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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Expect The Meadow [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I was a doubter. Over the winter, heavy machinery eradicated invasive species – and seemingly everything else – from the forests and meadows of our beloved trail. It left a wasteland of splintered wood and debris. “It will take years to recover,” I mumbled, saddened.

I was wrong. With spring, new green shoots poked through the mud and detritus. The frog chorus returned with a vengeance to a marsh that just weeks prior had been little more than a scar. Slowly through the summer, the mayapple and coneflowers flourished.

And then there’s the meadow. In the waning weeks of August and the coming of September it has burst with yellows, purples and subtle blues. “Unbelievable,” I utter each time we pass through. Were I a plein air painter of landscapes, I’d spend many days seated on the trail, peering beyond my canvas, dabbing paint in an attempt to capture the riot of color.

The meadow is now my go-to metaphor for the power of renewal. In just a few short months, what seemed like utter devastation has revealed unstoppable regeneration. The wisdom of necessary disruption as seen in nature.

It gives me hope as we stand in the debris of our current wasteland. Just beneath the scorched earth of our circumstance, a vibrant meadow is preparing to burst forth. In a few short months, from this eradication, this intensive stripping of our invasive species, new color and life will bloom. And I will be most happy to utter, “Unbelievable,” in the face of my doubt and share with you the tale of our extraordinary rejuvenation.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MEADOW

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Listen To Leonardo [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

You need look no further than nature to understand where David Hockney gets his vivid color palette. Vibrant orange, yellows and greens. Brilliant-color-paintings borne from a luminous colorful world. All he needed to do was open his eyes.

I laughed aloud when I bumbled into this quote from Leonardo da Vinci: Blinding ignorance does mislead us. O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes! It’s somehow comforting knowing that, even at the height of the Renaissance, the apex of the great enlightenment, blinding ignorance was running rampant through the streets. I’m particularly fond of Leonardo’s cry of despair. O! It invites me to ponder what he saw that wrought his distress and subsequent appeal to “open your eyes!”

This morning in the kitchen, making breakfast and waiting for the potatoes to crisp, my mind was awhirl with nonsense. I held the wooden spoon and stared at nothing, so taken was I at the frenetic yammering in my brain. Gloom and doom. The news of the day. Then, in a moment of unintentional grace, I heard Leonardo’s cry, “O!” I followed his advice. I pulled a page from David Hockney and opened my eyes. In the calm quiet that ensued, I saw the magic-shadow-dance of the fan whirring above my head, the soft morning light reflecting off the wall made the room glow. The smell of rain on earth. Wren song.

Blinding ignorance. Monkey mind. 20 tells us that gossip is a more powerful force than gravity.

And a force more powerful than gossip, an antidote to the ignorance that blinds? Open your eyes. See the vibrant, colorful world immediately available beyond the discord. It will still the foolish noise (both inside your brain, and out).

read Kerri’s blogpost about ORANGE!

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Give A Heart Lift [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We found a quilted heart. Gently fluttering in the breeze, colorful splashes suspended from a limb, we stopped and said simultaneously, “What’s that?” The truth: we needed a heart lift that day. It was why we were on the trail in the first place. This little quilted heart did the trick.

For me, the story gets better. Suspended from the heart was a note: I need a home. The note included a site: ifaqh.com. We were happy to give the quilted heart a home. We were eager to visit the site. What we found gave us yet another lift. From a simple origin story, people all over the world are making quilted hearts and leaving them in public places for others to find – for no other reason than to bring joy to a stranger, to give their heart a lift.

Simple goodness spreads. Brighten someones day and they will do the same. Read some of the stories written by people who found a quilted heart. They will give you a lift, too.

My favorite phrase on the site is on the About page: IFAQH has had a few minor changes over the years, but our heart is to keep it simple, anonymous, random, and neutral with no hidden agenda. Simply leave hearts in a public place for a random stranger to find to brighten their day

Simple. Anonymous. Random. Neutral. No hidden agenda. Now, isn’t that a refreshing intention in a world obsessed with garnering accolade and attention!

