Fill The Space With Goodness [on Two Artists Tuesday]

When I was learning to be on a stage there was a phrase I particularly appreciated: fill the space. There was also a companion question that seemed to be more important: what are you bringing to the space?

The assumption beneath both the phrase and the question is that you have a profound impact on your world. Not in abstraction. You are an active participant in creating it. After all, the space is shared, co-created. What do you intend to bring to the shared space? Are you going to “take” energy from the shared space (it’s all about me) or are you going to “bring” energy to the shared space (we are in this together). I understand this choice to be the direction of intention. It’s the origin story behind the name of this blog. A performers job is to bring good energy and light to the shared space, to unify it. To grow the goodness.

I think that’s why Kerri and I are attracted to prayer flags. The mantras on the flags are blown by the wind to fill all the space of the world with good will and compassion. Fill the space with goodness to the benefit of all. A straightforward yet profound intention.

It seems like such a simple thing, doesn’t it? Intend to bring good energy to the space that is shared by all. And, to us, it seems like the number one imperative of our times. In this me-me-me era, rife with “taking” energy from the space, it’s crucial to help reverse the tide.

She was holding black and white bandanas and I saw the thought hit her. She turned and asked, “Do you think it’s a good idea to make our own prayer flags?”

“Absolutely.” I said. “Why not? This world could use all the good intention that we can muster.”

All the world’s a stage, after all.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PRAYER FLAGS

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Reflect The Light [on Two Artists Tuesday]

One of my most prized possessions is the homemade notebook DeMarcus made as an art student. It’s his notes from a class on color. The pages become more brittle with each passing year. The pencil notes are fading. Every so often, when I need a masterclass from a simpler time, I gingerly open the notebook and read a few pages.

The first entry always catches me. “Color: Light is a form of radiant energy transmitted by wave movement through space and is perceived visually.” The underlines are his. Radiant energy. Wave movement. Perceived.

It’s the second half of the page that grabs me: ” The (3) Qualities of Light: Physically = Life-giving. Mentally = Intelligence. Spiritually = Divine Wisdom…Think of color as light reflected.”

Keep in mind this is a beginning art student taking notes during his very first course introduction to color. His instructors are teaching him that working with color is working with light that is either life-giving, intelligence emitting or wisdom divine. In other words, working with color matters. To work with color is to give voice and expression to light. The work of an artist is about more than finger painting.

“Light is individualized by its contact with substances into COLOR…Think of color as LIGHT REFLECTED.”

If I could, I’d offer DeMarcus’ little notebook to all those fear-mongers out there scrubbing Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion curriculums and initiatives from their states. Scrubbing color from their palettes. Eliminating light. Life-revoking, intelligence numbing, wisdom stripping.

Repeat in pencil: To work with color is to give voice and expression to light. Think of color as light reflected.

Simple clarity from the first pages of a first year art student written in a homemade notebook more than a century ago. This nation is made vibrant through its rich diverse color palette. Why-on-earth would we knowingly, willingly, turn off the light?

read Kerri’s blogpost on COLOR

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Illustrate The Energy [on DR Thursday]

This afternoon I received a lovely email from John. He asked permission to use an image from my website, “…to illustrate what angel energy might look like.” I was delighted. The image he wanted to use was of my palette, a fantastic mess of swirling, colliding color.

It occurred to me that my palette is perhaps where I do my most honest painting (the action as opposed to a finished piece). I mix color on top of color. It’s a terrible habit and, if it becomes public knowledge, I’ll be banished from the art league: I never clean my palette because I love the paint build-up. It’s a history of the dance. It also grinds down my brushes. I love working with rough worn brushes. Don’t tell anyone.

“Don’t you love that he called your palette ‘Energy!'” Kerri said. I do. It brought to mind Jakorda Rai, a healer, a Balian that is significant in my life. He was a painter, too. His paintings were visual captures of the movement of energy in the body. A mix between solid structure and whirling flow. Color streams that resembled photos of distant galaxies. His pieces were unceremoniously tacked to the walls of the hut where he saw his patients. Spiritual healing; the art of moving energy stuck in an eddy. The art of regaining natural flow. Natural pace.

We walked through the city as night fell. Dinner was done and we had a train to catch. Kerri snapped photos along the way. The river. Reflections in the buildings. The ceiling of the train station. As she focused her camera, I watched the people hustling to the rhythm of the city. The pace is fast. The gestures emphatic. Aggressive. People racing to “get there”. Never here. It’s easy to get caught in the undercurrent. Hyped up. Swept away. I thought of Georgia O’Keeffe’s city paintings. Towering buildings reaching to the heavens. Hard linear thrusts obstructing the sky. “That’s why New Mexico was so appealing to her,” I thought. A different energy. Softer. Deeper. Ancient. Less eddy. Human scale and slower. A place to be still and meditate.

As we boarded the train Kerri said, “I like visiting the city but I like it better because we can leave it.”

I thought of a phrase I’d read earlier in the day in The Marginalian: “…our golden age of compulsive productivity at the expense of presence…” [William James]. “Sometimes it’s too much energy through the wire,” I quipped, suddenly yearning to move to New Mexico and walk the arroyos where Georgia painted. “Nothing between the artist and the stars,” I whispered, “…angel energy.”

angels at the well, 24x48IN, acrylic on hardboard (2 panels) © circa 2004

read Kerri’s blogpost about ENERGY AND STRUCTURE

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Allow Good Things [on DR Thursday]

Pre-Covid we regularly had dinner parties or hosted gatherings of Kerri’s choirs and ukulele band. Each week the big dining room table was piled high with food and drink. People crowded into the kitchen and living room. People spilled out onto the deck.

Now, we use the dining room table when we have large projects that require space for organization. We use it as a staging ground when we’re preparing for a trip. Covid ushered in an era of reclusion and the necessity for space and quiet.

Last weekend we had a surprise large project to assemble. Tons of paper to sort. As Kerri prepared the plan I headed to the dining room to clear the table. I stopped in my tracks with what I found there. The table was covered with rocks. There were several gallon size ziplock bags with painted rocks and rocks ready to be painted. Mostly, there were paper towels spread like islands across the table surface, each populated by dozens of hagstones. Odin Stones. Adder stones. Magical stones of many names, all sizes, from tiny bead-size to fist-size rocks, each with a naturally eroded hole. The power of water working on earth.

I hadn’t realized that we’d collected so many. We’d inadvertently converted our dining room into a hagstone sanctuary, an epicenter of ancient folk magic: nature’s talisman of healing, protection and wisdom. I laughed. Apparently we could use a bit of ancient protection. I certainly could use a healthy dose of wisdom. I considered laying on the table, body across the bumpy stones and saying, “I’m ready! Do your stuff!”

We bumbled onto the secluded beach a few months ago. The power of the lake is palpable. The beach is a festival of wave-polished rocks and treasured hagstones. The gulls circle and chase. The portal to the beach requires crawling through trees recently burned. Fire. Air. Water. Earth. People have created whimsical structures, crude altars and twisted sculpture from the driftwood.

We’ve returned a few times to comb the beach for the miracle stones with holes made from years and years of their dance with water. A feather on the stone. Time disappears as we slowly walk the beach, heads down, sensing as much as looking for the rare hagstones.

According to tradition, only good things can pass through the hole in the stone, made magic by the watercarver. Our growing collection, a prayer-pile or incantation cairn. Good things.

I will, someday soon, lay on the beach after dipping into the cold Lake Michigan water, warm myself in the sun, and feel the large hole that life has worn through me, myself now a magic hagstone. Grateful, I will think, “Only good things. I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about HAGSTONES

winged, 26x20IN, acrylic, nfs

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Drop In [on Merely A Thought Monday]

It happened again. Last night, sitting at the table with Dan and Charlie, sipping wine and talking about fatherhood and life lessons, I dropped into a hyper-focus. I was completely present and utterly cherished these two men. The moment was so full that I ached, a tree splitting its bark unable to contain the enormity. Trying to hide my tears tossed me back into the blur.

Presence is vulnerable!

As I write this I am aware that language is incapable of capturing the experience. Cherish. Dropped into.

It happened again deep in the night. Kerri and I pretzeled under the warm quilts, the window open to the cold night air, a gentle rain, Dogga asleep on my feet. It’s as if the past and future part like the Red Sea and there is nothing pulling me away from this moment, this breath. Any story or fear or regret or justification or…dissipates. Life comes into crisp focus. There are no edges to the savoring. No end to the vastness of love.

