Grow More Beautiful [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

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Barney is growing more beautiful with each passing year. New colors emerge. His wood splinters and new patterns play across his keys. The laminate that once served as skin is loose, wrinkled and twisting.

He was once forgotten.  Years ago, someone thought it was a good idea to store him next to the boiler in the basement of the church. He sat in the dark for decades. He provided a surface for loose tools. He stood in water more than once; the basement floods and the boiler breaks. Over time his soundboard was ruined. He was no longer useful according to his original purpose.

He was rediscovered. He was rolled into the light. It was determined that he was too broken to be fixed and he was scheduled to be taken away by the scrap man. It took some convincing but we talked the scrap man into bringing Barney to our house. He helped us roll Barney across the grass. He helped us lift him into his resting place.

Barney has been a fixture in our backyard for the past 4 years. Kerri played him on his first day here and he sounded pretty good. The next day his sound collapsed, his keys stuck; he let us know his time for giving voice was over. He is content in his silence.

Now, he rests. He weathers. He drinks in the sun and the snow and rain as the years cycle through. The plants grow up around him as he slowly sinks into them. We watch and note his changes, the pieces falling off, the chipmunks who live beneath his lid. The purples and ochres and deep rich blues that were hiding beneath the laminate have surfaced. The changing weather, the long road of his life, has teased them to the top.

He quite simply grows more and more beautiful. We think that was his purpose all along.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about BARNEY

 

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Approach It [on Merely A Thought Monday]

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“Because we have lost reverence of approach, we should not be too surprised at the lack of quality and beauty in our experience.” ~ John O’Donohue, Beauty

There was a common thread that ran through the lessons my mentors taught me: how I treat my space is a direct reflection of how I approach my artistry, my work.

Whether they said it directly or not, they understood artistry as sacred, artistic spaces as sacred spaces. Places of communion.

Paul Barnes used to tell his acting students, “Never underestimate your power to influence another person’s life.” There is a responsibility when getting on the stage. There is a responsibility when designing for the stage. There is a responsibility for how tickets are sold. There is a responsibility for how the theatre is cleaned and maintained, the studio, the shop… Tom’s students were famous for sweeping the parking lot of the theatre because they believed the audience experience began with the approach to the building. The sweepers understood themselves as artists.

During our last days on island, Kerri and I began cleaning out the theatre. We began the process of introducing a new approach. We started our job mid-season and were asked to come to the island and watch and learn. All summer, as a watcher, I repeated this phrase: everyone wants to use the theatre but no one wants to be responsible for it. Responsible to it. Groups entered and dumped their stuff. When they left, they left their mess for Pete to clean and why not? (Pete gets it, he is meticulous, and loves the space. But he is a lone sweeper fighting the tide of a dedicated mindless approach.)

TPAC is understood as a place to be used. It is a space the community fights over. A territory to be claimed. It is not yet approached as a space where beauty is touched, where actions matter because they are capable of unifying, where artistry is understood, not as a personal domain, but the grace of collective creation.

Sitting on the empty stage, the season closed, Kerri and I sat and listened. “It’s time to make the space ours, ” she said. “I think I’ll clean out the fridge.”

 

read Kerri’s blog post about THE END OF SEASON

 

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See The Truth [on Merely A Thought Monday]

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“The mind has the power to do the most extraordinary things…But the mind cannot create truth. What it creates is not truth, it is merely an opinion, a judgment.” ~ Think On These Things, Krishnamurti

Last night at a gathering with our pals, we had a hysterical conversation about looking into the mirror and not recognizing the wrinkled, aging face looking back. The image in the mirror does not match the image in the mind. We agreed that we feel much younger than we appear.

Mirrors are mysterious and magical devices. They are surprisingly powerful. They merely reflect an image, yet, it is impossible for a human being to look into a mirror without launching a fleet of judgments or hosting a party of comparisons. “I look old.” Old? Relative to what?

A quick glance into a mirror is most often an image-check on how we think we appear. And, here’s the kicker: the quick glance is an image-check on how we think we appear to others. In other words, mirrors are excellent for feeding the fantasy that we have control over what other people see. None of us truly knows how we look. None of us has any control over what other people see. Mirrors inspire illusion illusions.

