A Fragile Thing [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man’s brow.” ~ Ovid

I continue to replay in my mind the moment that the young man, the expectant father, told us that he intended to home school his child. He said that he didn’t want his child’s mind filled with the wild ideas peddled in public schools. He wanted his child to know-only-the-facts. Just the facts. I’ve previously written about this so it clearly continues to bother me.

I wanted to tell him that democracy is not a fact. It is an idea. It bothers me that I didn’t say what I was thinking. I wanted to tell him that he was being fooled by leaders who want to keep his child – and all people – ignorant. Learning – education – is about the pursuit of questions and active engagement with ideas. It is not about the-facts-in-isolation.

I wanted to tell him that the quickest way to numb a mind is to steep it in isolated facts. Solving difficult problems, facing complex challenges, is predicated upon the capacity to entertain ideas. It’s not so easy to gaslight a populace that regularly exercises their power to question. Gaslighting is a snap with people who’ve been schooled to rely on just-the-facts, especially when the “facts” are crafted by the wily fox. Facts-in-isolation permit folks to wield words like “socialism” like a weapon with no real understanding of the sword that they swing. It’s been a useful Republican scare-word since the 1950’s because very few who brandish the word understand what it actually represents. Understanding requires the ability to ask questions, to compare, to contrast, to consider. To doubt.

Ideas are dynamic. Facts are static. Minds are dynamic but can too easily be made static.

“Democracy’s a very fragile thing. You have to take care of democracy. As soon as you stop being responsible to it and allow it to turn into scare tactics, it’s no longer democracy, is it? It’s something else. It may be an inch away from totalitarianism.” ~ Sam Shepard

Relative to the history of the world, democracy is a new idea. Like a new-born, it is delicate and requires nurturing and constant attention. It requires the constant feeding and stimulus of a curious mind. Today, we find ourselves, the stewards of democracy, an inch away from totalitarianism. We are witness to the realization of a Republican dream: the dismantling of the Department of Education, a war against our colleges and universities waged to eliminate the pursuit of ideas in favor of the state-approved facts.

Democracy is a fragile thing. It’s a new idea and the new idea is delicate. Its genius is to question, to compare and debate. It renews itself through collaboration and compromise. It pursues a more perfect union knowing that it can never arrive there since it is an idea, not a place or achievement. Democracy, like all vital ideas, is a relationship that requires tending.

It haunts me, what I wanted to say to the new father but did not: it is no small choice to stifle a questioning mind in favor of a pre-approved fact. This might be a good time to question what you think.

read Kerri’s blog post about A FRAGILE THING

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Know The Difference [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

“Public education does not serve a public. It creates a public. And in creating the right kind of public, the schools contribute toward strengthening the spiritual basis of the American Creed. That is how Jefferson understood it, how Horace Mann understood it, how John Dewey understood it, and in fact, there is no other way to understand it. The question is not ‘Does or doesn’t public schooling create a public?’ The question is ‘What kind of public does it create?'” ~ Neil Postman, The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School.

It’s important to know the difference.

In the forests and fields through which our walking path winds, there is Cow Parsnip, Queen Anne’s Lace, and Hemlock. All sport umbrella-clusters of tiny white flowers. They are all members of the carrot family. To the untrained eye – like mine – they look similar. They are dangerously different.

Socrates was sentenced to death and was made to drink Hemlock. It’s very toxic. Queen Anne’s Lace is edible and used medicinally. Cow Parsnip can be eaten “if handled properly,” however a combination of sap and sunlight can cause a painful rash.

It is important to know the difference. It is why education is so important. It is why asking questions, stoking curiosity and looking deeper – beyond the superficial – is invaluable. The point of education, as Neil Postman reminds us, is not to get a better job, it is to be a well-rounded human being capable of making informed decisions.

“At its best, schooling can be about how to make a life, which is quite different from how to make a living.”

Republicans since Reagan have been actively undermining our public schools. Cutting budgets, hyper-emphasizing testing (answer-driven rather than question-inspiring), and waging a foxy campaign against “the woke,” a term referring to people who are curious enough to question what they are being told – a skill useful in learning. The demonizing of education and the educated has without doubt led us to this moment: a gullible, angry and easily distracted citizenry. I almost wept the day the young man, an expectant father, told me that he was going to home school his child because he didn’t want his son’s head to be filled with “any of those crazy ideas” that they teach in the public schools. He didn’t want his boy to be woke.

I wanted to tell that young man that democracy is an idea. So is fascism and communism and authoritarianism. It’s important to know the difference.

