Steward The Radical [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I’m reading Gordon MacKenzie’s brilliant book, Orbiting The Giant Hairball: A Corporate Fool’s Guide To Surviving With Grace. There’s plenty to love in this little book that extrapolates beyond the corporate cubicle. This morning I laughed heartily when he compared two organizational systems, the pyramid and the plum tree. Traditional versus Holistic. Mechanistic versus Organic.

For me, the point of his Fool’s argument, sketched on yellow-pad-paper, comes down to this: the traditional pyramid, a hoosegow of compartmentalization, kills collaboration and snuffs the creative. It is purposeful division. The holistic plum tree, an integrated dynamic continuum, enhances collaboration and stimulates the creative. He draws an arrow pointing to the words “Enhancement of collaboration,” and writes, “This is radical.” [his underline]

It might seem radical to suggest that a system that intends collaboration is radical until you consider our current state of affairs. The latest attack on “the woke” by “the traditional” is, in essence, a pyramid that fears a plum tree. Pyramid people have an investment in exclusion, in standing on the top. Supremacy, white or otherwise. Keeping the cubicles intact, keeping the hierarchy in place.

Plum tree people, the proudly “woke,” reach across and eliminate division because they recognize the truth and power of the continuum, “integrated in a single creative ecology” otherwise known as a “community.” It is the opposite of supremacy. Float all boats.

There’s a race to the bottom in these un-united united states: the recent scrubbing of diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, the banning of books, red-legislators knocking themselves out trying to bleach our history, bury our past, snuff a questioner’s right to question (i.e. to learn), eliminate a woman’s right to choose; to squeeze gender-identity into a too-tight-airless-box…

In this environment, to suggest a system that intends collaboration, a system that enhances collaboration, is radical. Of course, democracy, by definition, is a system that intends collaboration. It is a system that needs collaboration to survive. It is a plum tree. The real and present danger of the pyramid, as Gordon MacKenzie points out: a pyramid is a tomb.

Democracy is radical. That people of diverse backgrounds and orientations might come to the table together with full respect for their differences – in fact a celebration of their differences, and intend to create “a more perfect union” is-as-has-always-been, a bright star to follow. It is a radical dream that demands open eyes, the capacity to ask questions of ourselves and each other, to tell our full history, to consider the perspective of all the human-beings sitting across the shared table. A radical dream, an ongoing creation stewarded into the future by the radical collaborators, keepers of the dream, the proudly woke.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PROUD BUTTONS

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Note The Evidence [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Never let it be said that I am incapable of learning. As evidence of the rare penny-drop, please note the absence of question or comment after the first panel of this cartoon. This implies that I am either listening without need “to solve” or that I recognize a comment in any direction might end my life. Either way, a remarkable demonstration of learning.

Also note that I am off-screen. I will leave the reason for my cartoon-suggestion-of-healthy-distance up to your interpretation.

Learning! I’m learning!

read Kerri’s blogpost on COMFORT TOP

smack-dab © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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Taste The Sound [on KS Friday]

To walk through the exhibit was like taking a stroll through time. For Kerri, it was a design-stroll through her ancestry. Scandinavian Design. Her roots reach into Finland and Norway. 20 and I tease her that when these un-united united states implode, she’s our ticket to Finland. “People are happy there!” 20 lobbies. I nod vigorously to no avail. She is proficient at ignoring our expat-fantasy appeals.

We rounded a corner and Kerri stopped, gobsmacked, as if suddenly in the presence of the holy grail. “Marimekko,” she whispered. On the far wall, hanging as a tapestry, was a large bolt of bold red Marimekko floral fabric. “I love Marimekko,” she sighed, approaching the bolt slowly, reverently.

“What’s Marimekko?” I whispered to 20.

Philistine!” 20 hissed in mock-disgust at my fabric-design-ignorance. He pointed at the bolt. He popped me on the head.

“Don’t you just love Marimekko,” Kerri turned to me and sighed. I nodded vigorously.

