Be The Rain [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on August 22, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

If you want to see me cry, play Lowen and Navarro’s song, If I Was The Rain. There are two versions that kill me. The version released on their album, All The Time In The World. And, the Youtube of Eric Lowen’s last concert. In the hard grip of ALS, he spoke the words of the song from his wheelchair. It is, without a doubt, a triumph of the human spirit. I blubber every time I watch it.

“If I was the rain/ I’d polish every outbound train/ I’d wash the teardrops from your eyes/ so you could kiss the blues good-bye.”

We simply could not believe it. Standing in the sunroom we watched a torrent of water stream down the windows. The gutters were overwhelmed. Sheets of water enveloped the house. It was as if we were standing behind a raging waterfall. It was, at the same time, glorious and terrifying. Beautiful and petrifying.

“If I was the rain/ I’d answer all the farmer’s prayers/ till green was growing everywhere/ If I was the rain.”

We’d just emerged from the basement. Trying to channel the incoming water to the floor drains, we laid towels, we positioned fans. We quickly moved boxes and bags, anything in the water’s path. We laughed and looked at each other wide-eyed. What else could we do?

“If I was the rain/ I’d choose forever to remain/ I’d add a sparkle to the night/ and marvel at the morning bright.“

It’s a new day. The rain has finally stopped. The sun is attempting to break through the clouds. The basement is dry at last. Our towel-river-bank is in the washer, getting cleaned and ready for the next emergency. We looked at photos on the web of the local flooding. We shook at heads at the volume of water that fell. It came so fast.

If I was the rain/ I’d bless each blossom to unfold/ and I’d turn each one of them into gold/ if I was the rain…

The world as seen through a waterfall. Roaring off our roof, cascading down the walls and windows, distorting the reality as we know it. Altering the arc of the day. Neighbors texting neighbors, “Are you okay?” People, knee-deep in water, helping other people because they need it. The best of humanity showing its face, even for a brief moment.

“If I was the rain…”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE RAIN

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Look Beneath The Brag [on DR Thursday]

Posted on August 17, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

“If I don’t brag I can’t complain,” she said, eyes sparkling. I howled with laughter. Wisdom from a soon-to-be 101 year old.

There’s nothing like a long life to strip the paint off an ego.

Her wisdom launched me into a thought-jag and made me wonder what a little time and maturity might bring to our yammering social media streams. Of LinkedIn a colleague recently said, “Everyone is selling. No one is buying.” Lots of bragging balanced by lots of complaining. Although it is moving fast, social media is still very, very young. A raucous kindergarten class. Me. Me. Me!

Kerri and I are not above it, of course. We are knee-deep in it. Each day we bemoan, “Oh, if only our readers would like or share our posts or music or cartoon or paintings…” The algorithm of “like” makes braggers and beggars of us all. It’s the road to increased attention which transmogrifies into words like “influencer” which promises dollars (with or without sense). (sorry. i couldn’t help myself;-) We don’t really want to be influencers but we do really want our work to support us – just like everyone else – so, a conundrum. In current reality, a full spectrum of bragging and complaining marks the road to increased notice.

Marshall McLuhan famously said, “The medium is the message.” Said another way, “…the content of any medium blinds us to the character of the medium.” Content need not have substance in a fast moving medium creating so many squeaky wheels seeking grease. Character (noun): mental and moral qualities… Through our current medium it is necessary to scream loud. No substance or moral quality is required to garner attention since garnering attention is the end-goal. Complain! Brag! Bang pots! Cry wolf! Blow whistles! Break news! Spread conspiracy! Lie loudly… Thumbs up. Angry face. Heart.

It brought again to my mind the question Susan asked last week, “When did kindness leave…” What I wish I’d said is, “It’s still there, it’s just runs deep beneath the noise.” Kindness has no need to compete with complaint for attention.

“How did it get to be the middle of August already?” Kerri asked, focusing her camera on the fading coneflowers. The day was hot. We were overwhelmed by our tasks so took a break and went for a walk.

“I don’t know,” I replied, trying to remember all that happened in June and July. There were so many life altering events for our friends and family. With no air in our sail, becalmed, time has lost much of its meaning.

Kerri showed me her photo. “I think I’ll call this one Waning Summer.” For us, there’s nothing to brag about so there’s nothing to complain about. Thank goodness. We sit solidly in the middle of the spectrum, knowing somewhere, running deep beneath the noise and moving very slowly, like kindness, runs a mighty river of gratitude.