“Remember this,” I tell myself, and the act of trying to capture it, separates me again. The future/past rush over me and time’s return tumbles me back into the mind-flood.

Trying “to do” something with “it,” confuses “it.”

During our call I told Rebecca of Saul-the-Tai-Chi-Master’s wise instruction: stay on the root and let the energy move you. It’s been over a decade since I studied with Saul. At the time, his words seemed aspirational, an abstraction. An achievement to strive for. “The field of opportunity.” “Focus beyond the opponent and the opponent drops away.”

In stopping the chase, I’m only now beginning to understand.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BEING ALIVE

Face The Rain, 24x24IN, mixed media on panel

Flip It [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Standing on the trail, the cold breeze stinging my face, I stared at the trees in silhouette. I was overcome with the illusion that I was observing the trees upside-down. I was seeing their tangled root system, reaching. My illusion made me dizzy. What’s top is bottom. What’s bottom is top.

I’ve been pondering things like “leadership” and “power”. My belief of these concepts is the reverse of most peoples. I think leadership is a team sport and that power is created with others, not wielded over them. Roots to the sky.

Before the software start-up went away I pondered things like the abundance of content with no relevant context. Information without a home. Information sans application. Information run amok. It requires people to make-up context for the rootless material crossing their screens. In contemporary discourse, we call this made-up context “bubbles.” It’s an apt term since popping is the destiny of every bubble. No substance. The Villages.

Thank goodness for the cold wind. It snapped me out of my flip-flop illusion. The silhouette was righted. I remembered the shadow puppets in Bali. What we see is projection on a screen. Silhouettes. The real stuff, ripe with dimension and color, the massive system of roots and vibrant moving energy, stars and flow, creating forms and taking them down, happens whether we see it fully or not.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SILHOUETTES

Wink With Piet [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

My first thought was of Piet Mondrian. Not the colorful compositions but a never-before-seen shadow side. Abstract reduction into simple geometry. An artistic vocabulary concerned with spirituality and universal values. I used to ponder how a utopian pursuit of the spiritual landed on clean hard geometry; bold primary colors set inside hard black lines. I’m certain that, given a similar pursuit, my visual vocabulary would have been softer. Ethereal.

It was the first snow. I looked down at the aging planks of the bench. A criss-cross-apple-sauce of workmanship dusted with white. We’ve never painted the loveseat. After so many years, so many winters and summers, rain and snow and sun, the grain of the wood is alive with texture. An aged face.

One of my favorite rituals of spring is the first sitting. After another freezing winter, another year of age, will the wood continue to hold my weight, our weight? We hold hands and sit slowly, gingerly. Our knees creak before our weight finds the planks. Like a baton pass, the wood takes on the groaning as our knees pass our load to the seat. We sit for a moment with eyes open wide. And then, after a slight bounce-test, we relax. The wood will hold. Our loveseat is like a faithful friend.

The snow melted as fast as it arrived. That is the way of first snow. Blink and you’ll miss it. Except for the love seat and matching chair, we hauled all the other summer furniture into the garage. The table and umbrella. The small ladders that serve as end tables. The fire pit. The first dusting of snow is the cue. The pond freezes so we pull the pump and fountain. Soon, we’ll stack the plastic Adirondack chairs and they’ll take the last available spot in our tiny garage. We push the loveseat to the wall beneath the kitchen window.

We stand on the deck and sigh, feeling the weight of coming winter. The dark days. For a moment, the yard seems bleak. But then, the birds land on the wire. The squirrel highway is open for business. We hear the ancient croak of the cranes in the distance. A cold gust brings a blizzard of falling leaves. A wholly different kind of abundance. The energy moves underground. A time for sleeping and quiet rejuvenation.

Simple geometry. Reduction to cold days and hard lines. Brilliant blue sky. A wink from Piet Mondrian.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DECK

Stay On The Root [on KS Friday]

“Energy cannot be created or destroyed; it can only be changed from one form to another.” ~ Albert Einstein

Saul’s words have been ringing in my memory: “Stay on the root.” He was a tai chi master.

He might have said, “Stay grounded,” but his reference to “the root” is more dynamic. When on “the root” there is absolutely no resistance to circumstance. Nothing can knock you off center. You are solid, rooted; not for resistance or fight but for flow. No kinks in the energy-hose.

