It’s crudely screwed into the wood, an after thought. Still, it is the first thing we noticed when we walked by the decaying structure. “Look at that hinge!” she gasped, reaching for her camera. Its imperfections make it a siren, a luring call to an aesthetic eye.

There’s a beauty that only age and imperfection can muster. Wabi-sabi; the riches of imperfection. The glory of transience. The building was happy to be noticed. It was more than patient with our photo shoot and made no attempt to hide its bumps and barnacles. “You see me!” it seemed to say, so used to people passing-by with nary a glance.

“You’re gorgeous,” she sighed, her lens focusing tightly on every intricacy, reveling in the smallest detail. “Just gorgeous!”

All My Loves (newly reworked), 24″ x 41 3/8″ mixed media on hardboard

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE HINGE

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How We Fit [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Yesterday it rained all day. We tossed out our plan-for-the-day and decided to hunker down at home. After cleaning everything that was possible to clean in the house, we turned our attention to the Enneagram. Kerri already knew her number. During his visit, she and Dwight compared notes and learnings. He not only knows his number but studies the Enneagram. I listened to their enthusiastic conversation but could not participate because I was ignorant of my number. They each had notions of where I would fall in the 9 types but refused to offer their suspicions; they did not want to unduly sway my discovery. Now, after a rainy day inquiry that included a test and some text queries with our chief-Enneagram-informant, I am certain of my number. The core character traits described in my number fit me like a too tight glove. “No wonder!” I sighed more than once while reading the narrative on my type.

We had fun during our rainy day pursuit. We read about ourselves and the compatibility of our respective numbers, the potential trouble-spots and issues. We laughed when reading general descriptions that might have been written specifically about us.

The exercise sent me down a rabbit hole. I wondered at the real-desire to type ourselves into a connected system. What makes the Enneagram or astrology any more or less valid and valuable than the minute marketing data that tracks my movements, my interests, my purchasing patterns and types me into a neat predicable category? Boomer. GenX. Progressive. Liberal. Conservative. Extrovert/Introvert…Judging/Perceiving. Survey upon survey. Sacred numbers. Archetypes. Where do I fit? Where do you fit? It’s a layer-cake of association. The rabbit hole? In a nation that is so hell-bent on defining itself as divided, irreconcilable in our differences, we are – on a much deeper level than the political – intensely interested in how we fit together in the web.

Scrape a layer off the noise. On the next rainy day, sit on your raft (bed) and take note of how much energy you and your world-o-technology are investing in weaving a greater web of interconnectivity. Pay attention beyond the toxic rhetoric of the stream and you just might see that we are, as a species and as a nation, much more interested in how we fit than how we are irrevocably broken.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SHADOWS

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The Way Home [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

This peony-perspective begs to be the inciting image of a children’s book. I imagine the main character comes from a world where people are smaller than flowers. Where bumblebees are happy Ubers delivering their small human riders to distant neighborhoods when they need a lift. Where nature is magical, playful and esteemed.

Not all ideas make it to the final draft so it’s important to stack up the ideas and have fun with the images. The main character sleeps inside the peony. The Uber bees are chaotic fliers and one never knows where they land; in this world, destination is always a surprise. Spontaneity is the norm.

In this world where people look up to flowers, “Home” is everywhere for everyone – so people, unacquainted with ownership or territory, have evolved as intrinsically helpful. Generosity of spirit is a highly prized character trait. Survival is not of the fittest but of the kindest.

Hummingbirds know the secret of finding sweet treats, caterpillars know the secret of patience.

Since this storybook is evolving as a sweet utopia, it begs the question, “What’s the conflict?” Stories do not work without obstacles. The bigger the better. What is the lesson our main character must learn? What gets lost that must be found? Maybe our little person, like Adam and Eve, falls out of their garden? Perhaps an Uber bee unwittingly flies our hero/heroine through a magic portal, to a place where people are bigger than flowers? In a world that seems sad and upside-down, the question becomes, how does our little person, lost in the land of big, find their way home?

read Kerri’s blogpost about PEONY PERSPECTIVE

Bonus! Perhaps this amazing composition will be the theme for the animated version of the story book once it garners a world-wide audience!

The Way Home/This Part of the Journey © 1997/2000 Kerri Sherwood

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A Constant State [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The word that stopped me was “nevertheless.” All the same. Even so. Still.

Despite the obstacles. Despite the opposition. She persisted. She continues on. She perseveres.

She.

A female judge gave her some advice: “As a woman, it’s not enough to be prepared. You have to be 200% prepared.” She was speaking from experience. “It hasn’t changed since I graduated from law school,” she added, “And that was over 30 years ago.”

So, she prepared. And prepared. And prepared.

Perseverance in the movies comes with a soundtrack. It also comes with inevitability. In real life it’s not that way.

Her day to be be heard finally came and she stepped into a foregone conclusion. All the males in the room were afforded the opportunity to speak. She left the building at the end of the day still waiting to be heard. The men spun their tale, objected when she opened her mouth, and then called it a day.

“Systems usual,” she said, upset but undeterred.

I wanted to buy this small dish for her. Nevertheless she persisted. An encouragement.

“It’s what all women have to do,” she said, looking over my shoulder. “We don’t need a reminder. We walk through the world in a constant state of “nevertheless”.