“What did you do today?”

“I brought light to someone’s life.”

“Whose life?”

“Does that really matter?”

read Kerri’s blog about A QUILTED HEART

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Love Your World [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s simple. Dogga wants to be where we are. He reads us like a book. He anticipates our every move and makes certain our passage is clear of marauders.

He does not split himself in confusion. He does not hold onto the past. He never worries about the future. He is all in, every moment. His happiness is sourced in our happiness. When we are on opposite sides of the house he places himself directly between us.

Last night, we watched him struggle to get up from the floor. We caught each other’s eyes, said nothing. I remembered the moment, years ago at farmer Don’s farm, that the little Aussie puppy ran to us and sat at our feet. He chose us. In that moment, we became his whole world and I do not exaggerate to write that he became ours, too. We chose him. Our whole world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA

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Triangulate [David’s blog on KS Friday]

It had to fall just right. What are the odds? When it snapped from the trunk, it fell into a perfect three-point cradle? Three points of contact.

Three-points-of-contact is the rule for safe climbing. It’s a shorthand phrase, like “turn-around-don’t drown,” the mantra meant to pop into your noggin at the moment you think it’s a good idea to drive through a flooded section of road. Three points of contact make it harder to fall.

A few years ago I collected conceptual models defined by three elements. Look around and you’ll find them everywhere, from brain processing to filmmaking, it seems that the three-points-of-contact rule provides stable footing for complex models of meaning making. Father-son-and-holy ghost. Brahma-Vishnu-Shiva.

Every story has a beginning, middle and an end. Though, no one tells us that the end is a new beginning in search of an unknown middle en route to an end. I’m currently working on a story and realized that I often tell myself to “triangulate.” Two plot points are a line, the third gives the story shape, depth, and movement.

The best visual compositions work on a model of thirds. Drawing a face is best learned by a rule of three. Many Renaissance paintings are built on a compositional triangle. Perspective works with three points even when we call it two-point-perspective.

Take heart. If you are lost, your rescuers will certainly triangulate to find your location.

As you walk through the day today, notice the patterns of three that are swirling all around you. Red light, yellow light, green. Like a limb falling from the sky, you might discover yourself cradled.

holding on/letting go on the album right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

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read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LIMB

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Give It Shape [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Learning to draw begins – or it did for me -with seeing shapes. Cones and squares and spheres. Shape is the first illusion to acquire.

Lately, I am spending an inordinate amount of time revisiting “beginnings.” My beginnings. Our beginnings. We open bins long stashed in the basement, the musty vaults securing evidence of our passage. We dig through the artifacts and discuss what gave us shape.

Important people shaped us. Many unimportant people shaped us, too. Circumstance and serendipity chipped away the stone that now reveals who we think we are. Shape, I am learning, is as much about what we hold onto as what we determine to let go. At long last setting down a closely held burden creates inner space, shape by another name. Picking up the burden of another to help them with their load necessitates a change of shape inside and between.

I recently decided that it was time to go back to basics. I have my sketchbook close at hand. I’m paying attention to shape, both inside and out. I wonder what I have forgotten about shape and what I need to re-member. If shape, in all its permutations, is the first illusion to acquire, I suspect it is also the last illusion we learn to release.

Some themes remain incomplete. I’ve painted this series-of-shapes over and over again.

my online gallery

read Kerri’s blogpost about SHAPES

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See Green [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

If we call someone “green”, we mean that they are inexperienced. Innocent or new. The term “green-on-green” implies a team that has little experience. Young pilots. Mixed doubles swatting at tennis balls. Newly minted detectives. New growth. Immature. Seedlings.

A green issue is environmental. Renewable energy. Wind power. Green is the color of nature.

In street slang, green has two possible meanings. Money. Green is the color of currency. Or, weed. Green is the color of marijuana. A surprising twist on green-on-green!

I can be green with envy. Or green with jealousy. Green is the color of illness. Apparently coveting makes us sick. “Do you feel okay? You’re looking green.” The Romans thought so. Shakespeare, too.

