Work Forward And Back [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Writing the first draft of a play, I’ve just entered the “swimming upstream” step in the process. I’m working my way from back-to-front to make sure all the story dots connect. It’s detail work. It requires looking close-in. I used to hate this part of the process because I’d get lost. I’d forget what I was doing and prematurely rework sections. Painters ruin paintings when working too small too soon. Writers are subject to the same peril. Now, I adore this step. Life is funny.

A few years ago I realized that my change in process-love, my capacity to work in detail without getting lost, came when I stopped trying to race to the end. Now, I am in no hurry to finish. I want a full relationship with my story as it reveals itself to me. It is a child, holding my hand, guiding me to the wonders of the playground.

Working forward. Working backward. Stepping in and then stepping away, like the tides. Big brush washes first, attending to the overall composition. Structure. And then detail. It’s much like building a house. Foundations and then finishes.

I have learned from watching Kerri to use my camera to see detail. To step in and look. Seeing-as-a-relationship. To pay attention to the dew on the small pine, the reason it glistens. And then to step in further. The platitude: a single drop of dew contains an entire world. Beyond the platitude: step in and it’s possible to fall into another world. To experience the surprise available in the enormity of the minute. And bring back to the big, big world of hurry-here-hurry-there the astonishment that is found there.

Forward Back, 18 x 36IN, mixed media on canvas

read Kerri’s blogpost about DEW

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buymeacoffee is a dew drop in a sea of possibilities, a tiny window into the realities of another reality.

Follow The Lines [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

There was a time when humans didn’t know how to translate three dimensional space into a two dimensional rendering. We either had no capacity for understanding visual perspective or no reason to pursue it. Art was symbolic, purely. And then came Brunelleschi. An architect. Linear perspective, a mathematical construct, became all the artistic rage. The wilds of symbol met the dictates of the representational. Horizon lines and vanishing points, the one-two step of perspective danced into the arts in a crazy time we know as the Renaissance. A painting could pull us into its world. The ghost of the ancient Greeks whispered 15 centuries into the future.

With perspective came a wholly new set of questions. The magic of math. The study of nature. How close can we come to understanding how things work? What are the secrets driving the universe and what we see? What lurks behind and beyond the symbol? What do we not see?

The trees in Kerri’s photo are roughly the same size. The trees retreat into the distance so the furthest tree appears to be smaller, the closest tree taller. It’s an illusion that we take for granted, so steeped are we in the necessities of perspective. The smallest child with a crayon wouldn’t care or perhaps even see the distance. They’d happily scribble the symbol: tree. An older child would put down their crayon and insist that they couldn’t draw because the magic of perspective is intimidating. Trying to “capture” reality in two or three dimensions is a tall order. Trying to place yourself and others inside it is overwhelming.

On this foggy day on the coast of Lake Michigan, I admire the perfect lesson in perspective taught by the trees stretching out in front of me. The fog brings to mind string-theory and the mathematics of multiple realities existing in a single space or Stephen Hawking’s bubble theory, many many universes brushing each other as they pass. What would Brunelleschi think of that? Follow the lines of perspective far enough and it becomes necessary to sail beyond the known horizon. Expressionistic. Conceptual.

Both Picasso and Einstein broke apart our understanding of space and invited an entirely new form of perspective into our conversation. The mystic and the mathematical. Multiverse and many dimensions.

Standing in the park, fingers cold, swallowed by the dense fog, I am a lucky child with a crayon knowing that all I can manage to do is scribble.

read Kerri’s blogpost on PERSPECTIVE

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buymeacoffee is a an impression left by a crayon meant to let others know that someone is out there and paying attention to the lines of perspective.

Grok The Rule [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“A good poem looks life straight in the face, unflinching, sincere, equal to revelation through loss or gain.” ~ David Whyte

A good rule of thumb in the visual arts: areas of high contrast, in color-or-value, come forward while areas of low contrast retreat. Landscape painters use this rule to create the illusion of foreground and distance. Abstract painters use this rule to move the eye around a composition.

