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

Every once in a while I flip open one of my well-loved-and-well-worn books to a random page and read a few paragraphs. It’s my way of giving this wise-old universe the opportunity to drop a pertinent message on me. What tidbit of wisdom might I need to hear today?

Yesterday I opened Robert Fritz’s book, The Path Of Least Resistance, and began reading about discrepancy: what is the difference between where you are right now and what you want to create? I read that most people try to remove or deny their discrepancies. They try to eliminate the tension. Artists, on the other hand, understand their discrepancies as fuel. Creative tension. Discrepancy ignites the imagination. The last thing an artist wants to do is blunt their imagination, deny the discrepancy. An artist uses it. It’s a “process focus” rather than an “achievement focus”.

At the stop sign she stopped just shy of the bumper of the car in front of us, pulled out her camera and snapped a photo of the sticker on the window: I hope something good happens to you today. “Now that’s refreshing,” she said. In our travels we see plenty of aggressive bumper messages. Almost daily Kerri asks, “Why would they put THAT on their car? Jeeeeez!”

A wish for something good to happen to you. Today. What is the distance between us-as-a-nation right now, in this very dark moment, and a community that actually hopes for something good to happen to and for everyone? Can you imagine it? Walking in the world with a hope in your heart for good things to happen to everyone you meet, to everyone whose path you cross?

It is an understatement to suggest that there’s quite a discrepancy between what-is and what-could-be. There is a veritable chasm between the incoming angry nightmare and those who voted for hope, decency and kindness. And so it’s a vital time to be an artist. There’s rarely been a time more in need of imagination to counter the backward-looking-conservative-fascist-fantasy.

There’s plenty of fuel for the imagination borne of our massive discrepancy. Hoping for something good to happen to you today – whoever you are – is a great place to start.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SOMETHING GOOD

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How To Harmonize [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“Nature, in the intimate and in the vast, is not designed. It is designing. Our own nature confirms it.” ~ N.J. Berrill, You and the Universe (via The Marginalian)

 In one of our famous conversations, Horatio suggested I read Ernest Becker’s Pulitzer Prize winning book, The Denial of Death. So, I did. Horatio has never led me astray. Boiled down to an essence, as a unifying principle for religion and science, it unpacks the human dilemma of being a finite animal with an unlimited imagination. We are unique among creatures because we know we will die yet we have the capacity to imagine ourselves infinite. And so, to live beyond the veil, we think we must leave a mark, to serve a greater purpose. We must seek or give meaning to our limited time. No other animal carries so great a burden, this split-dance of separation and unity.

It is an understatement to suggest that it has set me to thinking. It is the ultimate in creative tension.

For ages, artists have painted the Danse Macabre. Some are a painting a warning: it’s coming so be ready! Some are painting an appeal: it’s precious so live every moment of it!

And this is what Horatio’s recommendation has me thinking: It’s a cycle of movement, like the tides or the cycle of the seasons, the movement of the earth, spinning around the sun…It is movement. Life is movement.

I was hired at the software start-up, not because I know anything about technology or coding, but because I see movement. Dynamic whole systems. In my brief foray into the start-up, I learned that, in order to be successful, software has no end. It is never finished. It must constantly iterate. It must never assume a completion. It is, in that way, like a human being, constantly becoming, cycling through periods of stability and periods of chaos, through lostness and found-ness, each generation supporting the cycle of the next generation.

We confuse ourselves by seeking an answer to our end, as if the design is finished. As if we are complete. That is a statement of our denial. We are movement. Relationship. Cycle. Never complete.

She knelt to take a photograph of the daisies, each at various points in their life cycle. A perfect visual for the single question-with-no-answer at the core of our short season on earth:

“…how to harmonize our cosmic smallness with the immensity of our creaturely experience…” ~ N.J. Berrill

read Kerri’s blogpost about DAISIES

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Small Ripples [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We made them for a Wednesday evening film, part of a series, when we were running a performing arts center. The film was Wonder. The message was kindness. We chose that film because the local arts community had a history of being particularly unkind to each other.

