Embrace The Accident [on Two Artists Tuesday]

I am a big believer in happy accidents. Kerri didn’t intend to take this photo. A vibrant shock of red thrust into a field of green. I’m tempted to slap a title on it and enter it into a contemporary photography exhibition.

I’ve read that serendipity, an “unplanned fortunate discovery,…is a common occurrence throughout the history of product invention and scientific discovery.” It’s also a common occurrence throughout the history of art. It’s also a common occurrence throughout the history of…history. We have experiences and then we make meaning of them. Not the other way around.

I suppose we pride ourselves on our capacity “to know” so we forget that all knowledge is the result of a stumble, a discovery found at the far end of curiosity, exploration or an outright mistake. The point of a hypothesis (to borrow a term from Quinn) is to cultivate serendipity. Try it and see what happens.

I’ve been following the conversation in the tech-o-sphere about the sudden blossom of the very lucrative job “phrase engineer.” Human beings attempting through trial and error to learn how best to converse with the technology we’ve created. AI. ChatGpt. The unspoken goals are (not surprisingly) efficient and effective communication. There are now several sites with useful phrases, conversational hints, Youtubes abound with guidance for best ways to ask better questions, quickly eliciting the best result: an answer. It’s glorious and reminds me of old 3rd grade language primers or my high school foreign language class – only more enthusiastic.

I am among the millions who hope beyond hope that someone-out-there bumbles into the secret of effective communication. Perhaps if we discover how to communicate with artificial intelligence there will be a profound blowback and we will, serendipitously, discover the secret of easy communication with each other. Generosity. Empathy. Kindness. How-you-say-what-you-say matters.

“AI, tell me what you see and I will listen with an open mind and heart.” I know, I know. More pie-in-the-sky. But as a dedicated believer in happy accidents, I’m given to think that anything is possible.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED ON GREEN

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Forward The Story [on Merely A Thought Monday]

A Haiku

A new era dawns./A chapter closes, fresh earth/forwards the story.

Bellaruth Naperstack often ends her meditations with the phrase, “…and so you are.” As cousin Kate guided us through the forgotten cemetery on the other side of town, she led us to the gravesite of my great, great, great, great grandfather and grandmother. The writing on the stone was nearly washed away with time. As Kate read their obituaries, Bellaruth’s phrase popped up in my mind. The summation of a life, punctuated by the survivors. The children and grandchildren. The next generation. And the next and the next.

It took me by surprise, this meditation on life. The phrase popping into my head was not a reference to the end of the lives of distant grandparents, but to me. “These are your people. This is your root.” They lead to me. I am the next chapter, the continuation of the story.

“And so you are.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about AND SO YOU ARE

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Simply Celebrate [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

I wasn’t there when our babies picked dandelions for her. It was waaaay before my time. I just know how she felt when they did. Price-less.

It’s one of my favorite parts of our relationship. A dandelion is more valuable than a diamond. A homemade card, a painted rock…a story is most precious of all.

We read together. We walk together. We cook together. We struggle and triumph together. What could be more meaningful than a bouquet of freshly picked dandelions and the memories they bring to mind?

read Kerri’s blogpost about DANDELIONS

get this beautiful song here.

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

fistful of dandelions © 1999 kerri sherwood

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Practice Letting Go [on KS Friday]

“We need, in love, to practice only this: letting each other go. For holding on comes easily; we do not need to learn it.” ~ Rainier Maria Rilke

Kathy Bates has a great line in the movie P.S. I Love You: “The thing to remember is…if we’re all alone, then we’re all together in that, too.”

It’s our aloneness that propels us to reach. Our aloneness can drive us to grab. To hold on with all of our might.

Mothers learn the lesson of letting go. Fathers, too. Children would suffocate otherwise. In time, children must also learn the lesson of letting go of their parents. It’s not an easy lesson. It’s counterintuitive.

Couples learn this lesson if they are lucky. They recognize the line between reaching and clutching. Growth is always a process of opening. Open hands. Open minds. Open hearts. Growing a relationship never comes from controlling it. And, don’t we all know the feeling when a hug lasts a bit too long?

And then there are memories. Slippery devils, they tend to fade. Even in this era of ubiquitous photos, the feel, taste, touch, sound, sight flattens and dims. Three dimensions becomes two. I grab at the memory. My hands close around air. Ephemeral-something.

Tonight I will look into the night sky and make my peace. Alone together. Together alone. I will sit on the porch, grateful beyond words to reach and hold Kerri’s hand. Together in this, too.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about BARNEY-TWO-NAILS

the box/blueprint for my soul © 1997 kerri sherwood

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Swim Upstream [on DR Thursday]

Today we travel. Family, like salmon swimming upstream to a place of origin. We’ll meet at the farmhouse. We’ll eat dinner. We’ll discuss what to do tomorrow at the inurnment. I think he mostly would have enjoyed our gathering together. Food and laughter. That is the ritual he would have appreciated.

