Deny! [on Flawed Cartoon Wednesday]

idonothaveabignose jpegBIG copy 2

I am in denial. I had perfect eyesight for the first 45 years of my life. And then things went blurry. I understand they invented this cool thing called glasses – and I even own a pair – but I lost the instruction manual and have no idea how to operate them so they remain untouched on my shelf. Despite the progressive blur I maintain that my eyesight is perfect and merely on an extended hiatus. It’ll be back.

if you'd like to see FLAWED CARTOON copy

 

read Kerri’s blog post on BIG NOSE/SMALL HEAD

www.kerrianddavid.com

GPS [on Flawed Cartoon Wednesday]

A Flawed Cartoon from studio melange to lift your Wednesday.

granny gps jpegBIG copy

When my pals gather and drink wine on Sunday evenings we often talk about the trials and travails of having aging parents. The stories are often hilarious and painful collisions of will. I am the most fortunate in the group. My parents are still positioning themselves. However, that does not prevent me from having another glass of wine. I know what’s coming. I also know my pals and I are not so far from our own days of willful insistence.

On this Flawed Cartoon Wednesday, a loving nod to caregivers and receivers alike, a toast to all involved in the life-dance of positioning and re-positioning services.

GRANNY GPS gifts & products

so much possibility product box BOX copy 2

read kerri’s blog post about GRANNY GPS

www.kerrianddavid.com

granny gps, granny gps designs ©️ 2016, 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood

Dance!

A painting called JOY

A painting called JOY

“A dancer’s body breaks down,” she said, “Painters can paint all their lives. Musicians can play until they are old, but a dancer’s instrument, her body, gives out.”

To be a contrarian I responded, “And then there is Martha Graham. She danced into her 80’s, didn’t she?”

She wrinkled her nose and said, “Not very well.”

The lights dimmed, the movie started, and our conversation ended.

She was, in her youth, a dancer, classically trained. She’d spent the bulk of her adult life teaching and choreographing. And, as she told me, “Those things are all you can do when you can no longer dance. They are what’s left.” Had our exchange not bothered me so much I might have felt sadness for her.

Like an art-mantra, Tom used to say, “A writer writes and a painter paints.” I wanted to say to my seatmate, “A dancer dances.” I thought immediately of Linda who dances even when she is not dancing. She is a riot of movement, joy-in-motion; her need to dance is infectious. Even non-dancers find themselves jigging across the floor when Linda is dancing at the party. I once told her that she is my secret weapon for throwing a successful party.

I imagined my seatmate as a young girl. Before all the training, before the technique and expectations, there was enthusiasm. There must have been joy. There must have been lots of joy. She must have known the world by moving, twirling, spinning in it. Artists – before they call themselves artists – make sense through sound, through scribbles, through spinning. They only way forward in life, the only way to make meaning and to learn, is to scribble more, to engage and translate through movement. Lazy educators write off this imperative as self-expression.

The great artist deathtrap is called technique. It is a paradox. It is necessary. It is a kind of language mastery. It is, at first, a struggle of control. How do you say what you need to say when your language is visual, aural, or kinesthetic? Training is necessary. The path to full expression is always paradoxically through constraints, control of breath or brush. Yet, too often, as is the case with my seatmate, technique replaces the enthusiasm. It can turn joy into judgment. It can make an artist forget their WHY and replace it with a too rigid HOW. It is how artists limit themselves with their artistry. It made my seatmate, a healthy ambulatory woman, believe that she is not capable of dancing.

Later, I told Kerri about my conversation at the movies. She said, “That’s why fewer and fewer people are going to symphonies or galleries. People draw lines. Artists not only limit themselves with their artistry but they also limit access to their artistry.” Joy is infectious. Artistry without it is not very interesting (and, arguably, not artistry).