Where It Ends [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Today is the day when hoaxsters and jokesters and pranksters abound. It’s the unofficial-official national day of the trickster.

Historically on this day it’s best to doubt everything that you are told, to check the sources of your information. To join in the joking and let off some steam with a bit of harmless mischief.

It’s much harder in this day-and-age since everyday is April fools day! The mischief is not harmless. With so many dedicated conspiracy theorists running amok, shysters selling bibles, serial liars celebrated, vapid minds taken seriously, it’s difficult to tell where the fool’s day begins and where it ends. It’s tough to know where the fools begin and where they end.

So, on this day as on all others, it’s a best practice to doubt everything that you are told [as a rule of thumb, it’s not a bad practice everyday to doubt everything that you think!], to religiously check the sources of your information and to check the sources of information promoted as religious.

Fools and tricksters are meant to make us open our eyes; to step back and take ourselves less seriously. To help us discern between the sacred and the profane. They are meant to shock the system when the system begins to believe that it’s “all that.” They are meant to help us laugh at ourselves.

Play safe out there. Have fun. It is my deepest wish that we might lighten up ever so slightly and learn to chuckle at our foibles. I know, I know…pie in the sky. First we must learn to distinguish between a foible and a strength, a truth and a lie, a joke and a virtue, an ignoramus and a learner, propaganda and news.

Until then, we are all destined to be April’s fools.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOOLS

[Christopher Wool’s painting, Fool, at the Milwaukee Art Museum]

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Take Another Look [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I am surprised that our favorite go-to trail is the yellow route at Des Plaines. The first time we tried it, years ago, we were swarmed by mosquitoes from beginning to end. We ran-walked, swatting the air the entire way. Kerri stopped to take a photograph and I lost site of her in a mosquito cloud. It was a scene straight from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. We swore we’d never go back.

I have no memory of why we gave it a second try. How long was it after the first very-bad-no-good-mosquito-fest? I can’t remember. I only know that I’m grateful that we challenged our first impression and gave it a second chance. It has become our solace, our reset on a bad day. It is the place where we walk away our troubles and talk through our tribulations.

Over time we’ve learned it. We know its rhythms. We know when and where we are most likely to see deer. We know when the cranes will pass through. We know when the turtles will emerge. And, we now know when to avoid it. It has become a significant part of our story.

As we walked it yesterday, in the hour before the mosquitoes come out, I pondered how many opportunities and rich experiences I’ve missed because of a bad first impression. A useful mantra popped into my head from my days facilitating DEI workshops: have your first thought and work on your second. In other words, doubt what you think. First thoughts, first impressions, are often sandy soil.

A single experience is a very small test sample. Give the trail another hike. Go at dawn or dusk. What’s true in spring is different in fall. The same is true with people. I’m an introvert and generally make a lousy first impression. How fortunate am I that others decided to give me a second chance?

Of course, the fly in the ointment of this thought-train is mosquitoes. I have no need to give them another look!

read Kerri’s blogpost about MOSQUITOS

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Dine With Jonathan [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I lost my copy of On Reflection by Jonathan Miller in one of my moves. He gave it to me. I treasured it both for the generosity of his gift but also a reminder of a night I had a casual dinner with an artistic giant. He was kind. And funny. And shared his ideas, thoughts and new work like an enthusiastic child. He listened intently to my ideas and thoughts like a fascinated friend. It is the mark of a great artist: humility. Healthy doubt. He loved his work and loved to share the exploration. He was brimming with questions.

I left that evening thinking, “I want that!”

That. Secure in my work. The playfulness of a child. The love of the exploration. The fearlessness to my bones knowing that each painting and every play is not an end in itself – not an achievement – but part of the dance of life on the playground called artist. Dedicated to asking questions. Dedicated to surfacing shared truth.

To Mary Oliver’s question, “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?” I say, I want that. Wild and precious.

That. It’s not an achievement; rather, it is a way of being. A practice. It alters Mary Oliver’s question: How will you be within your one wild and precious life?

Safe. Steady. Unshakable through dedicated practice. Arrived at through a lifetime of grace and humility. Or, perhaps, grace and humility arrived at through a lifetime of questioning. The certainty of doubt. That’s what I saw in Jonathan Miller that night. The paradox of the artist: security in vulnerability. To feel so safe as to play without inhibition. To express sans trepidation. To share and receive with equal enthusiasm.

It is a practice available when the artistry is no longer about the “I” but about the “we”. The bigger energy, call it what you will. It’s humbling. That.

read Kerri’s blogpost about REFLECTION

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Join The Receivers [on Two Artists Tuesday]

“…artists take delight in and care for their work, and we are thereby inspired to find delight in our own work.” – Alex Grey, The Mission of Art

Standing in front of the Atmospheric wave wall, an art installation at Willis Tower by Olafur Eliasson, I imagined how much fun he had creating it. Monumental. The colorful waves rolling up the side of a building. I wondered, if on visits to Chicago, he delights in watching the play his wave wall invokes in passers-by. I would. His work is spatial so it invites full-body engagement. I had to touch it and lean in against it. I had to put my face close to a wave and look up. The shock of vibrant red among the blue, purple and green made my eye dance across the vertical water.

