Prepare! [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s true. When one of our children alerts us that they are coming for a visit, life as we know it instantly enters a high-energy-whirling-dervish phase. Kerri begins spinning so fast that she blurs. Dogga and I seek cover.

Eventually, a list of assigned duties comes flying from the tornado. A small piece of paper lands at my feet. I try to make sense of the instructions that whip out of the whirl but sound travels slower than my bride and, in her spinning, I can only catch every third word. With my list in hand and a puzzle of instruction, I begin my tasks, careful to stay out of the path of the funnel-cloud-of-excitement whizzing about the house.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE VISIT

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buymeacoffee is easily less dangerous than kerri cleaning house.

Proof That We Were [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Time keeps moving,” I wanted to say. “It eventually dumps all of us back into the ocean.” I hold my tongue. In my silence I wonder about the origin of this odd idiom, hold my tongue. It invites some hysterical images. It’s better, I suppose, than biting my tongue. Same thing, less damage.

We sort through the children’s clothes – our children’s clothes – from the time that they were toddlers. Kerri coos and tells me stories. I never knew them at that age but delight in imagining the very independent adults I know stumbling around, infant drunken sailors, clad in OshKosh b’gosh overalls. We giggle at her recollections. I marvel at the tiny shoes. I am grateful that she’s filling me in on their early years.

Every so often we wonder what it would have been like to have had babies together. On the drive to our honeymoon we were visited by our first imaginary child, Chicken Marsala. He was – and is – infinitely wiser than his parents. That simple truth, an imaginary yet wise child born in the minds of two aging artists, inspired us to write a comic strip. It was a great premise! It was also great fun to write and draw and Chicken knocked hard on the door of syndication. Alas, he grew up and left us as empty nesters. There are no cute clothes as proof of his existence but there are hundreds of drawings. Seeds for Smack-Dab.

The river runs. Time keeps moving. We have so many ideas! Most pop up and then roll downstream and join the ocean of possibilities. Some leave their marks behind. Toddler clothes that we capture and develop into mature creations. Those creations are what we leave behind, proof that we were once toddling to-and-fro on this gorgeous planet. OshKosh b’gosh!

chicken marsala © 2016, 2024 kerrianddavid.com

I Will Hold You/And Goodnight…a Lullaby Album © 2005

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about OVERALLS

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buymeacoffee is like a footprint on the trail: evidence that you are out there and proof that we have reached you.

Look Closer-In [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Nicholas Wilton flipped back and forth between an image of his recent painting and one completed a decade ago. He wanted to show that the recent painting is, in many ways, a close-up view, a morsel of the ancestor painting. Look closer-in. The seeds of today’s work come from explorations of the past.

I’ve been thinking about color. A tour through my gallery site reveals a very narrow band of color. I’m filled with the impulse to break it open. One day soon, after the BIG HOUSE CLEAN moves out of my studio, I’m going to mess with color. Paint with my fingers. Fully explore the new tools that Master Miller has sent my way. They scrape and pull and smoosh. They are not recommended for nuance and that is exactly what the art-doctor ordered.

More than once I’ve recounted this story: early in our relationship I told Kerri that, “I don’t sing and I don’t pray.” The other day, because of this story, I had a good hearty laugh at myself. In our reorganization of the basement I was moving my paintings so, I had a good look at every single painting. By far, the theme in the majority of my paintings? People praying. People in moments of touching something bigger. Or trying to. I howled at my unconsciousness. I may not pray but my paintings do.

Look closer-in. I started my life as an artist by drawing eyes. Hours and hours of drawing eyes. I was not attempting to draw realistic eyes; I was attempting to get behind them. Through the eyes, the mirror of the soul.

Perhaps I found my way in. Perhaps not. This I know: color is pulling me just as the eye used to pull me -either further inside or perhaps it beckons me to come out, to return to the place where I started. This time, instead of #2 pencils and typing paper – my seeds – I have scrapers and pullers and paint and old canvas. I look forward to what I might find there.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEEDS

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buymeacoffee is either an opportunity to begin again or a natural progression to the next.

Spare Your Spoon [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

An Ode To The Absence of Quality

“What is that?” I asked, aghast.

“A stomach ache waiting to happen,” she said.

I read the label. Spoon Cake. Since I’d not heard of it, I Googled it. What came up looked delicious, corn cake covered in strawberries not like the alien being encased in plastic in front of me. “This can’t be right,” I said.