The fox and Republicans have been for years weaponizing the term “socialism”, an accusation they level when their wealth is threatened by those who question why taxation is unfair, who ask why Republicans cheer when government creates programs uplifting corporate America but snarl when government creates programs that uplift private citizens. Socialism is an idea, too. Asking questions, protecting civil rights, and believing in the promise of democracy is not socialism. It takes some study and questioning to know the difference.

There’s a reason that the cartoon symbol for insight is a light bulb illuminating brightly over a character’s noggin. Letting in the light.

Discernment. Distinction. Knowing the difference between indoctrination and education. Knowing the difference between character and corruption, value and vice, wisdom and hogwash. Knowing how to discern news from propaganda would seem to be essential – democracy-saving. Life saving.

And so, here we are, awash in a cult movement called MAGA, enabled by a feckless Republican Congress, that worships incompetence and promotes ignorance. It shields itself against even the most basic of questions and eschews responsibility for, well, anything (blame is their game). It howls in indignation at the very thought of learning. It is a celebration of the dim-bulb. Drinkers of toxic hemlock, totally incapable of discerning the difference between the deadly and the medicinal, the truth and a lie.

“Because we are imperfect souls, our knowledge is imperfect. The history of learning is an adventure in overcoming our errors. There is no sin in being wrong. The sin is in our unwillingness to examine our own beliefs, and in believing that our authorities cannot be wrong.” ~ Neil Postman, The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DISCERNMENT

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The Question Of Orbs [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.” ~ Joseph Campbell

She told me this photograph was for me. My paintings often include orbs. I wasn’t aware of my orb-inclusion until the day many years ago that I showed Jim E. my paintings. He asked, “What’s up with the orbs?” Confused, I examined my own paintings. It was a hysterical moment of self-discovery.

At first I liked to think of the orbs as spirits. Guardians or messengers. I am an intuitive painter so I assigned some Glenda-the-good-witch sensibility to my ever-present orbs. Later, I imagined they represented unhatched possibilities or germinating ideas. I loved the idea that we are surrounded by bubbles of potential. Now, I have no story at all for them. I like them. They are there. They make me happy. They make compositional sense.

Last night we discussed our broken road path to each other. If this or that had changed, would we have found each other? Would we be living entirely different lives? From this vantage point, our meeting was all but impossible. At the time, what seemed like the worst possible thing – life collapsed in both of our stories – nudged us to somehow bump into each other. Two bubbles in a vast universe.

Now, joy is burning out the pain.

Perhaps my orbs are homage to the wonder of bubbles in the universe? A nod to the unanswerable question of my life path – ours or any life path: is it random or is it destiny?

“Whatever your fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, ‘This is what I need.’ It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment–not discouragement–you will find the strength is there…” ~ Joseph Campbell

Meditation, 48″x48″, mixed media

JOY, 50″x56″, mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about ORBS


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Very, Very [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Last night, sitting on the deck enjoying the waning light, I had a great idea for this post. I didn’t write it down so, of course, I have no idea what my great idea was. All morning I have tried to retrace my mental footsteps but alas, they, too, are lost in the mist.

It would be just like me to write about perception. This is a curtain separating the backstage V.I.P. area from the raucous dancing audience. Kerri tried to take a photo through the curtain. Cameras and purple permeable curtains might serve as metaphors for all manner of my blah-blah. Focus placement, assumptions, obstacles, yada-yada! But, none of that well-worn blather was my great idea.

I’m rarely in V.I.P areas since I am rarely a V.I.P. In fact, this particular V.I.P. area was my first and I have to admit I liked it. I didn’t get crushed in the crowd. I wandered freely. There were drinks had I wanted one. And chairs. Security didn’t blink when I walked up and stood at the apron of the stage. I adored watching the dancing furries and acrobats prepare to take the stage. To me, backstage is magic precisely because it’s behind the curtain: the furries take off their furry heads and sip drinks through straws; the acrobats smoke a joint, laugh and talk politics. Now, backstage magic might be a fun post but it wasn’t my great idea.

I did ponder the designation (of course). It wasn’t just an I.P, important person section, it was a very important person section. Wow. Very. More important than important. Since Craig was performing and we are his parents, I suppose we earned the adverb. Kerri did for sure. I didn’t give birth to Craig (thank goodness! I’ve heard stories…). She did so is most certainly a very. I’ve only moved his stuff a few dozen times but was happy to don the extra designation.

That we were fortunate enough – from a place of privilege – to watch our son perform on a BIG stage, and perform well, – also was not my big idea. He wanted us there and made it happen. There’s nothing better on earth than having a son who wants to share his artistry and successes with his parents. The V.I.P. was icing on the cake, an experience everyone should have once in their life.

That was big but it wasn’t my great idea.

I suppose half the fun of losing a great idea is the search-and-rescue effort to find it. I know it’s in there somewhere. As I grid my recent past in search of some great abstract idea, I couldn’t be happier to have found so much actual-beyond-greatness. Heart experiences. New experiences that resurface all the stages and backstages of my past. A son in his bliss. A mother in her bliss. A crowd of adoring people sharing their bliss.

Maybe writing about bliss was my big idea! If it wasn’t, it should have been. People who I love in their bliss. Nothing better. Very. Very, very.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE CURTAIN

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The Smallest Thing [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Yesterday was a hard day for me. It sometimes happens that the smallest thing – a comment, a slight – rubs, becomes a hotspot, and blisters. The rub became the focus-of-the-day and I made myself miserable. Obsessing. I blistered.

Until the sunset.

Sunset came like a soothing balm. Towering storm clouds passed through earlier in the evening. We heard the thunder and saw flashes of lightning (emblematic of my inner state of mind) but the system moved to the north so we had nary a sprinkle. And, just before sunset, the clouds parted. Suddenly vibrant yellow and orange clouds danced on a field of light cobalt blue. By the time the purples appeared, I was back in-my-right-mind. The rub vanished with the waning sun. The blister began to heal. I sighed and was careful not to ponder why I gave away the day to the smallest thing.

The smallest thing. What other people think. What happened yesterday. What I fear will happen tomorrow. What I think (ask Kerri, I have more than my share of opinions and perspectives and I sometimes lack an internal editor. If you are a compassionate human being you will immediately send to her your condolences).

What I think. The sunset dissolved my roiling inner monologue. And, again, I learned that what I think is… just that. No more, no less. I heard this phrase a hundred years ago and again last week: where your thoughts go, so too will your energy. Yesterday my thoughts went into a very dark place. So, too, went my energy. A day of my life.

The sunset brought me to a lesson I learned a hundred years ago and apparently needed to learn again yesterday: I have choice. My thoughts need not be reactive. I can aim my focus anywhere I choose. I can attach my thought like a barnacle to any-old-whale-of-an-idea-stream that I desire. And, the deep dark secret to making the thought-choice-of-the-day easy? Recognize that what I think is just that – what I think – no more and no less. Lose the import. Drop the judgment. Let go the valuation. Recognize it for what it is.

The smallest thing.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNSET

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The Way Home [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

This peony-perspective begs to be the inciting image of a children’s book. I imagine the main character comes from a world where people are smaller than flowers. Where bumblebees are happy Ubers delivering their small human riders to distant neighborhoods when they need a lift. Where nature is magical, playful and esteemed.

Not all ideas make it to the final draft so it’s important to stack up the ideas and have fun with the images. The main character sleeps inside the peony. The Uber bees are chaotic fliers and one never knows where they land; in this world, destination is always a surprise. Spontaneity is the norm.

In this world where people look up to flowers, “Home” is everywhere for everyone – so people, unacquainted with ownership or territory, have evolved as intrinsically helpful. Generosity of spirit is a highly prized character trait. Survival is not of the fittest but of the kindest.

Hummingbirds know the secret of finding sweet treats, caterpillars know the secret of patience.

Since this storybook is evolving as a sweet utopia, it begs the question, “What’s the conflict?” Stories do not work without obstacles. The bigger the better. What is the lesson our main character must learn? What gets lost that must be found? Maybe our little person, like Adam and Eve, falls out of their garden? Perhaps an Uber bee unwittingly flies our hero/heroine through a magic portal, to a place where people are bigger than flowers? In a world that seems sad and upside-down, the question becomes, how does our little person, lost in the land of big, find their way home?

read Kerri’s blogpost about PEONY PERSPECTIVE

Bonus! Perhaps this amazing composition will be the theme for the animated version of the story book once it garners a world-wide audience!

The Way Home/This Part of the Journey © 1997/2000 Kerri Sherwood

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Unfurl [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I’m proud of her. Twice this week Kerri has fact-checked friends on FB who posted articles riddled with misinformation meant to rile. It took her less than a minute each time. In posting a link to the fact-check, she wrote, “Please check your information before you pass it on. xo”

It seems like such a small thing but it’s lately apparent that it’s becoming everything:

We forget that democracy is not a thing. It is an idea. It is an action rather than a noun. We forget that our democracy is young. Very, very young.

It worries me when I hear politicians making laws placing limits on the discussion of ideas at school. It worries me when I read that parents want teachers to teach “only the facts”. In today’s bubble-discourse it is a valid question to ask, “Whose facts?” Discerning between fact and fiction requires minds and hearts capable of questioning, capable of challenging the “facts” they are being fed. The notion of the purpose of education as a feeder-of-facts is nothing less than a sign of moral and mental decay. This is especially true in our great age of information with its ever-present shadow of rampant misinformation.

Democracies collapse when ideas and ideals are no longer debated, when winning-at-any-cost overshadows compromise, when respect for divergent points of view is overrun by intolerance. Healthy democracies are an ongoing tug-of-war; creative tension generated by a lively and respectful exchange of perspectives. This requires a system of education that nurtures these qualities and capacities.

Democracies collapse when they aim for an end result rather than steward a living process.

The point of education in a democracy is to consciously and carefully unfurl young minds so they might become active questioners, expansive thinkers, participating citizens in an ongoing experiment in a complex system called democracy, capable of stewarding their communities forward through an ever-changing world toward the promises inherent in the IDEA: equality, inclusion, governance by the people, for the people.

I would hope that we become capable of grokking governance-by-the-people which necessitates a people educated in ideas, reinforced in their curiosity and capacity to question, to converse and debate complex issues, capable of discerning ruinous power-over-agendas from the central idea enlivening their budding democracy: power with.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FERNS

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Why Bother? [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Here’s the hazard:

“I know what will happen.” “Same old same old.” “It’s always been this way.” “Why bother?” “Nothing ever changes.” “Who cares anyway.” “Tomorrow will be the same as today.” “It doesn’t matter.” “It’s just an idea.”

Pattern thought. Repetition’s repetition. Dulled life.

Looking up, the tree line cut a diagonal across the sky. The sun peeked from behind evergreen. I could have thought, “I’ve seen it a thousand times.” And, truth be told, had that been my thought, I probably would have reduced it to something without words. A yawn. Or worse, it would have gone unnoticed as a lost moment in a mind full of complaints.

As it was, I’d never before been on this particular turn of the earth or looked at the sky at that precise moment. What, exactly, “caught my eye?”

I do not know what will happen. Nothing is ever the same. Ever. It is impossible to have been this way before because no one has ever lived this moment until now. That’s the response to “why bother.” It always changes. And I care. Tomorrow can’t possibly be the same as today so it matters.

Every idea reaches beyond the confines of “just.” Ideas are expansive. Just is reductive.

People are expansive unless they choose otherwise.

Why just live in the reductive?

Good Moments/This Part of the Journey © 1997, 2000 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SUN AND TREES

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Proof That We Were [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Time keeps moving,” I wanted to say. “It eventually dumps all of us back into the ocean.” I hold my tongue. In my silence I wonder about the origin of this odd idiom, hold my tongue. It invites some hysterical images. It’s better, I suppose, than biting my tongue. Same thing, less damage.

We sort through the children’s clothes – our children’s clothes – from the time that they were toddlers. Kerri coos and tells me stories. I never knew them at that age but delight in imagining the very independent adults I know stumbling around, infant drunken sailors, clad in OshKosh b’gosh overalls. We giggle at her recollections. I marvel at the tiny shoes. I am grateful that she’s filling me in on their early years.

Every so often we wonder what it would have been like to have had babies together. On the drive to our honeymoon we were visited by our first imaginary child, Chicken Marsala. He was – and is – infinitely wiser than his parents. That simple truth, an imaginary yet wise child born in the minds of two aging artists, inspired us to write a comic strip. It was a great premise! It was also great fun to write and draw and Chicken knocked hard on the door of syndication. Alas, he grew up and left us as empty nesters. There are no cute clothes as proof of his existence but there are hundreds of drawings. Seeds for Smack-Dab.

The river runs. Time keeps moving. We have so many ideas! Most pop up and then roll downstream and join the ocean of possibilities. Some leave their marks behind. Toddler clothes that we capture and develop into mature creations. Those creations are what we leave behind, proof that we were once toddling to-and-fro on this gorgeous planet. OshKosh b’gosh!

chicken marsala © 2016, 2024 kerrianddavid.com

I Will Hold You/And Goodnight…a Lullaby Album © 2005

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about OVERALLS

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Expect The Burst [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

It’s alright. I know she will inevitably burst and I’ll be covered head-to-toe in her thoughts and opinions.

She’s the same way with gifts. She can’t buy presents ahead of time because she gets too excited to give them. Overwhelmed with gift-giving-anticipation, she bursts.

She’s the same way with ideas. There’s too little space in her heart and mind to contain so many burgeoning ideas. She bursts several times a week. It’s why she’s a pile-organizer. Her good ideas stack up because they have no where else to go.

What’s not to love?

read Kerri’s blogpost about BURSTING

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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