“I do. Yes, I do.” Apparently, vigorous nodding is one of my better skills. I made a mental note to add it to my highly ineffective resume.

“Hey!” 20 perked up as he read the placard, “Marimekko is Finnish!” Looking at Kerri he suggested, “If we moved to Finland, you could work for Marimekko. In Finland! You’d like that! Wouldn’t you like that?” he asked and looked to me for support.

I nodded vigorously to no avail. So, I turned my attention to the brilliant bold red bolt of fabric, seeing it for the first time. “Wow. That is cool.” I said, absorbing the color and design. “Plus, Marimekko is fun to say.”

20 and Kerri glanced at me and said in unison, “Philistine.”

Seizing the opportunity to nuance my newly discovered skill, I nodded vigorously, tasting the sound, “Mar-i-mekk-oooooo.”

these are the ties/blueprint for my soul © 1997 kerri sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about MARIMEKKO

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Learn The Language of Color [on DR Thursday]

Earlier this week I wrote of DeMarcus’ notes on color made when he was a first year art student. I flipped through the fading pages before placing the notebook back on my shelf and lingered on these gems:

“If we wish to create we must learn the Language of Color.”

“Color stands for JOY in this world of seeing.”

“Through the language of COLOR, we add JOY to the world of seeing.”

His notes are from a lecture. In my mind I see some fantastic art teacher, a life teacher, standing before a class of enthusiastic hearts that included the young DeMarcus, infusing them with a purpose that demanded they pay attention to others, to their reason for creating. Bring joy. Through the language of color, speak to a world that doesn’t know how to see. Speak to a world desperately in need of Joy. Color theory as community tending. Igniting the idea in the students, the teacher then set them free to explore how, through color, to bring joy to the world. The lesson was simultaneously both practical and existential.

I wish I knew the name of DeMarcus’ instructor. I’d send a deep debt of gratitude into the universe.

It is profoundly easy to diminish the role of artists in our culture. Note the dearth of art programs in schools. The emaciated National Endowment for the Arts relative to other budget lines. What might be more important in our times than artists striving to weave togetherness through the language of color? What might be more necessary than opening eyes to see beyond grey assumptions? We diminish ourselves when we devalue our art.

I knew DeMarcus when he was in his 90’s. Those early lessons still twinkled in his eyes. Or, perhaps, a lifetime of speaking the language of color, a lifetime of offering the joy of seeing, brought a permanent twinkle to his eye . He understood artistry as more than indulgent self-expression. He understood – and helped me understand – that artistry came with a responsibility to others as well as to the self. Service. See, in order to help others see, through the language of color, joy.

prayer of opposites, 48x48IN, acrylic on panel © 2006

my-as-yet-still-unfinished-site [I hope you’re not holding your breath]

read Kerri’s blogpost on COLOR

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Tend The Daisy Magic [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

The simple daisy is central to our relationship mythology. She held a daisy the first day I met her at the airport. A few weeks later I flew in a second time to test whether or not I’d merely imagined the power of our first meeting – and she met me with an armload of daisies. She carried daisies the day we were married. On special days we opt for daisies over roses every time [note: daisies are nigh-on impossible to find in February. The only time I sent Kerri roses for Valentines Day they arrived exploded; naked stems in a pile of rose petals. No doubt a message from Daisy].

Each year on the trail we await the arrival of the first daisy. “LookIt!!!” Kerri sings, “It’s here!” Simple joys. Simple celebrations that touch back to our root-story. I delight that we attend to and nurture these source connections. With intention we keep them open and vibrant. It is how we “story” our life, translating moments like the first daisy sighting as an affirmation or our togetherness. A powerful meta-story: Mother Nature says to us, “This is good.”

The other day, walking through Costco, we passed the flower cooler. Kerri was having a-very-bad-no-good-day. Hot steam was swirling above her head. Small children sensed the coming cauldron and scurried from the aisle. I ducked into the flower-fridge hoping to find a bundle of daisies in the hope that they might help her find more peaceful thoughts. There were none but to her puzzled look I said, “I wanted to give you some daisies.”