“These days, you can call anything, anything you want,” she said moving on.

“But these colors don’t occur in nature!” I exclaimed, pretending to be offended. The baker behind the counter wrinkled her brow. I lowered my voice. “I’ll bet this frosting isn’t even real,” I hissed.

We wanted something sweet. A taste, a bite, nothing more. We are generally not big sweet-eaters so our romp through the grocery story bakery was a rarity. Abnormal behavior. Spontaneous. It was like going on a field trip.

“Nothing’s real,” she said. “Or maybe it’s just so overdone.” We left the bakery department.

“I think the bakery cured me of my sweet tooth,” she quipped.

“And who thought those colors were a good idea?” I said a little too loud, checking behind me to make sure the bakery lady wasn’t coming after me with a rolling pin.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SPOON CAKE

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buymeacoffee is sometimes a shocking response of appreciation to the vapid writing of under sugared creatives who have not-a-thought in their brains.

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

Look closely.

The turkeys slept in the neighbor’s tree. All night. Only two. The third turkey was last seen gobbling at the end of the street. In the dim grey light of morning, while the coffee brewed, I checked the tree. They were still there, very large birds perched on too skinny branches. How do they do that?

Look closely.

“It looks like a heart!” she said, reaching for her camera. Dogga was fast asleep, paws twitching. I wondered what he chased in his dreams. She sees hearts everywhere. Most of us, myself included, walk through life and miss the hearts. She seeks them. Or they seek her. She never fails to stop and admire the heart, capture its portrait, breathe in its affirmation. “Can you believe it!” she exclaims, as if this heart, one of thousands, is the very first she’s found.

Look closely.

The memory was visceral. I’m doing the push-hands exercise for the first time. I am a beginner and my partner in the push-hands has practiced tai-chi for years. I am struggling with such a simple exercise. All I need do is let go and feel. My mind wants to control. To achieve. To win. Saul is standing behind me and I can sense his amusement. My partner joins Saul’s delight. A grin breaks the surface of his neutrality. Both burst into laughter. I am suddenly surrounded by laughter and, although confused, I laugh, too. The entire group breaks down, howling. The laughter is infectious. Cleansing. My belly hurts from laughing.

“I think he’s ready now,” Saul says to the group, wiping tears from his eyes.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOOKING CLOSE

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buymeacoffee is a close-in-look, an opportunity for amazement at the ripples we send.

ILY [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Shapes become symbols. The alphabet is my evidence. Or the silhouette of a dove carrying an olive branch. Two equilateral triangles merged into a star, once the property of Venus and now under the stewardship of David.

Occasionally I incorporate calligraphy-like strokes in my paintings. The marks resemble the Chinese alphabet. Patrons have asked me what the symbols mean? I’ve learned to smile as if keeping a secret. They want the lines, the symbol, to have a meaning. I’ve learned not to rob them of their wanting. “What does it mean to you?” I ask. A question answered with a question.

Kerri saw this marking in a felled tree. “It’s I love you in sign language!” she exclaimed. ILY. Her family flashes the hand sign for I Love You when it’s time to depart. It’s the last thing we see as we drive down the street, turn the corner.

Lately, our world is populated with emojis. Heart, heart, heart. So many yellow faces with so many possible expressions. Symbols adding nuance to symbols. “What does this one mean,” I sometimes ask. I am a clumsy user of emojis. It’s yet a foreign language and I have been reprimanded for symbolizing the wrong thing; sending the wrong message. “But I love this whacky face!” I insist. I like using the wrinkled face, one eye open, tongue sticking out.

She rolls her eyes. I flash the I Love You sign. She rolls her eyes again only this time it is followed with a warm hug.

A hug. It’s universal. The best of all symbols.

read Kerri’s blogpost about ILY

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buymeacoffee is a symbolic offer to the creators of symbol in sound, on paper, and in other not-yet-named dimensions.

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

It’s true. Taste can be a time machine. Champagne and burgers and fries – an odd combo to be sure – will always transport me to a specific magical evening in 2013, the night Kerri and my relationship launched into the mystical. It’s the story behind the story of why we had the Burgermeister truck cater our wedding.

After she wrote and produced this cartoon, we had a lengthy and delicious conversation about the foods that take us back. Try it. You’ll be amazed at the places you revisit. I landed in Slumgully. And Columbus’ delightful and mysteriously shaped pancakes for dinner. Extra syrup!