“It’s beautiful.” I said.

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chasing bubbles, 33.25 x 48IN mixed media © david robinson

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Come Home [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Posted on July 29, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

It’s a big day. Kerri has lived in this house more than half of her life. I am approaching a decade in our home. In other words, I’ve lived in this house longer than I’ve lived anywhere in my adult life.

The first moment I stepped foot into this house I felt and saw in my mind the word, “Home.” It unnerved me a bit since, after several months of correspondence, Kerri and I had only just met in person. Also, I was a dedicated wanderer, the kind that is never lost, so I didn’t believe I would ever experience the feeling of “home”. It wasn’t in my cards.

Life changes fast. That first night we crawled out a second-floor window, sat on the roof and sipped wine. It was cold so we wrapped ourselves in blankets. I’d been waiting my entire life to find someone who wanted to crawl out the window with me. Home. My wife and our house. Inseparable stories woven together through time. I am unbelievably fortunate that her house has become our house and it loves us as much as we love it.

Home. I feel it. It was in my cards all along.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HOME

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Take Another Look [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on July 24, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

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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See The Angels [on KS Friday]

Posted on July 14, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

Like most people I have had some dark nights of the soul. Fortunately, I also have a life rich in beacons, special people that shine bright and light the way in my darkest hours. Best-of-all, my beacons are visible on sunny days, too. Some of my beacons have been around for the long haul. Some show up in a moment and disappear as fast as they appeared.

It’s hard not to believe in guidance when surrounded by so many living lighthouses.

Once, on a snowy day in a local store called PeaceTree, the man behind the counter told Kerri that she was surrounded by good angels. It was a comfort and gave her courage to head out into the storm.

Yesterday, Jonathan’s passing had us talking about good angels. He was certainly an angel for us. It made me realize (again-and-again) that the good angels that surround us are not ethereal unseen spirits. They are visible. Humans. Folk. Peeps. 20. Brad and Jen. The Up-North-Gang. Horatio. They are the friends that show up to help, Arnie and Dwight. The people that call out-of-the-blue to check-in. They are the world’s best mechanic that fixes our car and then delivers it to our driveway. The notes from Judy or Jim. The texts of encouragement from Rob or Mike or David. The “likes” from Alex and Buffalo Bob that revitalize us everyday to keep writing, keep creating. Brenda and Cris reaching out to us when they hear one of Kerri”s compositions streaming and share how much her music means to them. The bright lights that we just know are out there. Guy and Charles.

We are, indeed, surrounded by good angels, more than I can name or count. We would not be here were it not for the people who catch us when we were falling, the voices of encouragement that cheer when we consider stopping, the many, many people who stand with us in the storm and whisper, “How can I help?”

Beacons. Warming fires on the hill. They are all around us – all the time – and we are more than grateful for their bright light, infusing us with courage as we sail into the next unknown.

Adrift/Blueprint For My Soul © 1997 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes or streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE LIGHTHOUSE

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Learn The Language of Color [on DR Thursday]

Posted on June 22, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

Earlier this week I wrote of DeMarcus’ notes on color made when he was a first year art student. I flipped through the fading pages before placing the notebook back on my shelf and lingered on these gems:

“If we wish to create we must learn the Language of Color.”

“Color stands for JOY in this world of seeing.”

“Through the language of COLOR, we add JOY to the world of seeing.”

His notes are from a lecture. In my mind I see some fantastic art teacher, a life teacher, standing before a class of enthusiastic hearts that included the young DeMarcus, infusing them with a purpose that demanded they pay attention to others, to their reason for creating. Bring joy. Through the language of color, speak to a world that doesn’t know how to see. Speak to a world desperately in need of Joy. Color theory as community tending. Igniting the idea in the students, the teacher then set them free to explore how, through color, to bring joy to the world. The lesson was simultaneously both practical and existential.

I wish I knew the name of DeMarcus’ instructor. I’d send a deep debt of gratitude into the universe.

It is profoundly easy to diminish the role of artists in our culture. Note the dearth of art programs in schools. The emaciated National Endowment for the Arts relative to other budget lines. What might be more important in our times than artists striving to weave togetherness through the language of color? What might be more necessary than opening eyes to see beyond grey assumptions? We diminish ourselves when we devalue our art.

I knew DeMarcus when he was in his 90’s. Those early lessons still twinkled in his eyes. Or, perhaps, a lifetime of speaking the language of color, a lifetime of offering the joy of seeing, brought a permanent twinkle to his eye . He understood artistry as more than indulgent self-expression. He understood – and helped me understand – that artistry came with a responsibility to others as well as to the self. Service. See, in order to help others see, through the language of color, joy.

prayer of opposites, 48x48IN, acrylic on panel © 2006

my-as-yet-still-unfinished-site [I hope you’re not holding your breath]

read Kerri’s blogpost on COLOR

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Choose A Better Story [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on May 30, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

Watching an early episode of the Millennial Farmer I was astounded to learn how computerized farming has become. Driving the tractor was far more digital-than-donkey. Even the word “driving” is mostly misplaced, just as the word “telephone” is loosely applied to the magic box in our pockets that searches the internet, takes photographs, measures our step, our heart rate, acts as a calendar, a compass, a flashlight, a newspaper…

Farmers can do more, faster, with greater precision. The seeds are planted to exact depths and meticulously spaced. The temperature of the earth and the minerals in the soil are collected and measured as data points. The farmer monitors the technology and engages the steering only when making a turn. Keeping the machinery in good running order requires an entirely different set of skills than it did twenty – even ten years ago. I wonder what farming will mean to the grandchildren of the people I watched mowing their fields. Like a modern car mechanic, in addition to wrenches and oil, farming demands computer diagnostic skills and a continuous upgrade of software. While the process is different, the basics remain the same. Plant. Nurture. Grow. Harvest. Feed.

To feed. Hands in the soil. Eyes to the horizon gauging the weather. Eyes on the advanced weather forecast technology. Praying for rain. But not too much.

There’s an old black-and-white photograph on the wall of the farmhouse we rented for our family gathering. People assembled on the porch, wearing high collars and long prairie dresses. Horses and wagons populate the foreground. I marveled, standing on the same porch in the old photograph, how close-in-time I am to the people in that picture. Two headstones away. Tom once told a story, when he was a boy, of sitting in the lap of an elderly woman who, as a small child, sat in the lap of Abraham Lincoln. That makes me a mere three headstones from the 16th President. “He smelled of saddle soap and lavender,” she reported.

I hear abundant chatter about rural America being all red and urban America mostly blue. Both colors have to eat. Both are made better by technology. The food is grown in the red while the computers are imagined and made manifest in the blue. A single step back from the chatter reveals how truly interdependent we really are. I am grateful for the easy availability of food at my local grocery store. I imagine the farmer is grateful for the advanced technology that takes some of the guesswork and toil from their lives.

We are, all of us, a single headstone away from passing on a better or lesser world. Both are possible. The choice is ours. Where do we desire to place our focus? What world do we desire to create?

Farmer’s take great pride in feeding the world. Entrepreneurs and software engineers take great pride in making tasks easier for others. Generally, gratitude is not only a much better story than division, it’s also more productive. It’s also more honest. I find that people are highly motivated when helping others. The question is, “Why can’t we see how we are helping and being helped?” Our interdependence is right in front of our faces.

The noisy trappings of our time may seem complicated but the basics remain the same: Plant. Nurture. Grow. Harvest. Feed. We eat what we sow. We choose the thought-seed that we plant. Technology can help us be more effective and efficient. It cannot help us gain wisdom or sort what we lose in our dedicated color-crayon-divide. It cannot help us choose or pass on a better story. Only we can do that.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HAY RAKES IN THE SKY

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Restore The Heart [on KS Friday]

Posted on April 14, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

Last night I sat on the floor in the corner of the bathroom. It was very late and I couldn’t sleep. I said to no one, “Something, sometime, some way, has to tip in our favor.” I was disheartened after a day of exceptionally discouraging news.

“Disheartened” is an interesting word. Heart removal. An empty cavity where the energy should be. The thought made me laugh and laughter is always good for the disheartened. My laughter brought me back to my senses. I sat on the floor, shifted my focus from woe-is-me and placed it squarely on all that I am thankful for. The list is long and runs through creature comforts like hot showers and electric light to soul-comforts like a crazy Aussie dog to heart-comforts like an incredible wife. Also, there is wine on the deck. Walks in nature which imply good health, walks through imagination which imply an artistic spirit, walks with awe which imply an insatiable curiosity. Through the right lens, my life-view from the bathroom floor is remarkable.

My empty cavity filled to overflowing.

I find it’s a good practice, when fresh from a bout with self-pity, to wander the house slowly. To intentionally touch the stories that live in the furniture or the glasses or the plants. To step out of the fear-mongering and into the riches of the present moment. Laying on our dining room table is a bundle of branches Kerri gathered from a fallen pussy willow. The furry catkins glowed silver and caught my attention. They warmed me with a memory. A walk with dear friends on ground so muddy that we laughed and hopped in search of solid footing. It was cold. Trees were down; the day before the wind and rain was brutal. Finding the pussy willow branch on the ground made both Kerri and Jen giggle with delight. A treasure! So simple. Their excitement turned toward possibilities. Vases or ribbon?

Enhearten: to restore strength and courage to a saddened spirit. The memory was good medicine and sent me to bed where I fell into a deep sleep, paradoxically enlivened and peaceful. Heart restored.

Kerri’s music is available on iTunes or streaming on Pandora

read Kerri’s blogpost about PUSSYWILLOWS

watershed/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

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Open And Share [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on April 10, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

We have “go” bags packed. One contains our important papers. The other has a change of clothes and the dog’s leash. It’s not that we’re paranoid. During the civil unrest a few years ago – buildings ablaze and murder on the streets just a block or two from our house – the local authorities advised people to be ready to leave on a moment’s notice. We prepared our “go” bags and thought it such a good idea that we’ve never unpacked them. Now, when the tornado sirens wail, we simply grab our bags and the dog and descend into the basement. Easy-peasy in times of scramble.

Each night we watch Youtube videos of people hiking long distance trails. Often the hikers talk about the moment that they “leave” the mindset of the city and enter the freedom of the trail. Everything they need they carry on their backs. They cease dealing with what is supposed-to-be and fully enter life with what is right in front of them. There is a plan and the plan is constantly in flux. There is little to no consistency. What they can and cannot control becomes readily apparent.

What is most important, what is consistent to all of their stories on the trail, is how important other people become to their experience. Leaving the mindset of the city brings them back to the basic tenet of their humanity. They are totally dependent upon the kindness of others. They enter an ecosystem of mutual support. The illusion of “every-man-for-himself” falls away. They open. They share. They fill themselves with gratitude for others. The people who try to go-it-alone don’t make it very far.

I think that is why, at the end of each day, we watch these people on the trail, with their “go” bags on their backs and their hearts bursting with appreciation for their lives and for those who walk with them, if only for a day. They remind us of what’s most important. They cut through the noisy abstraction of news and ratings and likes. They don’t expect their walk to be easy or comfortable or pretty. They remind us to fill our days with gratitude for others, to turn toward our fellow travelers rather than turn away. They offer a hand and accept assistance. They share. They remind us, in our scramble to find safety in the storm, that life in an ecosystem of support is what it’s all about.

read Kerri’s blogpost about STORMS

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Choose A Double [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on April 3, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

The storm that blew through last night was ominous. The thunder shook the house. I lay awake, marveling at the force of nature. And, while I lay awake, counting the seconds between flash and boom, I also counted myself lucky. I rolled gratitudes through my mind, enumerating all the things I was thankful for in the previous 24 hours. There were more than I could count.

It is very easy to get lost in despair. It’s very easy to count all the things that don’t work, go wrong, hurt a lot, and didn’t-go-my-way. It takes a bit more intention and effort to turn the eye toward the good stuff. Counting gratitudes requires aiming focus.

It reminds me of an exercise I used to do with groups, revealing to them how easy and fun it is to blame-the-universe or other people for our woes. Blame is like sugar. It’s addictive. The groups would tell outrageous blame stories and laugh. Blame lightens the load. It’s an easy answer to the mysterious question, “Why?”

It’s much harder to see and embrace participation and choice in a life path. Ownership comes with responsibility. There is circumstance – that which I can’t control. There is what I do within my circumstance – that which I can control. The moment I suggested to the groups that they transform their blame-story into a story-of-choice, they fell silent. Every group. Every time.

Blame requires allies and layers of story; it happened to me. Choice needs no audience. It is the story. I made this happen.

On any other night, between flash and boom, I might have tossed and turned and counted my woes. I am more than capable of diving into dark holes and indulging my blame story. I have and will again drown my sorrows in pity and it’s-not-my-fault denial. But, on this night, during this storm, I was filled with awe for the power of nature, for the abundant good that boomed through my life, for the chance to live another abundant day. A double double of appreciation.

read Kerri’s blog post about A DOUBLE

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