Storytellers and poets use the same rule. High contrast creates interest. It grabs attention. Low contrast sets the environment, the mood. “Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing/ kept flickering in with the tide/ and looking around./ Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly…” Dogfish by Mary Oliver.

Misused, it’s the rule-behind-the-reason that most of our news is “Breaking News!” False contrast. Hype. It’s the reason our national portrait is continually painted as divisive. High contrast pulls focus. The money follows the ratings so attention-grabbing is highly prized. Low contrast – like agreement, collaboration, sameness, community…truth – doesn’t generate the same level of interest or income.

Like all rules, there are worthy reasons to wield them. In the arts, the contrast principle is used to illuminate unity. To break an individual through to the experience of something bigger. To open questions. In our news-of-the-day, the rule is used to whistle a song-and-dance of discord and distraction. To separate into tribes. To manufacture the illusion of depth while sitting in shallow water.

The reasons to wield the rule are diametrically opposed.

It was a sad day when the young man, standing in our living room, told me that he would educate his child at home. His reason? He didn’t want his son to be stuffed with ideas. “Just the facts,” he said. “Just the facts.”

“Poor souls,” I thought of this man and his young child. How will they ever stare into the fiery face of democracy – an ongoing idea born of high contrast and wild ideas – the artistic kind, meant to bring people together in one nation under every possible god – like a poem. They won’t recognize democracy’s death when without question it slips like ashes through the fact of their fingers.

As for me, I’ll stick with the high and low contrast of Rumi, MLK, Shakespeare, Kahlil Gibran, Mary Oliver, Maya Angelou…

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” ~ Rumi

[another worthy rule of thumb: never read the headlines prior to writing a post. All the icky-mush rushes to the foreground and permeates my brain]

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG

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buymeacoffee is a counterintuitive, highly appreciated, offering of support amidst a high contrast environment that keeps the artists among us hopping and hoping.

Welcome The Surprise [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“I would love to live like the river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.” ~ John O’Donohue

Day one. A mimosa. A special breakfast. A question: what will this year bring? In truth, it’s the umbrella question to the question we ask each morning. What will today bring?

Kerri keeps a calendar. Each day of the year she records special events, bills paid, meals made, important phone calls. She records the sacred and mundane. On the last night of the year or the first morning of the new year, we read her calendar. Each review is chock-a-block with surprises. “I forgot about that!” we exclaim.

And, with each calendar review, comes a ritual final summation: the year past was nothing like we anticipated. What was thought to be solid exploded. What was thought to be predictable was volatile. It was a rolling ball of surprises. It was defined by the unforeseeable.

It is always a rolling ball of surprises. Births and deaths. The losses leaving holes in our hearts yet making new space for love’s expansion. New trails discovered and old friends found. New friends, too. The obstacles that jumped in front of our path. The obstacles that suddenly and without warning disappeared. Old fears roaring to be heard. New fears sending us running in one particular direction: away. Then, the deep well of laughter that bubbles to the surface when we realize (as we always do) that our fears are mostly made-up. Tiny monsters. Shadow puppets.

As we read the calendar we are surprised by our courage in some moments and our cowardice in others. We are particularly amused – or not – when our cowardice appeared to be courage and vice-versa. There are days when the only notation in the calendar is an unhappy face, a dark day when together we completely lost our sense of humor. Gratefully, those days are few and far between.

The river flows with no regard of our notation. The trick, we learn again and again, is to welcome the surprise of its unfolding. Rather than try to swim upstream against the current-of-time in an always fruitless attempt to control, to reach for the imagined safety of the known, the lesson learned on every day-one is to give over to the mystery of the unfolding. To relax and choose to be in the flow. To welcome the surprises in all their iterations, the rapids, the rocks, the waterfalls and those rare and cherished stretches of calm.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOVE

like. love. embrace. reject. scribble a comment. support. reflect. share with others. surprise yourself.

buymeacoffee is a chance to start the new year in a festival of appreciation for the continued blather of the artists you may or may not support.