Theirs was an age-old challenge: the tension between the old and the new. The conservative impulse colliding with the necessity of progress. There were territories claimed. Feelings maimed. Status games abounded. As newcomers to the community and managers of the newest facility, we were the rope in the tacit tug-of-war. We experienced both ends of the spectrum: incredible kindness. Breathtaking mean-spiritedness.

None of it was personal.

Art is never supposed to be competitive. Great art creates generous audiences for everyone. COVID ended our time there but in our brief window, we acted as peacemakers. We heard the complaints. We helped vent the pressure. We found avenues to collaboration. We drew clear boundaries. We tried hard to be impeccable to our word: say what we mean and mean what we say. Averting confusion in a community versed in double-speak.

The buttons were available beyond the screening to anyone who wanted them. It felt yummy and subversive to show a film about kindness, about looking beyond superficial appearances to find the rich beauty in others.

I’d forgotten about the buttons. So much has happened in our lives since our time at the performing arts center that I’d almost forgotten about our varied experiences and the lessons we learned there. The buttons still exist on our site. We put them up after Kerri designed them, and although everything else has dropped out of our store, the buttons remain. An epicenter, perhaps. And, thank goodness. Recently a school was organizing a Be Kind Week. They found our buttons and, in some small way, it feels extraordinarily satisfying that our buttons, borne of our desire to break through walls of discord, are now supporting their kindness initiative.

Small ripples. Simple intentions.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE KIND

Be Kind Buttons

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Secret Sauce [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

The Des Plaines river spilled out onto the flood plain. The trees, not at all surprised, rose tall through the murky water in this yearly ritual of spring. “Has it ever been so high?” she asked. I shrugged.

We walked the path. It mostly rose above the waterline. With water lapping on both sides, the trail sometimes resembled a bridge. A crystal clear day teased forward the colors of the birch and grasses. The world was vibrant and strange. We had the sense that we were walking in another dimension. Second attention; alternate reality.

The beaver tree made more dynamic by its reflection in the water stopped us in our tracks. Were I judging sculpture in nature’s competition, this would be a clear winner. The massive tree, already tipped and chipped at a precarious angle, compounded by the image mirrored in the river overflow gave the illusion of a sphere without roots and heightened the tension of the unstable tree. Weebles wobble and, despite their reputation, sometimes they fall down.

Creative tension. The secret sauce of all good art. Between the river challenging its boundaries, the trail snaking and in danger of disappearing, the vibrant color teased forward by the sun’s eclipse, and the good work of an aesthetic beaver with the notable assistance of the water’s reflection, this walk was as artistically rich, inspiring and refreshing as any day I’ve spent in a gallery.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREE

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

Of course, the problem with leaving well enough alone is that the phrase only pops up when things are not well enough. When change is on the horizon, when a hidden truth is about to breach the crusty surface, when the globe spins and a new insight dawns, it is a sure bet that the keepers of the conservative will bellow, “Leave well enough alone!”

Call it creative tension. The space between progress and conservation is a taut rubber band. Both poles serving a necessary purpose, neither is trustworthy when absent the other pole. So, phrases like, “Leave well enough alone” are signal flags, signs that the tension on the band is high and the snap forward is inevitable. Pulling back always signals an impending forward step. Always.

I’m particularly fond of this image. A tomato slice demanding inaction. And won’t this crabby tomato be surprised in a day or two to see the icky green results of inactivity! Better to invite the bacon, lettuce and toasty bread to the plate, a bit of salt and pepper, and get on with the business of yummy sustenance. Progress by any other name.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE

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buymeacoffee is a progressive impulse meeting a conservative over-reaction causing deep distress that can only be cured by an action in the direction of intention to make a better world for the tomatoes that envision it.

Scribble With Purpose [on DR Thursday]

Henri Matisse said, “Creativity takes courage.” I suppose that is true when considering the enormous pressures to conform to a style or standard. To create what is acceptable or expected. To suss-out what will be rewarded with approval and/or profit. In this context, it takes enormous courage to deviate. To explore. To surprise yourself by breaking form and risking ridicule and rejection and poverty. In this context, it takes courage to show up. It takes courage to punch through.

