The Constant [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on April 28, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

Pi (Greek letter “π”) is the symbol used in mathematics to represent a constant—the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter

One of Kerri’s nicknames is math-girl. She has a freakish capacity to do math in her head. No mad pencil scribbling on paper is necessary. No calculator required. She pretends to dislike adding the grocery bill faster than the store scanner or scrutinizing the taxes for minute errors but I know, deep inside, she gets a charge out of it. 20 and I regularly raise our eyebrows and ask, “How does she do that?” I’ve learned to never disagree with her when numbers are involved. I am wrong 100% of the time.

When she saw the Pi cloud in the sky she was ecstatic. It was like a visit from an old friend. An affirmation from this grand old universe.

She told me that she likes Pi because it represents a constant. A constant is something that stays the same, something that you can count on. It also refers to a quality of movement: ceaseless repetition, something that happens without pause. Or, my favorite definition of a constant: loyal or steadfast, as in a good friend.

Her comment about constants brought to my mind Yeats’ poem, The Second Coming:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world...

It is a poem for our times. The cycles of history, the widening gyre, and the chaos that ensues when one epoch is ending and another is about to begin. Aren’t we now witness to a center that cannot hold? Things fall apart. Anarchy is loosed upon the world.

Here we are. Chaos is the constant. The world is flipped upside-down. A birthing pang? The caterpillar goes to mush before it reconstitutes into a new form; a butterfly.

Of course, this is me, searching for some sense to be made in the march of the oligarchs, the rape of the nation. The worship of the cruel, the elevation of the vapid. We can only hope that this is the natural progression to mush and that someday, somewhere out there, a butterfly will break from its cocoon, dry its wings, and step off the branch to restore decency, sense, and beauty to the world.

Pie-in-the-sky? Or the constant?

read Kerri’s blogpost about Pi

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Joyfully Jump [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Posted on April 10, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

“The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.” – Michelangelo

I still marvel even though I’ve grown used to it. Without warning she suddenly jumps up and races to capture an image. Walking on the trail, mid-conversation, she suddenly disappears; I turn and find her kneeling in the dirt, her camera aimed at a new bud or the methodical march of a caterpillar. Her muse is not gentle. Her muse demands immediate action.

At first her sudden bursts of energy frightened me. I thought she saw a snake or was leaping to dodge a tarantula. I jumped, too, usually crying out, “WHAT? WHAT?” After the hundredth scare I learned to temper my response to her bursts of inspiration. I’m painfully aware that with my new conditioning it’s likely that she will someday leap to avoid a rattlesnake while I step on it, thinking she’s having a muse-call. I am certain that she will get an excellent photograph of the snake biting my ankle.

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron wrote, “Creativity is God’s gift to us. Using our creativity is our gift back to God” She continued with a more tangible sentiment, one that every human being experiences: “The refusal to be creative is self-will and is counter to our true nature.”

Blunting ourselves is not natural. It is what KDOT is teaching me. Do not doubt or delay the muse. Jump with both feet into the beauty when it beckons. Play with the moment. Share what you find there.

We forget that we, too, are works of art. We’re not finished pieces but ongoing shadows of divine perfection. We express. We are most alive when we are uninhibited in our participation and celebration of what we experience. It’s called “connected”. Plugged in. Present. Flow.

The muse will open the door and like Kerri, we could all learn to joyfully jump through it. Anything less is unnatural.

from the archives: Maenads

Go here to visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MUSE

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Whisper A Prayer [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on February 17, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

It takes a lot these days to clear my mind and heart of the malfeasance and how it already impacts our daily life.

Malfeasance, (noun): wrongdoing; especially by a public official. Or many public officials.

We had to change concourses to catch our connecting flight. Kerri put on her mask before entering the crowded train. A man approached her and mock-coughed on her. He thought he was being funny.

Malevolent (adjective): having or showing a wish to do evil to others. From the Latin, a root meaning “violent wishing”.

“Can you believe he did that?” she asked as we exited the train.

