Leap And Skid [on Two Artists Tuesday]

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Tripper-Dog-Dog-Dog has now seen some things that only a few weeks ago were unimaginable. His first deer sighting was a revelation. His first pelican experience was monumental, something akin to an alien landing. The world, he is discovering, is much bigger and more vibrant than he once believed.

His new reality has made him something of a contemplative. He gazes at the horizon. He watches the surf. Sometimes he approaches it and jumps back and forth with it. It is a game he plays with the infinite, dancing with the BIG motion.

We take a walk early every morning. This morning the crows were out in force. He’s had previous crow experience but the sheer numbers, a full murder of them, was enough to make him stop and check in with me. “Is this to be expected?” he asked with his eyes. I nodded. They make me nervous, too.

DogDog has never been a fan of steps. There is no way to get into our littlehouse on island except by climbing steps. Our first few days here were problematic for DogDog. How to transcend the obstacle? At first he looked to us to solve it for him. We looked back and encouraged him. Now, the steps are no longer an obstacle. He’s developed a leap-the-steps-and-skid-to-a-stop technique. It has become fun for him. He delights in his new capacity to fly. The skid is great fun, too. Just like his world outside, his new inner reality is much bigger, much more vibrant than he once understood. Change is like that. Hard at first but then comes the leaping.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about DOGDOG

 

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Begin [on Merely A Thought Monday]

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Let the adventure begin – if we were all illuminated, this would be the mantra beginning each day. Every day a new beginning. Everyday an unknown. Stepping boldly into each day as a discovery rather than a known, a dry list of tasks to complete.

However, we are –  I am – not illuminated, so this declaration of adventure is saved for the days when the ships course is set to find the earth’s edges, when there are obvious impossible mountains to climb.

Today, Kerri and I begin a new adventure. We’ve moved for the season to Washington Island, Wisconsin. We are, as of midnight, the co-managing directors of The Trueblood Performing Arts Center. We have no idea what that means – the word “manage” implies that the systems are in place, the root is established, and that is certainly not the case.  The challenges are truly unique. They are island challenges. Dials need spinning. Perspectives need flipping. New paths need exploring.

The community is special. Welcoming. And, although art on this island is valued and appreciated, the community sits atop the hierarchy. People help people. People celebrate people. The island turns out when there is a triumph to cheer or a loss to mourn. That is what makes this place, this island, special. The fabric of the community is intact.

A new beginning. We have many, many lists but hold no illusions that what lies ahead is known, containable. It is lively. It is, in every way, an adventure.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about The Adventure

 

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Live So Much [On Merely A Thought Monday]

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“So much life lived this week,” Heidi said to Kerri. Yes. So much.

It is, of course, true every week. Some weeks it is simply more apparent. The happenings seem bigger. A wedding. A graduation. A passing. A new job. A birth. A week of life.

Last week? A walk on the beach. Both children under the same roof; something that has not happened in years. Travel to another state. Staying present with my dad for those moments when he’d forgotten who I was. Staying present with my mom as a wave of fear washed over her. A job lost. Taking his keys and truck away. The deep gratitude of sleeping in my own bed, even for a night. So much life lived.

I have taught myself, in my waking moments, to think, “Make this day a discovery.” I have given too many weeks of my life away, too many days, too many hours, too many minutes, believing that I knew what was going to happen. Dulling myself. Blinding myself to so much life happening. ‘Discover the day’ is a much better approach than ‘Get through the day.’ The truth: none of us really know what is going to happen.

And this week?

 

read Kerri’s blog post about SO MUCH LIFE LIVED.

 

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Catch it. Release It. [on DR Thursday]

“…no one can tell us because life is not something which can be understood from a book.” ~Krishnamurti, Think On These Things

My sketchbook is part diary, part thought-catch-all, part quote repository, …and part sketchbook. And, sometimes the disparate rivers run together. A thought inspires an image, a sketch and a quote collide. Occasionally, on a day that the muse is sleeping or if I stumble into an experimental mood, I paint one of my collisions. And then, generally,  I paint over it. The point of any experiment, in art as well as science, is to find out what works by discovering what does not work. Trailing behind me is a long line of mud, mess, and poor composition. Much of my finished work is the visible layer of a sedimentary strata of experiments.

Like the rest of humanity, I am a seeker. Seeking is the point of a sketchbook or a diary. Reflection. Capturing. Exploration. Elusive mastery. Fickle contentment. Status. Safety.  Agreement. Peace.

