Carry The Impression [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Leigh is an authority on rock art, the pictographs and petroglyphs found in caves and on rock walls around the world. People, for whatever reason, leaving a mark. Leaving their mark. Ritual? Aesthetic? I relished conversations with him as I peppered him with questions, speculating about their reasons.

Brad once said – that when he passes someday – he wants a plaque on a bench so that people will know that he was here. Future bench sitters will read the plaque and wonder who he was and why his name is on the bench.

Recently 20 brought to our house several drawings, conte crayon on newsprint. They are figure studies Duke, his father, did years ago when working with a model. They are gorgeous and free, the drawings of a master. Most are signed. I sign my paintings, too. I want people to know that they are mine, that I created them. Looking at the drawings, now that Duke is gone, I was taken by the power of the marks on the page, his signature, reaching across time to tell me, “This was my work. I was there.”

When BabyCat passed the vet made an impression of his paw for us. A keepsake. A reminder. I doubt BabyCat cared at all but we did. It helps us stay connected. It prompts us to tell stories.

Dogga’s beard is as grey as mine. He sometimes groans when he stands. He snores at night and we smile, knowingly. A few weeks ago, for a day or two, he was in pain, limping for unknown reasons. Although I knew it was not serious, an achy joint or pulled muscle, I was terrified at the depth and scope of what I was feeling. Love is like that. He stepped through the snow and left a print. I stared at it, taken by it, like Duke’s signature or a petroglyph scratched into stone. I watched him prance his circle-of-patrol and was utterly grateful for my terror, for the depth and scope of what I was feeling.

Love is like that. A bottomless impression he has left in me that I will carry to the end of my days.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA PRINT

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Will It To Happen [on Two Artists Tuesday]

bcat summer with frame copy

This is the first face, the first thing I see each morning when I open my eyes. BabyCat, aka Sumo aka ONEBIGCAT aka Scrawny Cat. Let’s just say that he is a substantial kitty. And willful when hungry. The morning ritual goes like this (my eyes are closed): he mews up a storm with no result (eyes are still closed). He pulls books from shelves and then claws the back of the already-destroyed-chair (eyes still closed). He shreds the previous night’s crossword puzzle and any other loose paper on the floor. No movement from the human. The final stage is a cat-leap onto the bed (BabyCat landing on the bed feels like riding a rolling ocean wave in a small dinghy). And then he stares at me like some 19th century hypnotist, willing my eyes to open. No matter how long it takes. None of the ruckus produces results but the silent stare is a killer. It’s unnerving. It makes me open my eyes.

This morning the thunder and rain are at it again. The air is thick, sticky and humid. Wisconsin has gone tropical and, apparently, now has a monsoon season. When my eyes popped open this morning there was something extra in BabyCat’s stare. More than food, he wanted to know where summer had gone. Was it here at all or was is merely a B-Cat dream? A passing fancy?

Blinking my eyes, the best that I could offer was this: “I don’t know, BabyCat. I dreamed it was summer, too.” And then we finished the morning ritual with our customary promenade to the food bowl.

 

if you'd like to see TWO ARTISTS copy(the BabyCat coasters kill me! the travel mug is downright unnerving!)

read Kerri’s blog post about WHERETHEHECKDIDSUMMERGO?

 

 

www.kerrianddavid.com

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wheretheheckdidsummergo ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood