elders | The Direction of Intention

Go Empty [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on March 10, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

Among my vast archives of good-advice-received is a gem from Karola. I’ve often written about her wisdom: “Let yourself go empty,” she said. She laughed knowing that “going empty” would be a struggle for me. There is nothing more vulnerable or frightening for a young artist than to admit that their well is dry. What if the muse never comes back? “Going empty” at that phase of my life was akin to abandoning my identity. It felt like a step into the void.

As it turns out going empty was among the best things I ever did for myself. It stands among the greatest lessons I’ve ever learned. Spring requires winter. All budding artists eventually learn that artistry is not what you do – it is who you are. Going empty is the path to learning it. Karola knew exactly what I needed to hear and when I needed to hear it.

Have you not, at one time or another, been left in awe at an insight that comes from a confluence of seeming random experiences? Pieces of a puzzle coming together in what might seem arbitrary but is, in fact, a magic key that unlocks the door to deeper understanding? Last week, after wrestling for months with a play, I decided to leave it alone for awhile. In truth, after wrestling for months, I finally wrote a section that had merit – and when I saved the file it simply disappeared. Poof! After several attempts to find and retrieve the file, my computer insisted that the file was corrupted. I took it as a sign. Give it some space. Leave it alone.

Just as I’d decided to let the project go, we received a message from a man who wanted to buy the remains of my rocking chair. This chair has lived in every studio I’ve ever occupied. Except for my easel it is the only piece of furniture I’ve carried through my nomadic life. In our most recent basement flood a pipe burst directly above the chair, blasting the caning and destroyed the seat, damaging the finish and annihilating a hardcover sketchbook resting on the arm. I decided my chair deserved a better place-in-the-world. It deserved to be with someone who could properly restore it and take better care of it. The message from a buyer sent me reeling. I, of course, denied it. Kerri saw my distress and helped me see it. Every single painting I’ve created in my adult life was rocked into existence in that chair. It’s history was my history. We told the buyer that the chair was already spoken for.

I sat for several minutes with the remains of my chair. There was no one on earth who could better care for it because there was no one on earth who cared more about it than me.We’ll find someone who does caning. We’ll find an upholsterer who can repair the damage and replace the seat or we’ll do it ourselves.

I turned all my canvases to the wall, turned off the salt lamp and climbed the stairs. I met Kerri in the sunroom where we ate Munchos, drank wine, and debriefed the day. I confessed my revelation: I was going to sell my chair because I did not feel worthy of it – which, of course, is a statement not at all about the chair. It was a jolt akin to the discovery of a secret passageway that leads to a hidden chamber of secrets. A lingering question of worth.

Later it felt like opening the window and bringing fresh air to rush into a long-sealed dark and stale room.

I felt exhausted. I felt relieved. I felt as if I could breathe.

“It’s time to go empty.” I heard Kerri say. I heard Karola laughing. Jump into the void. This time, no timid stepping: jump. Really jump. Clear space for a worthy abundant spring.

read Kerri’s blog about the MUNCHO HEART

likesharecommentsupportthankyou

Filed under: Art, Awakening, Creativity, DR Thursday, Heroes, Identity | Tagged: artistry, confluence, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, elders, go empty, Guidance, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, rejuvenation, revelation, story, studio melange, the melange, wisdom, worth | Leave a comment »

Hearts In The Sky [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on April 29, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

Today we light a candle for Beaky. Today marks ten years since she passed. When looking for the right photo for this observance day in the Melange, Kerri thought this one was perfect. A heart in the sky. Since Kerri and I met late in life, I only knew Beaky for 18 months though I feel as if I knew her for years. She was a warm, bright light. On more than one occasion, even while in great pain, I watched her uplift the spirits of her caregivers. The patient healing the healers.

She gave me essential lessons in being human. She could have taught our present world a thing or two about kindness, about what really matters; about creating a better world.