The impact was immediate. Daisy-calm washed over her, squelching her inner fire. She smiled. Our root story rushed in, a restorative perspective that released her monster-mind-madness. It is the power of a well-tended root story. Peace of mind in the midst of a storm. Mother Nature reached through Costco’s concrete floor, wrapping us in daisy-magic, reaffirming, “This is good.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about DAISIES

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Reflect The Light [on Two Artists Tuesday]

One of my most prized possessions is the homemade notebook DeMarcus made as an art student. It’s his notes from a class on color. The pages become more brittle with each passing year. The pencil notes are fading. Every so often, when I need a masterclass from a simpler time, I gingerly open the notebook and read a few pages.

The first entry always catches me. “Color: Light is a form of radiant energy transmitted by wave movement through space and is perceived visually.” The underlines are his. Radiant energy. Wave movement. Perceived.

It’s the second half of the page that grabs me: ” The (3) Qualities of Light: Physically = Life-giving. Mentally = Intelligence. Spiritually = Divine Wisdom…Think of color as light reflected.”

Keep in mind this is a beginning art student taking notes during his very first course introduction to color. His instructors are teaching him that working with color is working with light that is either life-giving, intelligence emitting or wisdom divine. In other words, working with color matters. To work with color is to give voice and expression to light. The work of an artist is about more than finger painting.

“Light is individualized by its contact with substances into COLOR…Think of color as LIGHT REFLECTED.”

If I could, I’d offer DeMarcus’ little notebook to all those fear-mongers out there scrubbing Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion curriculums and initiatives from their states. Scrubbing color from their palettes. Eliminating light. Life-revoking, intelligence numbing, wisdom stripping.

Repeat in pencil: To work with color is to give voice and expression to light. Think of color as light reflected.

Simple clarity from the first pages of a first year art student written in a homemade notebook more than a century ago. This nation is made vibrant through its rich diverse color palette. Why-on-earth would we knowingly, willingly, turn off the light?

read Kerri’s blogpost on COLOR

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Cheer The Artist [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Even with our earplugs, the music was loud. Our son was the artist on stage, his spontaneous composition making movement irresistible. We danced. The crowd whirled and cheered. I was proud. It was the first time we’d seen him perform live. He was fully in his element. This is what he is supposed to do: Make music that sets people free.

In our current world I can imagine nothing more potent or necessary. I wish his music might reach into the cold heart of Texas, dispel the manufactured fears of Florida. I hope his music rattles the foundations of the tightly held and airless “norm”. It is imaginary. Norm depends upon where you stand and, last I knew, there were many places to choose – all of them central to one. I will cheer on the day that his music pierces the veil of man-made-ugly-and-exclusive rules that are attributed to one angry god or another.

The best artists practicing the best of their artistry erase boundaries and lead people into their shared, common center: a place called love. It’s a boundless place, a place where people celebrate each other, where people dance for the joy of being alive, for the deep appreciation of being-just-who-they-are: unique in all the universe.

I saw it this weekend. Of the artist and the bountiful revelers I can truly say I am Proud.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PROUD

Enjoy The Mountain Calm [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

This one is for my dad. Actually, this one is from my dad. He was in his happy place when he had a line in the water. Catching a fish was not nearly as important as the peace and quiet he experienced while fishing. He had a special spot on the lake; the door to his sanctuary was a fishing pole.

One of my favorite memories is of the day that Columbus taught Kerri to fish. I sat on a rock jutting into the water and watched two of my favorite people enjoy the mountain calm. Late summer breezes fluttered the aspen leaves. The ziiiing of the cast. The plop of the bubble hitting the water. Click. A slow reel in. Repeat. No place better to be. Being there – and nowhere else. What could possibly be better than that?

read kerri’s thoughts on this saturday morning smack-dab.