Nevertheless, she.

read Kerri’s blogpost about NEVERTHELESS

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Those Ubiquitous Carts [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

In some ways the grocery store is the last vestige of a by-gone era. A gathering place. A commons. A place of spontaneous conversation with neighbors and acquaintances – nothing transactional, not facilitated through a screen. A chinwag surrounded by vegetables, boxes of pasta and bags of chips. All made possible by the weekly necessity of pushing the cart.

We lost track of time in our most recent grocery-store-dialogue. We laughed heartily. We left the store with our groceries and giddy with delight at bumping into old friends. There is so much misunderstood power available in those ubiquitous carts!

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CART

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Peacehenge [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The stones are placed by human hands, as clearly as the menhirs at Stonehenge. For a moment I had the odd illusion that the smaller stones set in the amphitheater where once monolithic and time had worn them to nubs. Ancient remnants of once grande structures. A fingerprint.

At the Sanctuary, the standing stones are engraved with lyrics or wisdoms. I wondered at the human impulse to use stones – giant stones – as monuments. To memorialize. To ritualize. 4000 year old standing stones can be found in Asia, Africa, and Europe. Now they are found in North America – to be discovered by humans 4000 years from now. The lyrics may wash away over the centuries leaving our distant descendants a mystery: why did those people stand these stones in this place? What was the purpose of this henge?

It was no small task for people to erect the monoliths at Stonehenge. A mind-boggling task. Likewise, it was no small feat to create a sanctuary, a place inspiring inner-quiet in honor of a musician who sang of peace. I hope the lyrics do not wash away. I believe our distant descendants would find comfort in the discovery of a Peacehenge, proof positive that we were not all violence, divisive, warmongering and tumultuous but took the time to set standing stones in honor of a poet who believed in our better nature, who sang of goodwill and possibility.

Longing/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

Hope © 2005 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums can be found on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about STONES

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Walk The Path [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

It’s been awhile. I’ve fallen into an art book, Ancestral Modern: Australian Aboriginal Art. I bought this book after attending the exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum. It was – and still is – one of my favorite exhibits, reaching me on many levels. I went back again and again so I might spend quality time with a few of the paintings.

The paintings of the Aboriginal artists are mythologies, though not as we think of mythologies. They are more than dusty stories. Explanatory. They are active guides on a life path. Were I Aboriginal I’d “read” them. I’d know the stories so each piece would speak personally to me. The paintings would escort me along my life-path. Mythology as my story.

This is what amazed me most: many of the pieces were as abstract as a Rothko or Frankenthaler. Vibrant lines and color. They shimmered. Dreaming. Living foundational narrative carried in energetic swirls and dots of paint.

In my experience it is not uncommon in a gallery or museum to come across someone puzzling over a painting by a master artist and hear them say, “I don’t get it.” The abstraction is a closed door. “I could do that,” I heard a man huff while staring intently at a Jackson Pollock painting. The door is not closed between the Aboriginal artist and his or her community. The mythology has not broken down. The artist is not exclusively serving an individual expression, rather, they are maintaining an ancient connection, drawing from and carrying forward the deep well of communal story. “Meet Blue-Tongued Lizard Man…” Artists paying homage. Artists serving their role as keepers of the flame.

Kerri and I talked of our artistry as we walked the paths of the John Denver Sanctuary. He was a guide-star for her and continues to influence her work. Simple lines. Music that does not rely on acrobatics or embellishment. It was poignant that we had the sanctuary to ourselves. Sometimes it is nearly impossible to know whether or not our work-in-the-world reaches anyone or serves any real value beyond satisfying our imperative to create it. And sometimes, like that day walking the path through the sanctuary, the clouds rolling over the mountain, the Roaring Fork River singing at our side, the ancestry is clear. “This is where I come from,” she said. “This is where I belong”.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE PATH

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Beyond Words [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Sometimes the obvious is hard to write about. A heart path. A heart on the path. My mind jumped to the easiest association: a heart path is a metaphor for a spiritual life. Despite the countless tomes written across cultures and through the ages, including the current river of memes flowing across our screens, a spiritual life is impossible to wrap in words. Yet we have a long and complex history of trying.

I have friends who are Buddhist, friends who are Christian, friends who are Jewish, friends who are Muslim. I’ve spent time with Hindu priests and I’ve been introduced to the Tao. As they say, many paths, one destination. Heart paths, all. It is worth remembering that no single path is better or worse than any other. As Joseph Campbell suggested, religions are vehicles. A ride share.

A spiritual path need not require a deity or a book of rules. As Kerri says, “If it’s not about kindness it’s not about anything.” Kindness is an expression of the heart. Kind-heartedness. Warm-heartedness. Tender-heartedness. A heart path invokes this quality: selflessness. Deities and rulebooks can be twisted, human-made as they are, to serve un-kind, selfish intentions. Stoke divisions. Division is the opposite of a heart path. Kindness is an expression of unity.

A heart is a good symbol for the path because we all have one – every single one of us. Skin color, cultural orientation, systems of belief, sexual identity…do not alter the simple fact: we have hearts in common. Many hearts (plural) reaching for the single shared heart. One heart (singular).

Transcendent.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART ON THE PATH

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