The Great White Trillium produces “a single showy white flower atop a whorl of three leaves.” The flower opens late spring to early summer. Right now. They are abundant on our trail.

Whorl: a pattern of spirals or concentric circles.

Five years ago we strolled with him through the cemetery. He told stories of his friends. We will, I am certain, tell stories about him.

Kerri and I walked our trail on the ten-year-anniversary of our first meeting. We talked about how we’ve changed in the decade since I stepped off the plane. “I’m more connected to the impermanence,” she said. I nodded my head. Me, too.

Impermanence. A short season. Generations, a whorl. Patterns. Concentric circles. We tell stories and then we join the story.

Today we travel, like salmon swimming upstream.

rest now, 24×24″, mixed media (sold)

read Kerri’s blogpost about GREAT WHITE TRILLIUM

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rest now © circa 2016 david robinson

Make Peace [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Look closely. There’s a turtle motoring through the water, scooting along the muddy bottom of the river. Turtles always elicit squeaks from Kerri. We watched this shelled-wonder for a long time. There were a few others that caught my attention, heads rising just above the water, floating peacefully in a pose of suspended animation. Turtle tai-chi.

We went to a sound meditation at the Botanical Gardens. Singing bowls and rain sticks. I was transported. I felt as if I was gifted with a turtle-moment: floating in a calm suspended animation. I recognized that feeling of ease and vowed to practice it more often. There’s wisdom in non-motion. Non-resistance. Flow by another name.

We were awake deep in the night. She asked if I could remember the places I’ve lived in my life – specifically the apartments and houses. Mostly she wanted to know if I could remember living-in-them. Making dinner. Doing laundry. How they felt. The sounds and smells. For me, there have been many. Most were creative spaces. Most of my living spaces were also studio spaces. Sacred spaces. Quiet places.

I don’t remember the day-to-day. I remember the place and time that I decided I was going to learn to cook. It was a statement of self-care. It was a decision to make all the world my studio and not just the places where I painted. Moving out from a solid center, joining the world, rather than closing off from the noise. Making peace with my out-of-step-ness. It was a decision to move into the chaotic world, to crawl with abandon and explore the river’s muddy bottom.

That reminds me of a Flawed Cartoon.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TURTLES

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Make It Visible [on Two Artists Tuesday]

“I believe that the very process of looking can make a thing beautiful.” ~ David Hockney

Sometimes I look at a blank canvas and see a composition. My job is to follow the image. To make it visible.

Sometimes I have an idea and I bring it to the canvas. My job is to explore the idea. To make it visible.

It’s a chicken-and-the-egg conundrum. What comes first? When I look at the peony do I see beauty or do I bring beauty to what I see? Is beauty a decision?

“Good-God!” I hear Kerri’s inner monologue-commentary on my too-ponderous questions. “Get out of your head! Smell the peonies!”

I wish I could. What happens when it’s not a peony that I see but my neighbor? Or someone whose worship is strange to me? Or someone with a different opinion?

Sometimes I look at a blank canvas. Sometimes I have an idea that I bring to it. Sometimes my job is to follow the image. Sometimes my job is to explore the idea.

The tricky part of language is that the biases are unseen. For instance, in English, the emphasis falls on the noun: me. Canvas. It implies the two are separate. Distinct. It obscures the relationship between. Connectivity is relegated to the basement, a lower status or obscured to the point of nonexistence. It fosters a philosophical orientation of…”it happens to me.”

Connectivity, once seen, once understood, requires us to recognize our responsibility for what we see. Our participation in the dance of creating what we see. In what we bring to “it”. What, exactly, do we wish to make visible?

read Kerri’s blogpost about the PEONY

Creative Think [on Merely A Thought Monday]

The truth is that I could talk with MM all day. Our calls are few and far between but it always feels as if we’re picking up a conversation from yesterday. His perspective on life is vast, deeply rooted like an oak tree, yet simple enough to play on a banjo. As per usual, he left me with a head-full-of-thoughts-to-think.

One of the thought-rocks he dropped on my head was this: we’ve lost touch with our connection to the humanities. And, we’ve lost that connection, not by accident, but through reckless intention. Years ago I was wide-eyed with disbelief when the local school system stripped history and the humanities from their course offerings to make more room for STEM; science, technology, engineering and math. “Short-sighted and fundamentally stupid,” I said to no one listening. Art was long gone. Music was nowhere to be found.