“I think we better get used to it.” I said, “The a**holes have been given a green light.”

Our dear friends drove us over a snowy pass to the shores of Lake Tahoe. Kerri had always wanted to see it. As she does whenever she sees beauty, she cried. “It’s gorgeous,” she whispered again and again. She feels the beauty.

We stopped at a beach to take photos. A cool day, I stood in the sun, warming myself, a gentle breeze rippled the surface of the lake. Quiet mind. Open heart. There’s nothing like standing on the shores of a miracle of nature. Crystal clear water reflecting snow capped mountains. It’s an instant perspective giver:

We will come and go. This era of human folly will come and go. The beauty will remain no matter the wishes we make, evil or otherwise, vicious or virtuous. Relative to the life of the lake, we are a blip, barely a blink of the eye.

Within our blip I wonder at the mind and heart that finds humor in hurting others when they have the option to help. I wonder at the heart that fills itself with hostility rather than drinks from the well of kindness.

To hurt or to help? To persecute or to assist? They seem to be the questions of our nation, of our time.

Standing on the shore in my blip of time I was eternally grateful to have my heart and mind, and not to live inside the sad angry brain of the coughing man. For him – for me – and for all of us – I whispered the Buddhist prayer: May you dwell in your heart. May you be free from suffering. May you be healed. May you be at peace.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LAKE

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Step Into The Path [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Posted on February 6, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

“When living simply, most people’s problems were part of the breathing and functioning of The Big Picture of life, for which few humans, if any, had a large enough vision or imagination to comprehend.” ~ Martin Prechtel, Long Life Honey in the Heart

Our snake plant has easily tripled in size since we brought it home. It resides on the deep window sill in our living room and will soon outgrow its nook. We tease about cutting holes in the ceiling to accommodate its astounding reach. It is a constant source of inspiration; sometimes it seems like an alien being, sometimes kelp-like and belongs in the ocean, often the light-play on its leaves makes Kerri run for her camera.

“To the Tzutujil, people were not put into this world to have a good time; they were put here to be beautiful.” ~ Martin Prechtel

Following the recommendation of Horatio, I have been painting crap for weeks. To be clear, I haven’t been painting crap – that would be odd – rather, my work has been crap. Making messes. Rather than brushes I’ve been using rags and scraping tools. Wiping off, covering over, finger painting. It’s freeing.

My studio is a sanctuary where I can, for a little while, forget what is happening in-and-to our nation. Each day I read or receive an email with these questions: What is happening? What is going to happen? The first is easy to answer: our democracy is being systematically dismembered. The second is impossible to know.

I remembered a play titled The White Rose. It chronicles the arrest and ultimate execution of students from the University of Munich who protested against and resisted the Nazis. It prompted me to Google what the German people did to resist the rise of Hitler. It might surprise you to learn that the German people did not go quietly into the fascist dark night.

“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” ~ Anne Frank

Do you remember the pro-Democracy protests in Tiananmen Square and the man who stood in front of a tank? Not all people have had freedom of speech, a free press, a society striving for social equality, the privilege of voting…they would die – and have died – for what we have taken so for granted that it is now, by popular vote, being stripped away.

The potential loss is too great to comprehend.

Did you learn about The Selma Marches* in school? Black Americans were being prevented from voting. Thousands of non-violent protesters marched and were met by violence. It was a seminal moment in the Civil Rights Movement in the United States. We have in our history great examples of courage in the face of thuggery. John Lewis. Martin Luther King. Rosa Parks and Liz Cheney are cut from the same cloth.

Empowered people empower others. What is going to happen? What we allow to a happen.

Anne Frank wrote from her hiding place, “In the long run, the sharpest weapon of all is a kind and gentle spirit.” Kind and gentle spirits need not be passive or alone. They can join hands and march. Together they can face-down the corruption and indecency. They can harbor the persecuted. They can step into the path of an oncoming tank and with their courage touch the heart and shared humanity of the world.