We do, however, have control over what we see.

I have rarely met the person who has made the choice to look in the mirror and see beauty staring back. I’m not referring to the ego-beauty, the magazine-model-concocted-beauty, but the inner-light-beauty. The recognition that life-is-a-miracle-beauty. The nothing-is-broken-and-nothing-needs-to-be-fixed beauty.

There is a beauty that is the truth; it bubbles just beyond the opinions and judgments and comparisons. We see it in others. Last night I looked around at my pals laughing and sharing stories and each and everyone was brilliantly beautiful. Now, looking in the mirror, I ask, what prevents me from seeing ‘what is there’ instead of ‘what I think is there?’

 

read Kerri’s blog post about BEAUTIFUL

 

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Await The Wind [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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when the wind is perfect,
the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty.
Today is such a day. ~ (a slice of) On A Day by Rumi

Skip wrote. His sail is open and he is full of the beauty of this world. It’s all around, the sounds, the smells, the tastes, the color and movement. Basking in the early fall sunshine.

He’s been painting regularly and I teased him: the gift of painting is the practice in seeing. Only I wasn’t teasing. It’s true. Paint everyday and something happens. Seeing is not a passive act, it is an active engagement. A relationship that opens awareness both subtle and profound.

His email stopped me in my rush to get through the day. Getting through life requires a closed sail, dulled senses. I dropped my list and imagined importance and went outside. I haven’t touched my brushes in weeks. Skip asked if I’d taken my painting materials to the island. I did but never went near them. “Too much to do,” I kept telling myself.

I told Horatio that I felt empty. The island took a lot. NO-ART-IN-ME. He smiled and assured me that the wind will return. My sail will open again.

Brushes or not, as Skip reminded me, the world is full of beauty. Today.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about WIND

 

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Be Nothing [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

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It might be my age. I am more and more conscious of the fleeting moment, a special-yet-inconsequential experience, walking with friends, and am overwhelmed with gratitude, struck by the profound in the ordinary.

“Be nothing,” Krishnamurti advised. In that way, we become capable of seeing the extraordinary relationships of everyday moments, seeing the intense beauty in ‘what is’ without the greying filter of ‘what should be.’

Kerri was walking ahead with Jay and Gay. They were laughing and gesturing wildly. Charlie, Dan and I were several paces behind. Dan is a great storyteller and he was making us laugh with a tale from his neighborhood. We strolled down the center of the road; on island there is little to no traffic. The sun peaked through the clouds for the first time all day, just in time for sunset. We heard deer snapping tree limbs as they leapt through the forest but could not see them.

I looked at my wife and friends and the rush of utter appreciation stopped me in my tracks. I knew that I was fully alive, nothing stood between me and this very extraordinary ordinary passing moment. Nothing.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about ROAD SHADOWS

 

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Capture The Beauty [on DR Thursday]

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The day was stormy, the lake was unsettled, steel grey and roiling. Kerri walked to the water’s edge with her camera. I opened my sketchbook and caught a quick sketch. Perhaps a notation for a someday-painting. Perhaps a gesture with nowhere to go.

A few days later I looked at this quick sketch and laughed. It is a metaphor for our time on island. Standing at the edge of a storm not of our making. Witness to the turmoil. It blows us to and fro. It messes our hair. The sand stings our faces.  We are taken by the colors of its violence. When the winds grow too powerful, we retreat to the safety of our littlehouse. We wait for the latest flurry to calm, the waves to soften.

It is tempting to want to be done with it. To rush through a month of life. Each day I remind myself to be in it, not simply get through it. Life on this day may be stormy. It might be upsetting. Stormy and upsetting are colors on the palette. They are worthy experiences. Amidst the chaos there are instances of utter beauty –  like the moment Kerri walked to the edge of a roiling lake and I looked up, caught my breath, and reached for my sketchbook so that I’d never ever forget.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about A SKETCH

 

 

 

 

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Meet Your Graces [on DR Thursday]

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Brightness. Joyfulness. Bloom. Or, charm. beauty, and creativity. They have many names, these Graces. Also known as the Charities. They are also known as Zeus’  daughters.