It’s hard to measure the real worth of the humanities on a test so it was sailed off the edge-of-the-curriculum-world. What , exactly, is the value of kindness, the worth of considering others, the merit of empathy and understanding interconnectivity? How important is it to know where you come from? The origin and cycles of knowledge and the grand mistakes of the past? What might be your intellectual lineage, your moral ancestry? How important is it to consider opposing ideas, to recognize there are many ways of seeing a single event? What happened the last time an out-of-control authoritarian impulse attempted to quash a diversity of opinion? How worthwhile might it be to understand that democracy is nothing more or less than an idea about how humans might create community together? It is not a given. It is not a fact. It is an ongoing relationship. The province of the humanities.

The operative word is “together.”

I laughed aloud the day after my call with MM. Two articles crossed my screen. Because I’m searching for jobs I’m paying attention to articles like The Ten Most Important Skills For Workers. You’ll not be surprised to learn that analytical thinking currently tops the chart but the king is about to be unseated by a new/old champion: creative thinking. Also rising in the top ten are “curiosity and lifelong learning” and “motivation and self-awareness” Of course, “unmotivated and unconscious” have probably never topped the list of desirable skills…though most factory work – and varieties of corporate work – generally produce those qualities in previously motivated human beings.

[I take a moment of silence to recount the multiple times I have, in my life, been told I was un-hire-able because I was too creative. “You’ll see how to improve things and want to make changes,” a manager famously told me. “My job,” he said, “is to keep that from happening. To maintain the status quo.” In another famous jaw-dropping moment, a potential employer told me I was not an attractive hire because I was educated so, “I would want things.”]. A cautionary tale to all those who currently fear exposure to ideas and the other purported horrors of the humanities and a fully educated mind.

Educated = curious = questioning. It’s simple.

Listen to Sir Ken Robinson ask a still-relevant question about whether or not our schools kill creativity. Killing creativity is the same as killing the humanities. Killing our humanity.

Ultimately the horse race between the analytical and the creative is itself symptom of the schooled ignorance. They are not really separate things. The right brain and left brain are only detached for the sake of study and discourse. They are ends of a spectrum and one cannot exist without the other. Like science and art: both are concerned with dancing to the beating heart and movement of the universe. They are two ways of walking at the yet-unknown. They are not oppositional.

Another quote from MM roared into my mind: if you ignore 100,000 years of human evolution, you might-could just miss the fundamentals.

It’s consilience. The unity of knowledge. The whole system. Heart and brain and gut. That’s the loop that MM and I regularly travel. We circle out and return once again to E.O. Wilson.

“One day we’ll figure it out,” posits MM. It’s another reason I adore our conversations: with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek, he is, all the same, infinitely hope-full.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CREATIVE THINKING

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Hold Hands And Skip [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Ten years ago, right about now, I was sitting on an airplane wondering what she would be like in person. We’d been corresponding everyday for several months. An unlikely correspondence. Spontaneous at the beginning; growing in intention during the months that followed. “You’re already good friends,” I told myself. “Let it be what it is.”

What it is. That first meeting in the airport she was holding a daisy so that I’d recognize her. I’d have known her without the daisy. We held hands. We skipped out of the airport.

We held hands and skipped out of the church the day we were married.

In our ten years together we’ve packed in a lot of life. A full spectrum of life’s colors. Deep grief to mountain high joy. Wild frustration to even wilder elation. Sometimes I feel as if life is trying to hammer us into submission. Or, just hammer us. Ours has not been an easy road. Lots of water. No safety net. But one thing has been true throughout: even on the worst days, we somehow find our way by holding hands. We find our way by skipping.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TEN YEARS

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

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Foster Appreciation [on KS Friday]

In addition to the bunny nest in our yard, I discovered some abandoned nests behind the tall grasses that line the fence. Elegant and intricate constructions meant to protect new life.

The distinction is in the words “meant to”. The critters creating the nests are not necessarily concerned with the aesthetics. Their concern is function. We two-legged critters can’t stroll down a beach without stacking stones, organizing driftwood, or picking the most interesting rock to nestle into the curious pocket found in the wood. Our action is purely to communicate. To leave a trace. To make a mark. To convey something beautiful.

I suppose it’s the same reason that critters make nests. They can’t help it. Nature demands their construction. New life is coming.

We can’t help it, either. Our nature demands playing with possibility. Function need not be a part or party to our frolic. Our creative impulse needs expression. Our active imagination, our spontaneous recognition of opportunity, an intrinsic curiosity and hands-with-thumbs make even the most mundane stroll a canvas-for-the-painting.

We have friends who tell me that they lack creativity. I know better. I’ve walked with them through the woods, across frozen lakes, and strolled down beaches. Rocks are stacked. Flowers gathered. Wood is spontaneously arranged. Not because a nest is necessary. No. Their gathering of texture and color and curiosity is meant to foster appreciation. Inside and out. The function is enjoyment.

No other reason is necessary. No other reason is more essential to us two-legged critters. Nothing better defines us than our innate desire-to-play with the great “What if…”

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about STONE AND WOOD

dawn at crab meadow/blueprint for my soul © 1997 kerri sherwood

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