Go Wireless [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

As someone who’s never had to navigate the horrors of an underwire bra, I find myself distinctly unqualified to make a comment. And, as someone male, who’s never had to navigate the horrors of an underwire bra, I find silence-on-the-subject is by far the wisest choice.

I can, however, completely understand the resolution to live each day with less pain. The less pain and discomfort the better! I’ll join Kerri in that resolution! Literally or metaphorically, go wireless or go home!

Happy New Year.

read Kerri’s blogpost on WIRELESS

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buymeacoffee is a world without underwire. metaphorically.

Wish For It [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.” ~ Paulo Coelho

And so we tie up another year according to the latest iteration of the Roman calendar. As is customary on the waning days of the year, we look back and review where we’ve been, who we’ve lost, and attempt to measure our progress toward any number of goal posts. We affix an adjective or two to the passing year; “It was a good year.” Or, “It was a bad year.” A rough year. A surprising year. It’s the time of experience-reduction and encapsulation. It’s the time of renewal as we step over the imaginary line with an imaginary clean slate.

We wish each other a happy new year. I’ve been wondering what the world would look like if the wish had some teeth. What would we do on the first day of the new year – and every day after – if it was more than a passing wish; if it was our imperative to make certain that each person in our community, in our lives, would have a happy year. Happiness as a shared responsibility. How might that change our choices? How might that fulfill the ubiquitous ideal to “lead by example”? To live by example.

I know. Another pie-in-the-sky post. But I would offer this thought from my personal year-in-review: I am surrounded by people who have made my well-being their personal concern. And, I haven’t the first idea how to reciprocate in a meaningful way except to pay it forward in any way possible. To live my life according to their example.

So, was it a hard year? Yes. Oh, god, yes. Was it an extraordinary year? Yes. Unbelievable. Am I moving forward with a clean slate? A fresh beginning? No. Not a chance. The baggage is coming with me.

Except there will be this: when I throw my confetti into the air and toot a horn of celebration, wearing my funny hat, I will step across the line in full knowledge and with a full heart, a new imperative beyond the sing-song wish of a Happy New Year. I will have an example to follow that completely transforms the once-yearly-ritual-wish into a daily-lived-action.

It’s not pie-in-the-sky, after all. It’s about time we create what we always wish for.

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 WISH

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buymeacoffee is a digital gratitude, an online tip-jar, that sails through time and space to support the continued creation and blather of the artists who consider pie-in-the-sky possible.

Honor The Error [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“Art is human. Error is human. Art is error.” ~ David Bayles & Ted Orland, Art & Fear

I adore all three parts of this syllogism. Just don’t ask me if the reasoning is inductive or deductive since the three characters in the play are suspiciously unreasonable: Art, Humans, and Error. Applying reason to the unreasonable seems dubious for the get-go. In a world of rationalizing the irrational, who cares if the path is general to specific or vice-versa?

We made Christmas dinner at Craig’s house last night. Since he is nose-to-the-grindstone trying to make a career from his music, we talked about what he is experiencing. What he is learning. “It’s hard,” he said. Kerri smiled, knowingly. Yes. The music industry is Hard. Art-making is a joy. Making a viable career of art-making is akin to pushing a rock up a steep hill and never reaching the top. Sisyphus. No joy. Despite common stereotypes, no one works harder than artists-with-a-passion. “Talent and hard work is no guarantee that you’ll make it,” he said, sharing a recent revelation.

Trial and error. I’m currently writing a play and each day I remind myself of John Guare’s famous observation: you have to write ten bad pages to arrive at one good page. In other words, error making is the path. Any master craftsperson can tell you that. Make enough errors and you’ll eventually develop a wee-bit-of-discernment. What works. What does not. Discernment does not stop the error-making, it embraces it. It uses it.