It is one of the great joys of my life to be surrounded by artists: people who care for their work and find delight in it. David just completed a year-long project, a rewrite/updating of Six Characters In Search of An Author. He directed the first production of his new script. It was thrilling to witness his delight in the process. It was gratifying to watch how he navigated his doubt and fear. The delight and the fear go hand in hand.

It’s worth noting that caring so deeply for your work comes with a studied courage. There’s a very nice lie about bold artists throwing caution to the wind and creating without caring how their work is received. That, of course, is worthy of a press-release and works for image-branding but fully negates the point of artistry. In order for a work of art to be a work of art, it requires an audience. A giver and receiver. A loop of caring. The armor must come off. Expressing beauty or seeking truth is nothing if not a shared meaning and a shared truth. Artists may reach deep into themselves but the point is to engage and express meaning that comes alive beyond themselves and between others. Vulnerability is the secret sauce that connects the two into one.

I didn’t know about the Atmospheric wave wall until we rounded a corner and I saw people enthusiastically embracing it, standing back and craning their necks to take it in, gently moving forward to run their fingers along the wave ridges. The pull was immediate and I found myself joining the receivers of Olafur’s artistry. Armor down, hands planted firmly on the wall, we snapped a photo and I deeply appreciated his whimsy and moxie. Inspiration ripples to the sky!

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE WALL

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Collapse And Decide [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Brad calls it “paralysis by analysis”. Over thinking. Over researching. Reading every label. Considering every color combination relative to every other possible color combination. If you do some quick math, you’ll note that there are an infinite number of color combinations so arrival at a choice is a process of exhaustion. Waving the white flag. Conclusion via collapse. Decision by despair.

Neither Brad nor I suffer from this debilitating condition but both of our partners in life do.

It’s hard to watch. I learned at the very beginning to detach from the process. If I wait for the research and comparison phase to pass, if I say nothing until the desperation arrives, then I can tip the turmoil into a choice. And then I return to detachment because the paralysis has only reached its midpoint..

They say that summiting a high peak is not the dangerous part. Most climbers die on the return trip, the descent from the mountain. The same is true for analysis-paralysis-style-decision-makers. Once the decision is made, a river of decision-doubt and choice-remorse rushes in. The real paralysis happens after the decision is finally made. And revoked. And made again. And revoked. More spouses have collapsed on the way down from Mount Decision than on the initial ascent.

There’s a terrific scene in the movie About Time. The wife wants help from her husband in deciding which dress to wear to an important dinner meeting. She models dozens of dresses. He finds goodness in every option. She finds flaws in every dress. He becomes increasingly desperate, no matter what he says or enthusiastic support he offers, he finds himself swirling into the quagmire of no-good-answer.

I love that movie. Every time I watch that scene, I both howl with laughter and close my eyes. I know his desperation. I feel his fatigue. The minute she circles back and decides on the very first dress she modeled, with his wave of relief I whisper to the screen, “Now you’re really in trouble.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about DECISION FATIGUE

Train Your Doubt [on DR Thursday]

tango with me, mixed media, 39 x 52IN

The other night I dreamed I was giving a commencement speech to a class of young artists. I stared at them, looked at my prepared notes, folded them, and told the crowd of curious faces that I had absolutely nothing of value to say. I asked them what advice they would give to me? What would they tell an artist on the other end of the life-road? What wisdom would they share with me? What could they tell me about the artist’s path?

The caps and gowns stared back at me.

Rilke wrote in his Letters To A Young Poet that, “…your doubt may become a good quality if you train it. It must become a way of knowing, it must become critical. Ask it, whenever it wants to spoil something for you, why something is ugly, demand proofs from it, test it,…”

My father is in his last lap. Each day, when I get angry or scared or upset or frustrated, I imagine myself sitting at his bedside. I ask him, “Did anything you were ever afraid of really matter?” He doesn’t need to say anything. He knows I already know the answer.

What would I say if, sitting at his bedside, he looked at me and asked, “What can you tell me about living life?”

read Kerri’s blog post about TANGO WITH ME

tango with me ©️ 2018 david robinson

Snap Your Fingers [on Merely A Thought Monday]

we should be wide awake billboard copy

When I was roaming the world working with corporate types, tilting at windmills, I would tell my be-suited crowd that words matter. I’d relay a story I heard from Don Miguel Ruiz. He told his audience that people in the United States completely misunderstood the word, “spell.” He said, “You think to put a spell on someone is magic, like hocus-pocus. But, that is not it at all. Tell a little girl that she is fat and you will have spelled her forever.”

She will hate her body. That is a powerful spell.

Words matter. Tell the nation that the “Democrats are vicious” or that the news is “the enemy of the people” and the enchantment is undeniable, angry.  Push the spell through a propaganda machine and it magnifies in intensity. Like a ritual drum, the thump-thump whips the glassy eyed adherents into a red frenzy. Insist that long debunked conspiracies are real or that the deep state is out to get us all and the spellbound will see demons threatening everywhere.