This week, we added a sure-fire food-memory destination: shrimp tacos with caramelized pineapple and red cabbage. Good god. I just went there and now I’m starving!

read Kerri’s blog about FOOD TIME MACHINE

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buymeacoffee is a prerequisite for eating baked ziti in a tiny bistro unless the bistro only exists in kerri’s imagination where money is not an issue.

Life Spilling Out [David’s blog on KS Friday]

If this beautiful winter skeleton of Queen Anne’s Lace was a sculpture – my sculpture – it would be titled The Impossibility of Containment. Trying to hold on to the magic movement of life. It spills out in every direction.

I once had an espresso martini in Aspen, Colorado. It was the single best drink I’ve ever had. It was so good I did something I never do: I had two. I savored every sip. Occasionally since then, in other watering holes on earth that offer a drink by the same name, I’ve tried to replicate the past. To no avail. The bar in Aspen no longer exists so, like a good sand painting, my espresso martini revelry lives where it belongs, on the wind and in my yearning.

This week I completed another trip around the sun. I look in the mirror and am sometimes surprised by the face that stares back at me. My eyes remain consistent, yet what my eyes are capable of now seeing has changed dramatically. Although I occasionally yearn for my younger face, I would never exchange my current eyes for my former sight.

I see possibility spilling out in every direction. Simplicity. I see extraordinary friends all around. Each morning I open my eyes to the one face that fills my heart to bursting. I am, as Nietzsche suggests, loving my fate. Every pothole, every mountain-to-climb, every seeming obstacle, every frustration, a magic moment, a heart-seed leading to who-knows-where. Life spilling out in every direction.

I’m practicing the skill of opening wide my arms, welcoming the impossibility of containment.

Sweet Ballet/Released From The Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about QA LACE

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buymeacoffee is a possibility cast onto the winds of time.

Lean Into It [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

And what did the oracle say? Did she give you insight? Wise counsel? Did she offer a prophesy? Divination? Are you on your way? Do you know where you are going?

This song has been playing through my mind all morning: “Mama pajama rolled outta bed, she ran to the police station…” Simon and Garfunkel. Down by the School Yard. I think it’s in my head because, for many days, it was rolling through Kerri’s head. Transference. The difference is that when she sings the song it sounds like it is supposed to. Queen of Corona.

Before Simon and Garfunkel moved in, I was awash in The House at Pooh Corner. Kenny Loggins and John Messina. “I’ve wandered much further today than I should and I can’t seem to find my way back to the woods…” I hadn’t thought of this song for years and, this time, Kerri wasn’t a source of song-transfer. Where do these things come from?

A friend wrote last night. Like me, he is a wanderer. He thinks it might be time to find a place to settle. Settle, not settle down. I get that. I looked for my home for years and, as it turns out, it had to find me. A person, not a place. She’s filled with music. “And I’m on my way, I don’t know where I’m goin’ – takin’ my time, but I don’t know where…” I hope he finds his place, his person. I hope he is filled with light.

Impressions on a page. The Balinese taught me it is all a shadow on a screen. The moment I put a name on it, I cleave it in two. Subject and object. Mind and matter. Future and past. The only real place is in between the definitions and it cannot be fully grasped. Just lived. Johannes said, with our words, we make images, projections, and, if the image is good, we lean into it. Reaching for the impression.

“Count all the bees in the hive. Chase all the clouds from the sky…”

Prayer of Opposites, 4’x4′, acrylic on hardboard

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG AND TREE

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buymeacoffee is a shadow on a screen, a simple story to tell.

Today Is The Day [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

The world is upside-down. Father earth. Mother sky.

Today is the day we send messages of love. In grades school I remember that we scribbled Valentines to every single person in our class. And then we delivered them to each student’s unique construction paper mail envelop. I didn’t understand it then but I do now. Love does not exclude. Love has no bounds. It would not be Love otherwise.

Today is the day.

The sun came out after a long period of hiding its face. We were instantly energized, the light reaching the inner nooks and crannies of our soul. Yes, two people, one soul. We stood outside and aimed our faces to the sky for maximum rejuvenation. Just like a flower or a leaf. Eyes closed, drinking.

The world is downside-up. Sky and earth. One soul. Messages of love. No bounds.

Today is the day.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BLUE SKY

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buymeacoffee is. nothing more. nothing less