Above All Else [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Life is strange. You arrive with nothing, spend your whole life chasing everything, and still leave with nothing. Make sure your soul gains more than your hands.” ~ unknown

As a young artist Roger often asked, “What is sufficient?” If you solely choose an artist’s path – or an artist’s path chooses you – the odds of realizing a modicum of financial prosperity are slim. An artist in the USA necessarily makes peace with chasing a different kind of wealth. Soul wealth. Yet, the question of sufficiency is important to ask since it is the thin ice that many artists – especially as they age – disappear beneath. It is impossible to live on the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs indefinitely. Perpetually struggling for food, heat, and shelter will inevitably drown the muse.

What is sufficient to keep the muse happy and fed?

Kerri came home and told me of a conversation she had with Steve. Most people – including us – want nothing more than to live a simple life. We do not need to own yachts or mansions. With the disappearance of the middle-class, the stagnation of wages, the wealth of the nation running to the top 1%…more and more people in these un-United States are sliding to the bottom of the Hierarchy of Needs. It’s one reason why there is so much anger out there. Safety is further and further out of reach for more and more people. Sufficiency is nowhere to be found.

We watched a conversation between two people who make their living on social media. Their discussion revolved around the cancer that social media has become. They explained that the algorithms sort to the extremes. The middle ground is nowhere to be found in social media conversations. Extremist views are elevated while moderate voices are minimized. In their conversation, they asked their substantial viewership to turn off their screens and go outside and sit with real people. Real connection is only possible when sitting face to face with real people – and that’s the only place where we might reclaim our common ground, our communal sufficiency, our safety – especially with those whose opinions differ from our own. Middle ground is a shared space.

Craig enticed me into a long text conversation about artistry. It made me reflect on what I believe and how many great mentors and teachers I have enjoyed. In my life I have been rich in life-guides. I still am. I told him that all of the great artists I have known – or who have been inspirations for me – have wrestled with their demons and, therefore, were fearless at asking hard questions of themselves and of others. Their hard questions, in the form of lyrics or images or dances or compositions or characters that they played…ultimately transformed their demons into teachers. They walked toward their fears and made them into something beautiful.

I lost three of my guide stars in the past few years. They created lives of sufficiency. They thrived beyond any measure that money could bring. Simple lives marked by a real connection with real people. Lives lived in conscious – and joyful – support of other people. Three rich souls who gained in their lives more than a mansion or piles of money that they would have never been able to spend. They brought people together.

The single thing that I remember about these three artists – above all else – above all that they taught me – is their abundant laughter. Isn’t that the sign of a good life well-lived? A life to emulate?

read Kerri’s blogpost about SOUL GAIN

likesharesupportcommentthankyou

Wandered [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Help me if you can I’ve got to get back the house at Pooh corner by one.” ~ Loggins & Messina, House at Pooh Corner

It is the height of irony that under the banner of going back to some fantasy greatness we hurtle forward into a fascist future. Those in my info-bubble, woke progressives, yearn for a time when adults were at the wheel of the nation.

Escapism is one of our coping mechanism. A favorite escape is The Chicago Botanic Garden. We’d live there if they let us. Passing through the gates we leave the chaos and corruption behind and enter a world of peaceful calm. It inspires slow walking. It is a playground for the senses: rich colors and interesting shapes. Many of the flowers beckon the nose to savor a deep fragrant inhale. It is nearly impossible to pass the vibrant plants without reaching out to touch them.

It never fails that I round a corner and am met by an image that is straight out of a children’s book. In those moments I am immediately stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia or jumping down the rabbit hole with Alice. The rabbit with the pocket watch must surely have passed this way! If I were a writer of children’s books I’d wander the garden each day for inspiration.