Although I never met him, I sometimes have conversations with Kerri’s dad. He was quite the handyman. I am not. When faced with a home repair that seems out of my league I regularly say, “Okay, Pa. Give me a clue.” To date he has never failed me. I’ve fixed the washing machine, the stove, the refrigerator, broken chairs and a table; I’ve plugged a hole in the wall, stopping a flood in the basement. Mostly, his clues are cautions to slow down. He reminds me that I can do anything if I take my time and do not rush. I do, however, have one small gripe with Pa’s advice-giving: when I am in the doghouse with Kerri and in desperate need of a repair, when slowing down seems dangerous, he is noticeably silent. I imagine him laughing, his silence saying, “I’m staying out of this one.”

We spent the past few days cutting back the grasses, raking the leaves, cleaning up the yard, replanting the front garden, repairing and filling the pond. Not only were we taking care of our sanctuary-home but I felt as if we were preparing for this day of remembrance. Cleaning out the old. Opening space for the new.

The work brought to mind a sweet memory: in college, my work-study sent me to the rose garden to help Brother Patrick tend the gardens. He was a quiet man, a gentle soul in the twilight of his years. The day was New Mexico bright and warm. I followed along behind him, digging a hole when he needed one dug, gathering the leaves and branches from his pruning. There was no rush, no thought of “getting it done”. He worked to enjoy the work and when I fell into his ethic, when I let go of the idea of working for achievement, he looked at me with bright eyes, as if there was nothing better on earth to be doing at that moment, and said, “This is good for the heart and good for the soul.”

Lighting a candle for Beaky. Communing with Pa. A moment of appreciation for Brother Patrick. I am filled with gratitude for the life lessons that continue to come from my very wise elders. Hearts in the sky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART IN THE SKY.

likesharecommentsubscribesupport…thankyou.

Filed under: Family, Gratitude, Love, Two Artists Tuesday | Tagged: advice, artistry, Beaky, being human, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, elders, go slow, Gratitude, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, kindness, remembrance, sanctuary, soul, story, studio melange, the melange, wisdom | 1 Comment »

Live Life At The Pace Of A Letter [on KS Friday]

Posted on July 16, 2021 by davidrobinsoncreative

“…what we feel is always larger than our means to express it.” ~ Declan Donnellan

Ruby, like Columbus is winding down. The forwarded-email let me know that she enjoyed my letter but also that she was not getting out of bed. Over the weekend she did not want to eat or drink. Pete is in hospice care.

I’ve not heard from Mike in months. Like Ruby, she is in her 90’s and I often wonder how she is doing. She is made of sturdy stuff and has a curious mind but even those powerful forces are no match for the running sands.

Although we live in the age of email and text, fast communication, these dear ones are solidly old school. A letter. A stamp. A mailbox. News comes at a different pace.

Ruby wrote a letter. It was dated last October and was mailed sometime in April. She typed it because she feared that I would not be able to decipher her handwriting. I typed my reply because I knew for certain that she would not be able to read my scribbles. Although it was lost on my young ears, time is different when you age. Both more meaningful and less. I’m living my way into hearing the simple wisdom of elders.

Tom Mck and I used to sit on his porch and watch the sunset over the fields. One evening he told the story of a letter mailed to his great-grandfather Lak. The pony express took six years to deliver the letter. It had to come all the way across the country. It was from his siblings telling of his mother’s passing. Although six years in the past, the news was fresh to Lak. His grief, therefore, was timeless.

It is always a time of transition but, sometimes, it is simply more apparent than others. This is one of those times. There is a pandemic. There is civil unrest. Moral upheaval in the nation. I feel none of that as acutely or potently as I do Columbus taking a labored breath or Ruby no longer interested in eating. It is the reason we sit on the back deck each night, light the lamps, and, often in silence, we enjoy the evening as it wanes. Living life at the pace of a letter.

It’s not that there is nothing to be said, it’s that no words – no matter how quickly delivered or slow – can properly capture the enormity of this time, this inevitable rolling transition.