On the other hand, creativity is the most natural thing in the world. Ask any child. On second thought, please don’t ask any child since it will only confuse them. They have no idea that creativity – to an adult – is a separate thing. What’s scary and vulnerable to the tall people is commonplace to the little critters. There’s help for the older folks: allow the child-inside to scribble with abandon. Recognize that the story of, “I’m not creative,” is a creative act. The story of “It’s scary to create,” is also a creative act. It’s a story.

Creativity runs like wild horses through every day of our lives. Our perceptions and interpretations and fears are pure storytelling. The real challenge is not the absence of creativity but the conscious appreciation of our rampant creativity. The squeeze to conform serves as a heavy curtain obscuring our vibrant expressiveness.

The courage that Henri Matisse references is borne of the tension between the desire to be appreciated (to fit in, to succeed) and the yearning to break new trail or sail into undiscovered lands. To risk. To intentionally and publicly scribble outside the lines. To say aloud what needs saying.

Creativity is the most natural thing in the world. As it turns out, so is conformity. We are, after all, like wolves: animals that run in a pack. Humans die in isolation so serving the will of the group is a high priority. The wrestling match between creativity and conformity is necessary.

The progressive impulse. The conservative impulse. A bowstring drawn taut between these two poles provides the necessary tension to send the arrow of our ideas and dreams sailing toward the distant target. Children scribble with abandon. Grown up children, those telling themselves the story of “I’m a creator,” learn to scribble with purpose.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PUNCHING THROUGH

shared fatherhood, 25.5X40.5IN, mixed media on panel

shared fatherhood 2 © 2017 david robinson

chicken marsala/just scribble © 2016 kerri sherwood & david robinson

Buckle Up [on DR Thursday]

“Life is 10 percent what you make it and 90 percent how you take it.” ~ Irving Berlin

There’s nothing like flying in a plane to shake-up and challenge your perceptions. Board a plane on a snowy overcast day and, after a few minutes of lift, punching through to brilliant sun and the curvature of the earth. What was true on the ground is not true in the sky. And vice-versa.

The first time I flew I was 18 years old. I remember thinking that, of all the people who’d walked the earth throughout time, very few had seen the clouds from above. Most looked to the sky and wondered what it felt like to fly like a bird. During our recent flight, looking down at the clouds, I was taken by the fact that the population of humans-on-earth has doubled since the 18-year-old-me first looked out the window of an airplane. Something that has never happened in the span of a single lifetime. If I live an average lifespan, it will triple. The challenges we face, from the migration of people to the warming globe to the crisis of resources, can be traced back to this simple statistic. The stress levers get lost in the rhetoric-shuffle.

From the sky, it’s easy to see that we are one team, occupying one planet. From up there, the wrangling over red or blue, the movement of the fickle markets, the fist-pumping red-faced divisions, all disappear. It’s easy to punch through the dense fog and see a bigger picture. A more perfect union.

I chuckled after I wrote that last metaphor because my inner cynic rolled his eyes and muttered, “Yeah, but first you have to WANT to get on the plane.”

My inner optimist, not to be outdone, replied, “Exactly. It’s human nature to want to see what’s over the next hill or above the fog. Everyone wants to get on the plane.”

Well, there you have it. Scintillating perspectives from the cynic on the ground and the optimist in the sky. Creative tension at its finest. While my cynic and optimist work this one out, I think I’ll fasten my seatbelt and prepare myself for a smooth landing. As the saying goes: What goes up must come down.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CLOUDS

A Prayer of Opposites, 48×48, acrylic

a prayer of opposites © david robinson

Coalesce [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Rich used to tell me that, “People don’t change until the pain of the change is less than the pain of staying the same.” At the time, I thought his mantra was cynical; pain either way. Now, I think it is spot-on.