I asked Craig if his definition of “good” had changed in the many months that he’s been producing and performing music. What is good work now relative to good work last year? His answer tickled me. His observation is ubiquitous to all creative pursuits. What seemed good last year often looks like doggerel this year. “I can’t believe I released that track,” he said. It’s a very good sign. He’s stacking his errors. He’s developing discernment. That, too, is a life-long pursuit, a steep climb with no top. Van Gogh looked back at his early work and wrinkled his nose.

So hope-full. The courage to follow an inner imperative. Honoring an undeniable impulse makes no sense. Intuition-listening. Eschewing illusions like “perfection” for a more gritty heart-filled error-strewn path. A more realistic human path, riddled with blunders and happy accidents. Now, isn’t that a lovely paradox! So honest. So art-full.

Kerri asked, “What does this post have to do with the pink ornament?” My answer: “These are the very pink thoughts I hang every day on my thought-tree.”;-)

read Kerri’s blogpost about PINK ORNAMENT

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buymeacoffee is an error filled path that leads to appreciation of the very flawed artists you appreciate.

Cycle Forward And Back [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Last week I saw a suit in a store that was frighteningly similar to the burgundy tuxedo I wore to my junior prom. Fear not, there are photos of a youthful me in my clothing-abomination that you will never see. I refuse to blackmail myself. I generally avoid ridicule unless I’m in the mood to perform a prat-fall.

Beauty is not a fixed idea. Nor is it unique enough to be held in the single eye of any one beholder. Beauty is shared. Communal. And the community is restless. It cycles through contour and color and pattern expectation. Each year a new style born of reaction against the previous styles. When I look at photographic proof of my willing-wearing of a horrific burgundy tux, I shake my head and think, “What was I thinking?” A better question would be, “What were we thinking?” At the time, I thought my tux was cool. My pal, Oz, wore a powder blue tux and strutted his blue-ness all prom-long.

The fashion cycle always returns to itself. The fabrics are improved (less petroleum) but the style is textbook. What’s new is old and what’s old is new. I stood in the store utterly agog at a full rack of wine colored suits. Laughter-tears streamed from my eyes though I can’t be sure I wasn’t reacting to the shock of terrible print patterns on the stacks and stacks of shirts. Terrible to me; beautiful to the other festive and frantic shoppers.

I’ve spent hours staring at our tree. The fragile glass ornaments reach back into the 1940’s and 50’s. They mirror the shape of cars from the era. Appliances, too. Light fixtures. Do you remember the spaceships of Buck Rogers or the marionettes of Space Patrol? The ornaments are Shiny Brites. Massed produced but decorated by hand. They were all the rage in their time. The shapes and story inspire me. That’s how the cycle works.

This year the Shiny Brites are all the rage in our home. Beautiful in our time. What’s old is new. What’s new is old.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHINY BRITES

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buymeacoffee is a blowback to a time when coffee was a thing that people drank from manufactured glass mugs while sharing the stories of their day.

Share and Renew [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

As additions-to-traditions go, the bauble-on-the-tree is a relatively recent inclusion. People have decorated their dwellings with pine boughs, a symbol of renewal and rebirth (of the light), for many, many centuries. Placing ornaments-on-trees only began in the 1800’s.

We decided this year – for reasons that reach beyond words – to bring out Beaky and Pa’s ornaments. We are minimalists mostly so in the decade of my Wisconsin life these ornaments have lived in a box in the basement. We look at them every year but have never – until now - hung them on a tree. They are glass and fragile so we worked slowly, placing them with care.

Having them with us this season has been more powerful than I imagined. Having them with us this morning is more meaningful than I thought possible. Family is with us. And, isn’t that, after all is said and done, the point of it all? Given family and chosen family. To feast our long line of belonging and celebrate our brief time on this earth together. To honor that we are, as Jean Houston wrote, “…the burning point of the ancestral ship.” To gather, adding to the rich bank of shared memory. We reach back in time with gratitude. We live forward through our children and their children and their children…

This morning we sit quietly, sipping our coffee, sharing stories, hanging out with Beaky and Pa, in our recognition and deep appreciation of this time of life’s Renewal.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BAUBLES

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buymeacoffee is…