Sun. Joy. Bloom. At the end of Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, is a monologue. Emily, saying goodbye to her life (she has already died), revels in the beauty of life that we simply do not appreciate. The smell of grass. The sound of leaves rustling. Morning coffee. Stretching your legs. “Oh, earth,” she says, “You are too beautiful…” To the Greeks, in that final moment, Emily is being visited by a Grace.

These posts often take me down rabbit holes. Here’s today’s surprise: I bumbled into a bit of research on Buckminster Fuller, one of the great minds of the 20th Century. I learned that, as a young man, he was deeply depressed and was considering suicide. In a crucial moment, he had an experience. In the midst of his despair he was lifted into a ball of light and very clearly heard, “You belong to the universe. Your significance will remain forever obscure to you but you may assume that you are fulfilling your role if you apply yourself to converting your experiences to the highest advantage of others.”

Convert your experiences to the highest advantage of others. A visit by the Graces. Creativity is divinely given. You belong to the universe. What else?

 

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three graces,, 32 x 56IN, acrylic

 

read Kerri’s blog post about THE THREE GRACES

 

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Care To See [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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Georgia O’Keeffe was a master of the close-up. I imagine she would have loved this digital age, this era of easy photography. Walking the arroyos of New Mexico with her cell phone, snapping hundreds of photographs of the minutiae. Capturing the tiny beauty that we fast movers are too busy to see. I love that, before cameras were ubiquitous, Georgia was in the habit of walking slow. Looking closely. Seeing.

One evening in London my pal Robert took me to meet Jonathan Miller. We wiled away a long evening talking about art and theatre. Jonathan invited me upstairs to see his studio. He was preparing a series of his photographs for an exhibit and book.  They were an amazing collection of close-ups, textures of peeling paint, gritty brick, rotting fabric draped on walls. None of it was staged. Away on a directing assignment, he would walk the streets with his camera, looking for beauty in the overlooked everyday things. “It’s all around us,” he said, “we just don’t see it.”

It’s true. It takes a wee-bit of intention to be in this life and not run through it. Looking for beauty. It’s all around if we care to see it. Jonathan Miller’s advice: stand still. It is not necessary to seek it; it’s right here if you care to see it.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about the FERRY IMAGE

 

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a close up of ‘pax.’ looking closely. make an offer. pax needs a home

 

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pax ©️ 2015 david robinson

Admire Them [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

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Andy Goldsworthy might have created this tree. The limbs pressing through burls, a tree grown sturdy and beautiful, made unique by its wounds.  It is a monument to resilience.

Tom, an educator the entirety of his life, told me that he was again and again astounded by the resilience he saw in children. They inspired him. Their hurt swirling into a burl,  giving them fuel to rise. Their struggles and fortitude driving their teacher to be better.

In the art gallery, the woodworker told us about his work. He lifted the bowls to show the unique grains, the live edges and imperfections. In every piece, the beauty was once a blemish.

There are many, many trees in our beloved Bristol Wood. Inevitably it is the burl trees, the oddities, that call us to stop for a visit and admire them.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about the BURL TREE

 

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may you: a painting/prayer spoken to life’s burls

 

 

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may you ©️ 2014 david robinson

Open, Open, Open [on Chicken Marsala Monday]

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“I found that I could say things with colors and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way – things I had no words for.” ~ Georgia O’Keefe

The first time Jim, one of the most brilliant actor/directors I have known, played the role of King Lear, he told me that he didn’t have enough colors in his paint box to do the role justice. He had more to learn.

It is the common thread and what I love about all the great artists. mentors, and teachers that have had so much impact on my life – they know there is always more to discover. They know that ‘it’ – whatever ‘it’ is – is unachievable. So they look, engage, experiment, play, expand, reach, open, open, open…. Artistry is a life-long practice. It is a relationship with life.

“No one sees a flower – really – it is so small it takes time – we haven’t got time – and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.” ~ Georgia O’Keefe

 

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read Kerri’s blog post about THERE AREN’T ENOUGH CRAYONS IN THE WORLD

 

www.kerrianddavid.com

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there aren’t enough crayons in the world ©️ 2016/18 david robinson & kerri sherwood