The nation body splits and just like the little girl looks with hatred at the other part of itself. A powerful spell.

‘Hoax’ thump-thumped in the face of undeniable fact and the mesmerized fall into line, repeating what they are told to repeat. “Cluck like a chicken!” the hypnotist suggests and the sleepers dutifully cluck. Common sense surrenders to the spell.

Teachers of consciousness use different techniques but are in general agreement about how to awake from a nasty spell. Step back. Doubt what you think. See what is there and not what you think is there. Detach from your attachment to what you want to believe, to what you are being told. The salesman always wants you to buy the car. He is not your friend. He does not have your best interest in mind. He will use his words tell you anything. Despite what you are told, this car will not make you happy, it will not solve all of your problems. It will not make you sexy or powerful or complete. Uncouple from the words, the spell being woven, and see.

If she is lucky, the little girl one day wakes up and realizes that the hatred she experiences is not her own; it was planted in her with a word. The hatred she wields against herself and turns on to others is not of her creation. She learns that she must snap her own fingers and call herself awake. The hypnotist, she understands, only has authority if she continues to cluck and sleep.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about WAKING UP

 

luminaria website box copy

 

 

 

 

Sing A New Song [on KS Friday]

christmas composing copy

If there is anything certain about we human beings, it is that we are uncertain. We are a festival of questions and doubt. The good news is that our questioning, our doubts and uncertainty are also the epicenter of our adventure impulse. Creativity begins with equivocation.

No explorer, sailing into the unknown to find the edge, brought along a barrel full of answers. No artist ever stood in front of a blank canvas with a brush loaded with certainty. A good relationship with the mystery necessitates a healthy ambivalence. We follow the impulse to an unknown, often unreasonable expectation.

Kerri was preparing for a final rehearsal with the band for the Christmas program.  She played one of the selections  and exclaimed (just as she did during the previous rehearsal), “I don’t like this piece!” Most of us would simply make peace with it or go to the drawer and find a replacement. Not this time. I watched the muse tug her. She got that far away look in her eyes. Some inner horizon beckoned. She stepped back  and then returned to the piano and began to play. She scribbled notes. She sang a few lyrics and wrinkled her brow. Sang again. Muttered, “That’s no good.” Played some more. Scribbled.

She sailed her ship into the vast ocean of promise, a new song. By the time guitar Jim arrived at the rehearsal, she was smiling. “What do you think of this?” she asked.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about HOLIDAY SONGS

 

trinitychristmasphoto website box copy

It’s a gorgeous song and someday I might convince her to record it. In the meantime, you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Allow [on KS Friday]

moab.k. out there. copy

“If we allow time for soul, we will sense its dark and luminous path. If we fail to acquaint ourselves with soul, we will remain strangers in our own lives.” ~ John O’Donohue, Beauty

These days are edge days. We began to feel strangers in our own lives. That is a sign to be heeded. It’s time for us to sit in silence.

“Beauty inhabits the cutting edge of creativity – mediating between the known and the unknown, light and darkness, masculine and feminine, visible and invisible, chaos and meaning, sound and silence, self and others.” ~ John O’Donohue, Beauty

Kerri doubts her beauty. And then she approaches the edge. She stands at her piano. When she plays all doubt leaves the room because the polarity finds its middle way, there is no this or that.

Sometimes it is enough – it is necessary – to stand at the piano with hands nowhere near the keys.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about UNDER CONSTRUCTION

 

ks website header copy

Kerri on iTunes

 

their palettes website box copy

Walk To The Other Side [on DR Thursday]

BlowingWishes Morsel copy

There is a ping-pong table in my studio that is piled high with paintings that are not yet stretched. And, because these paintings are constantly moving, pulled and tacked to the wall to be shown then placed back in the pile, they are stored with no particular order. This process of random stacking and re-stacking allows us to see the pieces from many different points of view; what was top is now bottom. It affords new perspectives, it helps me see again as if for the first time.

PileIt is such a simple thing and yet so hard to do – to let go of what we think is right, allowing a new perspective of something that we think we understand.  The word I’ve learned to pay attention to is “think.” The skill of an artist is to see beyond what they “think.” The gift of the artist is to help others see beyond what they think. To pop open new perspectives and make space for new possibilities.

It is easy to confuse thinking (interpretation) with ‘seeing.’ They are not the same thing. It is so easy to believe ‘stuck thinking’ is ‘being right.’ It’s a good practice – a healthy practice – to spin things around a bit. To doubt what you think so you might have a more direct experience. So that you might see. So that you might learn. So that you might experience today as different from yesterday.

Life, as they say, is always found in the direction of not knowing.

Kerri calls this morsel BLOWING WISHES. It’s what you see if walk to the other side of the ping-pong table.

 

 

read Kerri’s blog post about BLOWING WISHES

 

warm springs ranch statue website copy

 

 

greet the day/blowing wishes ©️ 2011/2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood