i didn’t know | The Direction of Intention

Follow Your North Star [on KS Friday]

Posted on April 21, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

We are on a hummingbird watch. There’s an app that plots their migration. They’ve been spotted to the north of us.The little hummingbird symbols on the map show a veritable cavalry of hummingbirds approaching from the south. Our hummingbird feeders are poised and ready, filled with sugar water. Gay, Jay, and Kerri have an agreement: the first to spot a hummingbird in their yard gets a celebratory margarita.

One of my heroes, my great-aunt Dorothy, had multiple hummingbird feeders on her mountaintop yard. I remember sitting in the sun watching the hummingbird posse dart from feeder to feeder. Dorothy’s little plot of grass was a magical place. Blue bottles caught the sun, special rocks glittered, Poncho the dog lazed in the shade, Del’s old army jeep teetered on the edge of the abyss. A ride in the jeep was certain to take us up the mountain into wild, unimaginable adventure.

They did not live in the world of hurry-up and get-there. Their world was the opposite. They were not trying to be-somewhere-else. They designed their lives on experiencing the here-and-now. Their intention was to appreciate-the-fullness-of-this-moment. It was the only place in my childhood, other than my studio/bedroom, that made sense, though it’s taken me a lifetime to recognize why.

They didn’t split themselves. They chose simple living over anxious striving. When I was young I often looked at Dorothy and wanted to know what she knew, wanted to live as she lived. I loved taking walks through the mountain trails with her. I’ve only recently recognized that Kerri and I walk as Dorothy walked. Slowly. Open to what crosses our path and calls our attention. We are capable of walking the same trail each day and experiencing it anew each time.

My north star has been there all along, even in the times when I jumped into the race because it was what I thought I was supposed to do. Yesterday, I went into my upstairs office, sat at my drafting table, and drew cartoons, modifying scripts generated from chatGPT. “I can’t continue to just apply for positions,” I told myself, “I have to do something different as well.” Cartoons.

I laughed. I was full-to-overflowing with ideas. I’ve not been so happy in weeks. Something different; something sane. Something now.

This morning, while I washed dishes, I gazed out the kitchen window, watching for the hummingbirds. I remembered something Susan said to us at breakfast last week: your yard is a sanctuary. She told us that she makes a pilgrimage to our yard each year to recharge. Our yard is like Del and Dorothy’s mountaintop, not by accident, but through intention. It is the place we sit-in-the-here-and-now. To rejuvenate. To enjoy the chipmunk colony living in Barney-the-piano, the chatter of the squirrels, that flash of the cardinals. To await with great anticipation the arrival of the first hummingbird.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about TINY FEATHERS

Filed under: Awakening, Gratitude, Heroes, Identity, KS Friday | Tagged: artistry, attention, awareness, cartoons, chatGPT, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, here and now, hummingbirds, i didn't know, intention, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, presence, recharge, rejuvenate, sanctuary, sense making, story, studio melange, the melange, this part of the journey | Leave a comment »

Mark The Passage [on KS Friday]

Posted on July 2, 2021 by davidrobinsoncreative

Just after we met, we dug a small pond in the backyard. It was a party that Kerri called The Big Dig. People came with shovels. We drank mudslides. I met many of her friends and neighbors. We laughed. It took less than ten minutes with so many people to dig the hole. The liner went in and rocks placed around the edges. The pump was placed and the water rushed in. It was a marker in time. It was meant to be a marker, a ritual of passage into the new and the unknown.

She’d planned The Big Dig before we met. Originally, it had nothing to do with me. It was serendipity that I could be present for The Dig. Serendipity or design. Who knows.

The morning after the party, sipping coffee, we sat in lawn chairs on the muddy ground surrounding the now bubbling pond. Kerri used the “M” word, married, “When we are married…” She realized what she’d just said. She blushed and apologized and backpedaled. I was, at the very moment she used the “M” word, doing something I’d never done before: imagining myself married. To her. I was seeing it and, laughing at her anguished retreat, I confessed what I was seeing. We sat by the pond and stared at each other. A ritual passage into the new and unknown.

The pond has always been mine to care for. This marks its eighth year. We just replaced the liner. We had to put flagstone around the pond because DogDog was cutting a deep velodrome path around it, racing in excitement every time John and Michele let their Dachshunds out. Each day we walk to the pond to try and catch a glimpse of the frog-in-residence. This year we named the frog Magic.

Just a few days after The Big Dig, Kerri took me to the marina where the 4th of July celebrations are staged. Bands played. There was a carnival. Too much food. The dog jump is a big attraction (dogs running and leaping into a pool of water in a distance-leap competition). After dark we sat on a blanket and watched the fireworks. Sitting on that blanket, vibrant color exploding in the night sky, I imagined myself living in this town, so far from the west coast that had been my home most of my adult life. “Can I live here?” I asked myself. The answer was immediate: you can’t live anywhere else.

DogDog was born on the 4th of July, probably while we were watching the dog jump. We will celebrate his eighth birthday on Sunday with a rowdy race around the pond. His favorite thing. And then snacks. Also his favorite thing. And then a visit with Unka-John. His really, really favorite thing.

A step into the new and unknown. Ritual passages. You have no idea where they will take you or what the reality of the step over the threshold will bring. You cannot know. You can only step.

“This looks like fireworks,” she said, showing me the up-close-photo of the plant. “I love it,” she smiled.

“Me, too.”

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

read Kerri’s blog post about the FIREWORK PLANT

i didn’t know/this part of the journey ©️ 1998 kerri sherwood

Filed under: Family, KS Friday, Love, Uncategorized | Tagged: album - this part of the journey, composer, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, Dog-Dog, fireworks, i didn't know, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, marriage, passages, pond, ritual, ritual passage, solo piano, story, studio melange, The Big Dig, this part of the journey | Leave a comment »

Know [on KS Friday]

Posted on September 21, 2018 by davidrobinsoncreative

There is much an artist cannot know about their own work. They sit on the mountain so they cannot see it. But, in their general blindness, there is one thing they do know: there is a difference between the bulk of their work that is good and the few shining pieces that are great.

Kerri is evasive when talking about her work. I imagine somewhere back in the nether-times of her artistic formation, Beaky taught her a definition of ‘humble’ that now precludes her from speaking kindly of her compositions. I’ve learned that there is a chink in her armor. If you want truth, piss her off. In her anger she just might let slip what lives behind the humble-fortress. Recently, red-in-the-face mad at my provocation, she glared at me and said, “My work is good but This Part Of The Journey is great! It is world class!”

It is. She knows like only an artist can know. It’s her best album. And, the pity of it is – to me, at least – she is now – 20 years later – capable of better. Her artistry has grown. By far. Her unrecorded songs and compositions live in a notebook. They will never be recorded. “Why bother,” she says, each time she opens her BMI statement, looks despairingly at the enclosed $47.00 check while perusing the report that shows well over a million people listened to her music last year.

If you want to hear her play, the route is the same as the path to her truth. Piss her off. I secretly look forward to the day the BMI statement comes. On BMI day, in a fury, she sits at her mostly ignored piano and plays. You can’t imagine how beautiful heart-pain can sound. You can’t imagine how much music is in her. On BMI day, I get to hear her best work.

You can say, “I didn’t know.” I cannot. I do. I know. And, I suppose, more to the point, she is not alone. Kerri is only one of thousands of musicians whose music makes millions for streaming services but are paid virtually nothing for it. Perhaps you should grieve -as I do – that I am the only person on earth who has – or will have – the opportunity to hear her greatest compositions. That should piss you off.