Barnacle And Beauty [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Let me describe the present moment. It is morning. A gentle rain is falling outside, tap-tapping a steady rhythm on the gutters and pools in the driveway. The window is open just enough so the smell of new rain is carried on a slight cool breeze. We sit, feet beneath the quilt, writing. Dogga was asleep in his favorite spot at the doorway but must have sensed I was about to write about him. He stretched, yawned, groaned, and jumped up on the bed. He nestled in and is once again asleep. Oh, yes, and there is coffee.

I was compelled to write about the present moment because I just read to Kerri an article in the New York Times about the social side of artificial intelligence. AI companions. At first it begged the question, “What is real?” but then I caught my prejudice. Are the conversations I have in my head real? Are my perceptions of the world real? Why should the conversations people are having with their AI companions be any less real than the nonsense that daily runs through my noggin? There is, according to the report, an epidemic of loneliness in these un-United States and true companionship is, apparently, hard to come by. It smacks to me of another layer on the bubble: people create their AI companions and AI companions learn how to respond to their creators from their creators…

There was no filter used to capture this pink-purple sky. It’s one of the things I appreciate about Kerri’s urge to aim her camera. She rarely attempts to alter the image. To make it something else. She is drawn to photograph the present moment with all of its flaws and barnacles. And beauty and grace.

Last night, during our 3am banana-and-trail-fest, we bumbled into a series of videos: people who have decided to live off the grid yet are documenting and sharing their homesteading process on YouTube. We’ve been following Martijn Doolaard for a few years and delight in the travels of Foresty Forest and his dog Rocko. Alternate lives. Old world craftsmen-and-women using-but-not-lost-in the wonders of new world technology. Sense-making.

My 3am revelation? I’m drawn to these people because of the balance they seek to establish: hands and feet firmly rooted in the traditions of dirt and toil and presence, while at the same time appreciating and using technology to capture their present moment. To share. To create. To suggest to us 3am sleep-deprived watchers that there is, indeed, a balance to be struck. No need to get lost. Barnacles and beauty available during this time of intense change.

meander/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SKY

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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

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smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Share Through Your Eyes [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

We slept on the living room floor last night. Our chugga-chugga air conditioner doesn’t reach our bedroom at the back of the house. Record breaking heat drove us to improvisation. “We’re camping!” we exclaimed, spreading blankets on the throw-rug, Dogga jumping with enthusiasm into our bed-making-attempts, ruffling our efforts.

In the morning, we could barely move. “My shoulder is killing me!” I whined.

“My hips are burning,” she frowned.

We laughed and together howled, “OUCH!” I creaked to the kitchen to make coffee.

While waiting for the coffee to brew I thought of the underpass. On Saturday we explored a new part of the river trail that ran beneath several busy roads, including the interstate highway. As we left the heat of the sun and entered the cool of the underpass, Kerri asked, “Do you think people sleep under here?”

“Yes, I do.”

Standing at the coffeemaker I was awash with thankfulness. I slept on the floor by choice. Our dog woke us this morning nuzzling our faces. Our ancient air conditioner kept us cool through a brutally hot night. We laughed at our aches and pain.

It’s funny the way thoughts tumble and connect with memory, constellating into well-worn images or plowing new conceptual pathways. Udayana University, Bali. One of my graduate school peers had just completed a presentation on homelessness in the United States. The Udayana faculty was horrified. “But you are the richest country on earth,” a wide-eyed Balinese professor stuttered. “How can you let a member of your community go without a home?” To him, it was the height of shame for a community not to care for their own. It was, in fact, inconceivable. This moment was central to my memory: I saw in his eyes the high esteem he held for us fall into the dark basement. He was suddenly very proud to be Balinese. His community might not have financial resources but they had a form of wealth that made paupers of his American guests.