*No matter what history the current administration attempts to erase, it is Black History Month and the history of the United States is rich with people of courage who faced incredible resistance to preserve and forward the ideals of democracy.

detail of a painting in progress: can you see her face?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SNAKE PLANT

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The Fruit of Now [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on January 1, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

“But the Tzutujil, with no verb “to be,” spoke about their temple as a non-rigid, fluid thing to be added to and fed with offerings. These offerings kept the world alive, like the fertilizing and watering of a tree, an ancient tree that continually bears the fruit of “now”. “ ~ Martin Prechtel, Long Life Honey in the Heart

The fruit of now.

Sometimes I try to imagine living in a culture that believes their actions matter not only to the health of the world, but the very existence of the world. All the world a sanctuary. What must it feel like to live with the understanding that what we do and how we behave, what we honor and what we bring to the sanctuary more than sustains it? It recreates it. No action is insignificant. To be the collective stewards of an ancient relationship rather than pursuers of an individual abstract heaven. The fruit of now.

Day one of a new year. Yesterday I wrote about my resolution, to be careful what I pretend to be.

Yesterday Kerri wrote about being a source of light. A luminaria. Illumination. “A lamp kept burning before the sacrament.” To be a source of light in a dark time.

This morning I awoke thinking about kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It was mentioned in the Hallmark movie we watched on Sunday night. A cherished angel, broken and repaired. Kintsugi is meant to take what is broken and make it more beautiful by highlighting rather than hiding the cracks.

Kintsugi is a nice compliment to my resolution of being careful about what I pretend to be. It is a worthy intention, rather than hide my broken bits, I might spend this year gluing them back together in such a way that I highlight rather than conceal them. To be an honestly messy human is to be a source of light in a dark time. In that way, might I become more beautiful?

Or, perhaps the becoming-more-beautiful never stops. Kintsugi is not an achievement, an end result. It is an ongoing process. I can imagine, as one of the many stewards of the ancient relationship, responsible for the health of the sanctuary, the ancient tree, becoming more beautiful is an intention, a daily practice. And, knowing that what I-and-we-do-and-say matters to the health of the whole, in this ritual passage into the new year, I-and-we might enjoy the fruit of now, taking this step across the threshold into the new year as if what we do matters to the health of the world, shining as a source of light in a dark time.

read Kerri’s blog about A Luminaria

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Our Real Riches [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on December 17, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Since rarely in life have we had excess, we’ve become experts of austerity and yet we seldom feel wanton or that we are lacking in any way. Quite the opposite! We usually walk in rich abundance – the kind that is not connected to possession or attainment or access. We appreciate to our core the gift of being alive, our time together, the plenty that comes from our friendships, the affluence of our artistry. There is no end to the ideas we chase or the moments we cherish. For us, each walk on the trail is extraordinary. We never take it for granted.

The gift of our strict no-spending orientation is that, when we do afford ourselves a treat, the pleasure is amplified; a tiny moment elevated to the exceptional. For instance, yesterday while shopping for gifts we did something that we rarely allow ourselves to do: we stopped at a bakery, bought a pastry and a cup of coffee. We were giddy with excitement. We savored every bite. We cherished sitting in the warm cafe on a cold wet day and sipping a hot, bold cup of coffee. A seasonal sensual pleasure. We promised each other that someday we would do it again.

Our real riches are in our eyes, our seeing. Kerri’s eyes see beauty in everything. At the first dusting of snow she dashed outside to capture the textures and color on the deck. “Lookit!” she said, showing me her discovery, nose red from the cold.

My eyes see movement and connectivity. Busy streets often appear to me as a dance. In a past life I adored teaching because I could see ideas ripple and discoveries flow through the class. I adored watching audiences join in what I came to understand as a single heart beat. Perhaps that was what called me to the theatre. I am only now beginning to understand what calls me to paint.