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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See The Best Of Good Things [on KS Friday]

The world does not stand still for anyone. When Craig led us down into his studio I felt as if I was living a fable by Aesop. The same technology that essentially crashed Kerri’s career is now making Craig’s musical genius possible. Is it a good thing or a bad thing? “Well, that depends,” says the farmer to his fate.

I was witness to best of good things: the son, a consummate musician, sharing his artistry with his mother, a consummate musician. Craig showed Kerri how he creates EDM, electronic dance music. Layers upon layers of sound mixed and altered through digital magic. EDM is his passion. He comes alive when he talks about it.

EDM was not possible 20 years ago. Watching Kerri and Craig play in the studio together I remembered something that Kerri once said: “I feel like I was born 10 years too late.” Mourning the rapid change to the music industry, brought about by the advent of streaming services, she felt as if “her time”, the music that she most understands and resonates with, was the wave just in front of her. Analog. No acrobatics. Soulful. Her star was rising just as her business was washed away in the raging digital stream.

The music remains. It’s everywhere, available to anyone, anywhere. We regularly come across her pieces used in commercials or underscoring everything from tiktok moments to youtube tributes. She’s popular. She’s just not paid.

If she was born 10 years too late, then Craig was born right in his zone. Digital complexity. Fast-moving, multi-layered, the music of emoji attention spans. It’s thrilling, a sensory assault. Strategic and improvisational, both. Trance music for urban dwellers seeking a drumming-dance path to transcendence.

And, in the end, the essential eclipsed the gap of music styles and time: a mother who infused music into her son was elated as he, now a musician in his own right, immersed his mom into his music. It was thrilling to witness. A moment in rushing time. Ancient passage in a contemporary mask.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE STUDIO

unfolding/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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

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Illustrate The Energy [on DR Thursday]

This afternoon I received a lovely email from John. He asked permission to use an image from my website, “…to illustrate what angel energy might look like.” I was delighted. The image he wanted to use was of my palette, a fantastic mess of swirling, colliding color.

It occurred to me that my palette is perhaps where I do my most honest painting (the action as opposed to a finished piece). I mix color on top of color. It’s a terrible habit and, if it becomes public knowledge, I’ll be banished from the art league: I never clean my palette because I love the paint build-up. It’s a history of the dance. It also grinds down my brushes. I love working with rough worn brushes. Don’t tell anyone.

“Don’t you love that he called your palette ‘Energy!'” Kerri said. I do. It brought to mind Jakorda Rai, a healer, a Balian that is significant in my life. He was a painter, too. His paintings were visual captures of the movement of energy in the body. A mix between solid structure and whirling flow. Color streams that resembled photos of distant galaxies. His pieces were unceremoniously tacked to the walls of the hut where he saw his patients. Spiritual healing; the art of moving energy stuck in an eddy. The art of regaining natural flow. Natural pace.

We walked through the city as night fell. Dinner was done and we had a train to catch. Kerri snapped photos along the way. The river. Reflections in the buildings. The ceiling of the train station. As she focused her camera, I watched the people hustling to the rhythm of the city. The pace is fast. The gestures emphatic. Aggressive. People racing to “get there”. Never here. It’s easy to get caught in the undercurrent. Hyped up. Swept away. I thought of Georgia O’Keeffe’s city paintings. Towering buildings reaching to the heavens. Hard linear thrusts obstructing the sky. “That’s why New Mexico was so appealing to her,” I thought. A different energy. Softer. Deeper. Ancient. Less eddy. Human scale and slower. A place to be still and meditate.

As we boarded the train Kerri said, “I like visiting the city but I like it better because we can leave it.”

I thought of a phrase I’d read earlier in the day in The Marginalian: “…our golden age of compulsive productivity at the expense of presence…” [William James]. “Sometimes it’s too much energy through the wire,” I quipped, suddenly yearning to move to New Mexico and walk the arroyos where Georgia painted. “Nothing between the artist and the stars,” I whispered, “…angel energy.”

angels at the well, 24x48IN, acrylic on hardboard (2 panels) © circa 2004

read Kerri’s blogpost about ENERGY AND STRUCTURE

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