We seek these things as if they were destinations. From my long line of mud and mess I’ve learned (and continue to learn) that none of what we seek is achievable. Seeking implies finding but that is a misnomer.  Life moves. Meaning is fluid. There may be answers for a moment but they will, as they must, open greater questions. Or, they will be a borrowed answer, a truth found in a book, lived by the author, celebrated and shared but unincorporated in the reader.

img_3997It is a bird that you hold for a moment. A relationship with something wild. A relationship with yourself. The meaning flutters in your hands, opens you to an experience, and then will die if not released.

A sketchbook, this painting, No One Can Tell Us, is merely a trace left by that fluttering relationship. The top layer.

 

 

 

read Kerri’s blog post on NO ONE CAN TELL US

 

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no one can tell us ©️ 2015 david robinson

 

 

 

Take Another Step [on KS Friday]

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In the past year I’ve been reading books a few pages at a time. Some days I only read a few paragraphs at a time. I’m not reading to get through a book. I’m reading to ponder. It’s become a form of reading meditation.

A few weeks ago, I began a slow read of my own book, The Seer. I published it nearly five years ago and immediately abandoned it. Today I read this: change never comes from the direction of what you know. It is a prerequisite of learning, growth and change to step away from what is known, from what is comfortable. From what feels safe. Learning and change are always in the direction of the unknown.

Kerri’s IN TRANSITION is a musical mantra for stepping into the unknown. As is true of all transitions, it is a yearning in two directions. Yearning for what was. Yearning for what will be. But more than yearning, it is a river of determination. Take another step. And another. And another. Discover.

If you are in transition, as we are, stand still for a moment and listen to the yearning, steep yourself in the simple encouragement of IN TRANSITION.

 

IN TRANSITION on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART available on iTunes & CDBaby. The physical CD is available here.

 

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read Kerri’s blog post about IN TRANSITION

 

www.kerrianddavid.com

 

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in transition/released from the heart ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

Rise In The East [on DR Thursday]

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When I first began writing this blog I wrote everyday. I did not identify myself as a writer. It seemed an outrageous commitment to write every day and I wondered if I would be able to sustain it. I quickly learned that the opposite was true. I found that I had too much to write about. I found that the act of writing required me to pay attention. There was something to write about everywhere I looked. I was not only learning to write. I was learning to see.

I have always been a painter. Seeing is central to any art form but especially useful in the art of painting. You’d be amazed at the multitude of colors in everything you see that your brain blends into a single color. Yellow. Blue. If you can open your eyes and see beyond the dullness of expectation, the numbing of your mind, you will gasp at the riches of it all. This life is complex, intimate, moving.

I’m working on the seventh painting of my earth interrupted series. Prussian blues and ochre, reds and sienna. I laugh each day that I step into the studio and begin work on this series. “What am I doing?” I silently ask and laugh. The answer is obvious. I am sailing toward the edge. I am trying to find what exists beyond my horizon, my comfort zone.

thesunrises product BOX copyThese morsels, snippets of my paintings, are doing what my blog challenge did for me so many years ago: opening my eyes to new and unexpected possibilities. They are asking me to see something new and unexpected in something known. Or something I thought I knew. Kerri calls this morsel The Sun Rises In The East. It is under-painting, a layer of Earth Interrupted VII, which may or may not ever be completed. Voyages of discovery are like that. We’ll see.

 

read Kerri’s blog post on THE SUN RISES IN THE EAST

www.kerrianddavid.com

 

the sun rises in the east/earth interrupted vii ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood

Make Life Fun [on Chicken Marsala Monday]

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It used to make me profoundly sad when students would look at me in resistance and fear, saying the double-whammy, “I can’t! I don’t know how!” My next question always remained unvoiced: what have we done to you?

Curiosity is human nature. We are born hard-wired to sail toward scary edges, tinker with inventions, and attempt to grasp the un-graspable.  It takes a lot of work to blunt a child’s curiosity. It takes a concerted effort to transform vibrant imagination into fear of reprisal/shaming.

if you'd like to see more CHICKEN... copyThe good news is that curiosity might be contained but it never goes away. Chicken is here to remind us to step out of the cage, pick up the brush and splash the paint just to see what happens. His invitation is to to go do it – whatever it is – precisely because you don’t know how. The path to center leads directly through I Don’t Know How.

 

www.kerrianddavid.com

read Kerri’s blog post about NOT KNOWING HOW

not knowing how ©️ 2016 david robinson & kerri sherwood