We moved our old wooden glider, deck furniture, into our living room. A well-used, very old studio lamp, a treasure found at an antique sale for five dollars, serves as a reading lamp. Next to the glider is a tall branch, painted white, wrapped in happy lights and adorned with holiday crystals. It’s become a favorite place to sit. Our happy hour has migrated from the kitchen table to the living room glider where we can appreciate our holiday decorations and watch the world pass by outside the front window.

‘I love it here,” she says, giving Dogga a nibble of cracker. Me, too. I love it here.

***

After writing my post, while waiting for Kerri to finish hers, I opened my email and read the latest of Maria Popova’s The Marginalian:

“The destination, rather than a place, is a state of being — the recompense of paying everything in our path the gratitude and reverence it is due for merely existing. For we forget, too, that dignity — this deepest reverence for being — is not something we can ever have for ourselves unless we accord it to everything and everyone else.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about APPRECIATION

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Nothing More Beautiful [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on September 17, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

I make it a practice to take notes when I have calls with Horatio. He says the most extraordinary things. This morning I search-and-rescued this Horatio comment about aging: he said, “It only felt like an ambush because I hadn’t been paying attention.”

I went looking for Horatio’s quote because Kerri and I had a spontaneous-hysterical-conversation about the abrupt changes in our bodies over the past five years. “Look at this!” she bellowed, “It just happened!” Of course, I was too invested in horror at my own creeping-decrepitude to notice what part of her body she was disparaging. “It never used to be this way!” she muttered, spinning slowly so her disdain was a full 360°.

I made the rookie mistake of asking what age she was comparing herself with. Because her glare signaled that I was about to spend the rest of the day in the doghouse, I quickly added, “I don’t look like I did when I was thirty, either.” Rookie mistake number 2. Dumb. Stupid. Brainless. Dense. Not to mention dangerous. Had she killed me in that moment, no jury in the land would have found her guilty; “Her act…,” the jury foreman would report to the judge, “…was justified”.

We make a practice of paying attention. It’s why we often choose to walk slowly. Rather than walk through the woods, we try to be in them. To notice. The consistent miracle when walking slowly is that there is always something new to discover, something that we’ve never before seen. For instance, the portal in the ancient tree. We’ve walked past and admired this tree a hundred times. We’ve placed painted rocks in its nooks. Kerri’s photographed it dozens of times; age has made it beautiful. Photogenic. And, today, for the very first time, we noticed the portal, a peek through the tree to the other side. “How did we miss that?” we exclaimed.

“It only felt like an ambush because I hadn’t been paying attention.”

Horatio, of course, is right. There is no ambush. The river keeps flowing and somehow we are surprised to find ourselves in places we’ve never before imagined. New stages of life. All the time I tell Kerri that she is beautiful. She cannot hear me because she expects herself to be in another part of the river entirely. I am guilty of the same false expectation.

Looking backward in life is like looking through the tiny portal in the ancient tree. The view is blurry and limited. Ask me if I would like to go back to the time when my body was thirty and I will howl with laughter, “No way!” This day, this moment, as hard as it can sometimes be, is the best time of my life. I am learning to appreciate my aches and pains, my ever-changing-body, to pay attention to where I am and not where I imagine I should be.

Here and now. There is nothing more beautiful.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE PORTAL

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Witness The Impossible [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Posted on September 12, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

We heard, in some locations this summer, people experienced a veritable plague of cicadas. They shoveled them off of their driveways like so much snow. Not here. We finally heard their song late in the season. We found a few empty shells floating in the pond or attached to fence, evidence that they’d emerged and transformed. They were present in vibrational rhythmic sound. They remained invisible to our eyes.

Sitting quietly on the deck one evening in August, enjoying the cicada symphony, Kerri said, “It’s not summer until I hear the cicadas.” Markers of our passage around the sun. Symbols of the cycle. The first color on the leaves. First snow. The first dandelion of spring. The first turtle emerging from the muddy river. Cicada song.

Last week we talked about stew and soups rather than watermelon and burgers on the grill. In this way, in old and new recipes, we chase the coming season. Anticipation and imagination.