Discord is the essential ingredient for initiating any creative process. Explorers look at the horizon with a deep need to find-out what’s beyond. Their curiosity outstrips their comfort. Curiosity and comfort. Change and stay-the-same. There’s a tug-of-war in every decision that’s worth making.

Creative tension is a dynamic pull between two poles. Do I add a brushstroke or is the painting finished? This morning I came across a well-known quote by Leonardo da Vinci: Art is never finished, only abandoned. Pain either way. Finishing a work of art is akin to dropping the rope in the creative tug-of-war.

When I was wearing my corporate-consultant-hat, almost daily I repeated a lesson relative to Little Red Riding Hood: without the Wolf there is no story. Too often we try to eliminate our Wolf. We are inundated with messages trumpeting the notion that happiness (or good process) arrives in the absence of discord. It does not. Happiness avails itself when the necessity of the Wolf is understood as the fuel of the story.

People thrive when challenged. We create challenges when we don’t have them. Understanding the role of the Wolf transforms Rich’s mantra into something far less pain-full. The heart yearns. The brain fears. The yearning and the fear will coalesce into some action that may or may not be recognized as a choice. Which is the Wolf? The yearning? The fear? Either way, another day is lived. The story is created.

read Kerri’s blog post about UNCOMFORTABLE

Soothe The Storm [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

My favorite early Chicken Marsala sketch was of an angel delivering Chicken to his new assignment on earth. The angel says, “Get in there, champ! You can do it!” And a very resistant Chicken cries in desperation, “But they are BOTH artists!” Kerri and I are artists with all that term implies. Passionate opinions. Quirky (okay…volatile). Often in need of a perspective-giver. What Chicken didn’t know is that the two artists in his assignment, namely Kerri and me, are great soothers of each other’s storms. We have the gift of never ranting at the same time. When one of us becomes a rocket, the other becomes grounded earth. There is a beautiful equal-and-opposite equation, too. When one of us enters into a creative high, it pulls the other up.

Chicken had a great assignment and just needed to look beyond the wrapper. That angel knew what she was doing.

read Kerri’s blog post about RANTS

smack-dab. ©️ 2021 kerrianddavid.com

Balance The Opposites [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Skip told me that the only problem Kerri and I would face is that we are both CEO personalities but come at it from entirely different directions. Truer words were never spoken! For instance, when we walk, my eyes are generally in the sky pondering the greater meaning of the universe while Kerri’s eyes are on the ground looking for a cool photo op. I see big pictures and she is a master of detail. I am easily lost in thought and she is snagged in nuance. Most of our wranglings are hysterical arguments for the same thing but from diametrically opposed points of view; we are quite capable of making agreement sound like dissent. Word magic.

Our walks, with my eyes in the sky and hers on the ground, have become a metaphor for why we are so good for each other. She pulls my eyes to the ground. I pull her eyes into the sky. I’ve recently been awed by a nurse log covered in ice crystals, the lines running through a tiny rock, the composition of a fallen pine branch in undisturbed snow. She helps me see in life what I easily miss. It’s a paradox – from my view at 30,000 feet – pulling my eyes to the ground is expansive. I see more. I appreciate more. I stop and look. It is my favorite paradox that, in our house, I’m considered the visual artist but she is teaching me to see.

Balance. It comes from opposition. Like a yoga pose, energy sent in opposite directions creates stable grounding. It creates space, creative tension. Center.

When Terry was teaching me to scuba dive he often instructed me to “get neutral.” He was Buddhist and his teaching was as much spiritual as it was practical. “Getting neutral” meant not to struggle. Maintain or change depth with breathing. Inhale or exhale. “Getting neutral” meant not to swim through the dive like a tourist but to be in it. Be in the enormous power of the ocean. Balance the opposites. Begin with your breathing.

On the trail, Kerri often stops, kneels close to the ground, focusing her camera. “I love this,” she whispers. “This is beautiful.” She carefully frames her shot. “Do you want to see?” she asks, standing after taking a few shots.

“Yes.” I say. “Yes, I do.”

read Kerri’s blog post about UNDISTURBED