Travel Together [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

There are two phases. When I was younger, phase one, I thought everything I had to say was of vital importance. I thought I could help-the-world so I needed to be heard. And, I worked hard to be heard. Don Quixote. “A man of questionable sanity.” Now, each day, I open my site analytics and am astounded that anyone finds value in anything I have to write. Phase two in a nutshell: I am having a conversation with myself and am more and more certain that I know nothing at all.

Not knowing was once a fear. Something to mask. Now it is a certitude. A given. In fact, it is now something of a north star.

I am grateful beyond measure that you-out-there are reading this travelogue of my wandering mind. Truly. I am astonished that you actually choose to spend a few moments of your day with me. I know nothing of real value to share.

And then I remember. Each night Kerri and I watch videos made by through-hikers. Each hiker starts their journey alone and inevitably, through happenstance, finds their travel family. Each hiker-tale carries the same revelation: the real value of the trail is found in the people who walk it with them. No one cares what their companions know or do-not-know. They care that they walk with people of like mind, people who care for them as much as they care for the others in the group. They listen to each other. They create safety together. They laugh. They support. They share.

Although you show up on my screen as a number beneath a bar chart, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can’t possibly be reduced to a statistic. You are my travel companion and I am, in a small way, yours. Sancho Panza both directions. I hear you when your number pops up on my screen; I know that you hear me. It matters not what of my mind-rambling finds letters and words as long as they fly through space-time and find you. As long as your response, as small as a single click, finds me.

And that’s the healing part of the story. Always. I see you/you see me. I hear you/you hear me. I watch for you/you watch for me. It has very little to do with what we know and everything to do with what we experience together.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BEING HEARD

like. comment. share. support. thank you.

buymeacoffee is a gratitude. nothing more, nothing less.

Measure The Path [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

And isn’t the true wealth of life about the extraordinary people that walk the path with you? I am, every day, astonished by my good fortune, especially by this woman who chooses to walk this life with me. In this measure, I am unbelievably rich.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HOLDING ON

like. share. comment. support. many thanks!

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Add Another Layer [on DR Thursday]

Were you to meet my easel in a dark alley it would, no doubt, frighten you. It’s big. Substantial. Rough. Weathered from hard life. Knobby, bent and encrusted.

I see it with different eyes. It is one of my most sacred possessions. It was given to me, a gift of celebration, following the opening of my very first solo show. Prior to its arrival in my life I propped my canvas on chairs or tables, I leaned them against walls, kneeling to paint. My easel allowed me to stand.

Caked in charcoal and layer upon layer of paint, artifacts of the hundreds of paintings that it has held for me, I find it beautiful. It has traveled with me through many states and life stages. Its main support is bent. It creaks when I adjust the angle or drop the arm. It occurred to me this morning, as I rebuild my studio following the great flood, that I also creak when my angles adjust, when my arms drop. We’ve aged together.

In a life with very few constants, my easel has served as my single steadfast companion through every move, every triumph, every tragedy. It has stood with me when I was artistically productive and a barren wasteland. It’s listened to me rant, ramble, and recite. It’s been witness to my laughter and my fears. It has been the silent sentinel during my mini-deaths and slow rebirths.

This morning, as I carried my easel back into the studio, I realized how out-of-order my world has felt. If my studio is in disarray, as it has been since the flood, I am also in disarray. Returning my easel to its proper spot in the studio I felt a flood of relief. All of my pieces are nearly put back together again. My trusty companion, my reliable easel and I will soon stand together, paint will spatter, charcoal and matte medium will crust another coating onto our already layered archaeology.

Art hollers. Possibility beckons.

read Kerri’s blog post about the EASEL