We found the cicada on the driveway. It was in its last minutes of life. Crawling like a drunken sailor, it could no longer fly; one wing undamaged but seemingly useless. “It’s so sad,” she said as she knelt to take a photo.

Reverence overcame the sadness. “Look at the color! How beautiful!” she whispered, showing me the photo. We knelt again to witness the dying cicada.

Appreciation. Sometimes I think our only purpose on this earth is to cherish its treasures, to recognize something so small and impossibly grand as the movement of life.

Newborn, 48″ x 32″, mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CICADA

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Weather Beautifully [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on August 19, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

“…happiness, when pushed to an extreme, becomes calamity. Beauty, when overdone, becomes ugliness.” ~ Thomas Merton, The Way of Chuang Tzu

I am early in my slow-read of The Way of Chuang Tzu. I already love it. This morning I read these words by Thomas Merton slowly, again and again, tasting them like poetry: “…a system constructed on a theoretical and abstract principle of love ignores certain fundamental and mysterious realities, of which we cannot be fully conscious, and the price we pay for this inattention is that our ‘love’ in fact becomes hate.”

The abstract ideal contorts us. The “what is” always loses in a comparison to the “should be”. Thus, a world of nature’s beauty swirls down the drain.

Marketing ideals and mirrors reflect theoretical and abstract principles. Constructed systems. They readily twist our natural love of self into a hatred of our bodies and faces. Is beauty really the exclusive province of the young? Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn grew more and more beautiful, more and more brilliant with age. Aging is among the “fundamental and mysterious realities” of which Thomas Merton wrote. There is profound beauty in aging, a mysterious reality that is not accessible to the young.

On Saturday we published a Smack-Dab cartoon about aging. We poked fun at my discovery of new wrinkles when looking in the mirror. Poking fun at ourselves is a good strategy for embracing the “fundamental and mysterious reality” of this beautiful life. There’s so much pressure to do otherwise, to resist, to deny, to pretend. Laughter is a great eye-cleanser.

We live in a society slathered with memes and messages of self-love while, at the same moment, we drown in messages to be other-than-what-we-are. Is it any wonder we are conflicted and seem incapable of sorting out what is real and what is not?

I know with certainty, like every other human that walked before me, I will disappear into time. Why spend another moment of my precious limited time on this earth resisting the gorgeous life that I enjoy? Why try to hide my age to match a manufactured ideal?

There is a reason the clothes I wore a decade ago no longer fit. There is a reason my beard is grey and the light in my eyes is less fierce than it was twenty years ago. I am different now. No more or less beautiful.

I said, squeezing her hand, “Let’s become apple-dolls together.” Her eyes welled with tears. What could possibly be more beautiful?

read Kerri’s blogpost about WEATHERED BEAUTY

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Find Your Right Place [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on August 13, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

A box of drawer pulls is a box of stories lost to time. Many are worn from long use, polished by human hands. Some have never been used, rarely touched, except by those of us that casually sift through the box.

It’s easy to personify a drawer pull and turn it into a story of yearning. A story of yearning for purpose. A story of being chosen. A story of finding a home.

As I lift a tiny knob from the box I ask, “And what about you?” I am tempted to buy the little knob for no other reason than to get it out of the box. To give it a home. I have already projected a personality onto this tiny pull and laugh heartily at myself.

The shopkeeper eyes me hopefully. It is unusual for the box of knobs to elicit laughter. She’s giving change to another customer.

I rub the tiny knob like a worry-stone and place it back in the box. “Have hope,” I tell the tiny knob. It is worn smooth from a long life of good use. “You’ll find your right place, your next life, someday soon.” I can feel it.

Were I a sculptor, an artist that worked in three dimensions like Louise Nevelson, the whole box would be coming home with me. I know the right artist will find this box and when they do, this little drawer pull, rather than sit forgotten on my shelf, will be delighted to transform, serving a less-functional but more heart-inspired kind of beauty, sublime as a work of art.

read Kerri’s blogpost about KNOBS

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