Google the meaning of green and you’ll find it symbolizes peace, hope, and harmony. Optimism.

In spiritual circles, green refers to fruitfulness and fertility. New leaves. New growth. And so, a full-circle return to the first meaning of green, only “new” need not imply ineptitude as much as promise. Hope. A weave of the many meanings of green!

I’m left pondering why I rarely use green in my paintings. Van Gogh did not shy away from green. He was bold enough to smear his green adjacent to vibrant reds and orange. Opposites on the color wheel. A bang to the eyes. Perhaps there is some green in my future.

On our hike today I can say with all honesty that I was completely taken with the many shades of green.

read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN

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Be Unbearably Small [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“We fought so long against small things that we became small ourselves.” Eugene O’Neill

“On my last day of work, the back wheels of my car won’t be out of the parking lot before they erase everything I’ve worked for,” Tom said. He was right, of course. I was there and witnessed the dismantling. His words were not resentful. They were matter-of-fact. He helped me understand that a life’s work is not about achievement. Rather, it is about integrity of process. Relationship. Bringing instead of getting.

“I’ve fought my battles. It’s time for someone younger to pick up the fight,” another in my tribe of dear-wise-guides reminded me when I was pushing him hard to care. I am a few years down the road now and I understand to my bones his position. I have limited time here. I have (mostly) turned my eyes away from the fight and toward the wonder-of-it all. I have no idea how to paint it so I am reticent to touch my brushes. How do you contain – or try to contain in an image or word – the inexplicable? It’s the artist’s dilemma and I love it.

Sitting on the back deck staring into the pastel sky, I thought about their words. Quiet summer nights are prime for reminiscence and reflection. I thought about the battles I have fought in my life. The hills I chose to die on. The art meant to heal or change or provoke. To reach and touch a heart. To shake a sleeper awake.

I have been fortunate to have had such wise guides showing me the way. To give me the rare gift of perspective. I am fortunate to understand how unbearably small I am in this limitless universe. Were I to believe myself grand I would not have access to the awe of this summer night, this rolling pastel sky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about the PASTEL SKY

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*happy birthday, columbus.

Clear Your Mind [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

There’s nothing like a walk in a garden to clear your mind. It was the end of the week – or was it the beginning? In any case, our brains were overloaded. We sought a garden.

So the story goes, Adam and Eve lost their spot in the garden. They ate from the tree of knowledge and started to think about things. They became self-aware, a by-product of apple-eating, they had to tell stories of where they’d come from. They had to tell aspirational stories of where they wanted to go. They made rules. Look back. Imagine forward. Neither direction is true in the absolute sense of the word. Memory and imagination are not fixed. They are fluid, changing, like a stream.

Listening to our stories it’s easy to conclude that this good earth couldn’t possibly manage without us. As global weirding progresses, it’s likely that we’ll learn the opposite of our control-story is the case: we can’t possibly manage without the good earth. We may have to adapt our narrative! We may have to consider that the garden and its many inhabitants didn’t really need names; we invented knowledge-management to suit our purposes. We might need to recognize that we invented all forms of management to suit our narrative.

We like to tell stories of being in control, of being at the top of the pyramid. We especially like narratives placing us at the center of the universe – and the micro level variety: being the chosen ones. Believing that it all spins around us is, well, comforting. Or hubris. Or both.

Of course, our story is pocked with kill-joys like Galileo. Though, to be fair, even though his telescope proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that humanity is NOT at the center, it’s had very little impact on our dedication to being all important. Above it all. We are a tenacious bunch when our story of primacy is threatened.

I was especially moved by the sign in the garden and wondered what it would take for us to turn the tables and imagine ourselves as part of the spinning universe rather than above-it-all. There are plenty of examples to draw from, humans in symbiotic relationship with their garden. Listening rather than instructing. Spinning with.

I think that is why, when our brains are overloaded, we head to the garden. A return to our senses. We breathe. We listen. We feel. We clear our minds and, even for a moment, re-enter a naturally healthy relationship.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS

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