“It’s the contrast principle”, 20 says. Oppositions illuminate. Cultural differences clarify. What we normalize we cease seeing. I’ve stepped over people sleeping in the street. In Seattle, I routinely rode my bike on paths under a freeway lined with tents and shopping-cart-possessions. In Bali, a man stopped his work in the fields and walked with me because it was rude to let a guest walk alone. We did not speak because we did not share a common language. When I reached my destination, we nodded and shared through our eyes that most universal of gratitudes: genuine appreciation for the companionship of the other; an authentic wish for the well-being of all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE UNDERPASS

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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

Feel The Absence [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Because I was in Colorado helping my mother navigate her way through a maze-like life transition, I was somewhat detached from the reality of BabyCat’s passing. The full weight of loss smacked me when, coming through the back door late at night, returning from my travels, my ordinarily overly-effusive Australian Shepherd was not bouncing at the door to greet me. I came in, put down my bags and, out of the darkness, DogDog emerged, walked slowly to me, and pressed his head to my leg.

Kerri warned me that DogDog was hurting. She told me about his vigil at the door, waiting for BabyCat to come home. She described his looking-looking-looking around the house for his constant companion. She told me of his quiet, his disinterest in going-in-and-out-and-in-and-out during the day.

He stays close to us. His sadness is palpable. His light is dim.

Initially, when DogDog appeared in our lives, Kerri was worried that BabyCat would never accept a dog into his domain. We knew they’d crossed the bridge into friendship when, one day, to our great dismay, DogDog had BabyCat’s head in his mouth and was dragging him across the hardwood floors. We shouted for DogDog to stop. Always an obedient boy, he released BabyCat, who promptly slapped him. The cat-head-went-back-into-the-gentle-dog-mouth and the game resumed. “Boys,” Kerri looked at me and sighed, “are a mystery to me.”

This morning, as I made breakfast, rather than go out and clear the yard of marauding squirrels, his usual enthusiastic activity, DogDog stood in the sun room, sniffing the spot BabyCat always occupied when it was time to be fed. I sat on the step and ruffled his ears. We’ve explained to him that his BabyCat isn’t coming home, that his BabyCat loved him. We’ve accompanied him as he searches the house, telling him that it will be okay. Now, as is true for us, too, we’re beyond words. We sit together in the silence, in the place where no word can reach, and, together, feel the absence, that only great love, in loss, brings.

read Kerri’s blog post about CONSTANT COMPANIONS

Spend Time Together [on KS Friday]

time together song box copy

In the fall of 2013, still new in our relationship yet already tired of making it work at a distance, Kerri and I flew to Seattle, packed my studio, my paintings, and my few worldly possessions into a Budget truck. We headed east over Snoqualmie Pass en route to Wisconsin. The trip took us five days. Five days of adventure. Five days of gorgeous scenery. Five days of uninterrupted time together. It served as the portal into our new life.

This piece, TIME TOGETHER, could be the soundtrack for our five day journey. It is hopeful, bright, and present in the way that people become when on a road trip, surrounded by a startling world, en route to the unknown new. On this KS Friday, sit back in your seat, close your eyes, and let Kerri’s TIME TOGETHER take you on the road. Marvel at the simple pleasure of companionship, of precious time shared with the person you love.

 

 

TIME TOGETHER on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY is available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

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read Kerri’s blog post about TIME TOGETHER

 

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time together/this part of the journey ©️ 2000 kerri sherwood

Chicken Marsala Monday

We were 14 hours into a 17 hour drive when she asked the question. “If we’d had a child, what would we have named it?” After much laughter and too much coffee we settled on Chicken Marsala.  Chicken kept us awake for the rest of our drive.

No one can accuse us of not being productive. We are a creative melange of paintings, music, plays, books, children’s books, and, now, cartoons. For over a year we attempted to syndicate our strip, Chicken Marsala (the imaginary child of an aging couple…) and were met with much enthusiasm but not syndication. We produced months of strips and single panel nuggets (chicken strips and chicken nuggets. Titanic wit, yes?).

Brewed from our studio, from the pile of creative perseverance that is stacking up below and above the ping pong table that serves as our archive , we’ve decided to offer a daily blend of goodness, thought, laughter and beauty. It may come fresh off the press or it might be aged and, like Chicken Nuggets, it might be looking for some light. Art is made to share, not archive. Either way, welcome to the melange. Chicken’s day is Monday. This nugget has everything to do with Valentine’s week and a quiet reminder that the universe of feelings is so much bigger than words can possibly contain.

love needs no words jpeg copy.jpg

LOVE NEEDS NO WORDS

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love needs no words ©️ 2016 david robinson & kerri sherwood