Presence is a requirement of being on “the root.” If your mind jumps into fear-of-the-future it will pull you off center. If your heart dives into regret of the past, it will yank you off balance. Saul might remind us that our bodies are always present. What else? Our minds story us into stress and, mostly, the horror stories we tell ourselves never actually occur. Or did occur.

Here’s the most important part of his instruction: when staying firmly on”the root,” a place of no-resistance, flow is possible. In fact, anything is possible. That may, to some, sound like new-age nonsense but it is actually age-old wisdom. It’s a practice of getting out of your own way. Assume nothing. Lilies-of-the-field, etc. There’s a timeless fable about a farmer and a horse…

A week ago we walked our trail and the leaves were vibrant with color, electric. Now, they are mostly on the ground. Transforming. Nutrient for the soil. I doubt the leaves felt fear of falling or spent an ounce of life-energy in regret.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LEAF

figure it out/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

Consider The Symbol [on DR Thursday]

Because it is outside, she grabs her camera. Were it inside, I’d hear the special scream saved for spiders and I’d come running. The power of a screen, flipping fear to fascination. “It’s amazing,” she said and cringed.

Spider symbolism – like all vital symbols – carries the power of a complex split-metaphor. On one side of the screen they are toxic, malicious, potential bringers of slow venomous death. On the other side of the symbol, they are world creators, weavers of life and interconnectivity. Certainly, they are central characters in this world-wide-web that we enjoy.

In this era, we attempt to restrict our symbols, preferring them to be absolute, one-sided, either this or that. Symbols never work that way. They lose their power when cut in half. To be potent, a symbol must embody both sides of the moon. Limiting a symbol to only one side flattens it, robs it of dimension, renders it useless. The real power of the symbol ignites when both aspects are understood and embraced. Symbols are polarities.

We would be wise, in our nation, to look at both sides of our symbols. Our history, embodied in our symbols, is both shining and dark. Vapid fear-stories like “replacement theory” fester in a flattened symbol culture, a half-told history. Ugly nationalism grows in the spaces left empty by a cleaved symbolism, a highly-edited narrative.

Gaze through the screen at both sides of the symbol, and a fuller, richer, more color-full story emerges. An honest narrative.

Nations, like people, become healthy when they embrace all sides of their story, the dark side and the light, when they acknowledge both aspects of their symbol, when they take responsibility for their actions, the venomous and the virtuous alike.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SPIDER.

Prometheus Resurrection © 2008 David Robinson

Dream [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

When does a dream turn into a goal?

Lately, I’m having conversations that confuse me. Business thinking, engineer minds, make models for creation. Creativity plans as action templates and guides.

Screen writers make plans, too. Step outlines. The difference is in the process. A creative mind makes models and plans with full intent to throw them away. To discover the best story, their plan involves making space for the better idea. Open up by tossing the model. Clear the deck by shuffling the plan. Sketches and rough drafts. It’s a conversation with the muse. Muses are notoriously structure resistant until the story makes an audience sit forward. Movement first. Then, the structure begins.

The engineer mind works in the opposite direction. The dream must wear the mask of a goal or it is considered invalid. Too squishy. Construction begins immediately with targets and tasks. Order. It is, in fact, the same process as the creative mind, only it is less forgiving of space. It forces the muse to move. Time is of the essence. Structure first. Then movement. Efficiency is a tree with shallow roots.

It confuses me. Dreams do not wear ties or leather shoes, yet, scrape the blueprint and you’ll find a dream every time. Perspective requires stepping away from the canvas. Standing too close for too long and loss of vision is the result. Every time. It’s not a mystery or voodoo. It’s physics. Great ideas and idea-break-throughs happen in the shower or walking on the trail. A clear mind. A different focus creates space. Too tight thinking, too close in for too long, sucks energy.

Once upon a time I worked with organizations and educators. They also confused me. Squeezing the air out of their space they’d gasp, “We can’t breathe.” A little bit of space, some play, a refocus on the relationships was good medicine. Fresh air. Step back and see the painting. The point of perspective is to see. The secret: permission to remove the status games and need to be an authority and, for a moment, reconnect the players to their dream.

At the nucleus of every goal beats the wild heart of a dream.

read Kerri’s blog post about DREAM