In our last visit to the garden a few weeks ago, wandering through the Japanese garden, I was taken by “the inaccessible Horaijima,” the Island of Everlasting Happiness. It symbolizes paradise. It is purposefully inaccessible, an island of beauty that humans beings cannot reach. Its purpose is for meditation. In the garden of our lives we are meant to focus our minds and hearts on a place of beauty. We are meant to reach for beauty, strive for serene beauty. Place our minds there.

I was overwhelmed. How far has our poor sad nation wandered from its focus on anything serene or beautiful? We currently focus on the opposite, our minds steeped in images from the Island of Devastating Ugliness.

Standing at the water’s edge, Horaijima seemed so close yet so far away.

The children’s book: The adults are inundated with darkness and spiraling down the well of hatred. The Island of Everlasting Happiness is shrouded from view. In desperation, the young girl or boy – or both – set out on a journey to lift the fog, to bring the Island back into view, to return beauty to their elders. Their path is fraught with ogres and trolls determined to stop them. Will they make it in time?

“But I’ve wandered much further today than I should
And I can’t seem to find my way back to the wood.”

Eve, 48″x48″ acrylic on panel

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GARDEN

likesharesupportcommentthankyou

Joyfully Jump [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.”Michelangelo

I still marvel even though I’ve grown used to it. Without warning she suddenly jumps up and races to capture an image. Walking on the trail, mid-conversation, she suddenly disappears; I turn and find her kneeling in the dirt, her camera aimed at a new bud or the methodical march of a caterpillar. Her muse is not gentle. Her muse demands immediate action.

At first her sudden bursts of energy frightened me. I thought she saw a snake or was leaping to dodge a tarantula. I jumped, too, usually crying out, “WHAT? WHAT?” After the hundredth scare I learned to temper my response to her bursts of inspiration. I’m painfully aware that with my new conditioning it’s likely that she will someday leap to avoid a rattlesnake while I step on it, thinking she’s having a muse-call. I am certain that she will get an excellent photograph of the snake biting my ankle.

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron wrote, “Creativity is God’s gift to us. Using our creativity is our gift back to God” She continued with a more tangible sentiment, one that every human being experiences: “The refusal to be creative is self-will and is counter to our true nature.”

Blunting ourselves is not natural. It is what KDOT is teaching me. Do not doubt or delay the muse. Jump with both feet into the beauty when it beckons. Play with the moment. Share what you find there.

We forget that we, too, are works of art. We’re not finished pieces but ongoing shadows of divine perfection. We express. We are most alive when we are uninhibited in our participation and celebration of what we experience. It’s called “connected”. Plugged in. Present. Flow.

The muse will open the door and like Kerri, we could all learn to joyfully jump through it. Anything less is unnatural.

from the archives: Maenads

Go here to visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MUSE

likesharecommentsubscribesupport…thankyou.

The Future We Plant [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Milkweed seed pods in winter. It’s mauve flowers are by now a distant memory yet their remembrance also must serve as a desire. What would be the point of releasing its seed to the wind if there was no dream of future mauve blossoms?

Kerri and I are not so different from the Milkweed. We write everyday; our words are seeds released into the e-wind with the hope of reaching fertile hearts and minds. Who knows what blossoms our word-seeds might inspire?

Much of what we write is the mauve blossom of word-seeds sent on the e-wind by others. The thought-seed of others lands and is planted in our hearts and minds. Over time, with warmth and consideration, the seed cracks and sends new-thought shoots to the surface, seeking sun and expression. And so we write. We send. Others receive. In turn, they write or draw or dance – they send – and we receive. It’s a cycle of sharing that goes mostly unrecognized. A riot of unseen interconnectivity. It’s called inspiration.

Words, even the most casual, are more powerful than we realize. They are symbols. They are seeds of future-thought in others. Some, like invasive weeds, are capable of doing harm. They choke the inner landscape where they are planted. Some are like acorns. They land in timid hearts and produce towering strength beyond imagination.

When I listen to the discourse in our media and politics, I shudder at the seeds being planted. I marvel at the ease of misinformation, the ubiquity of lies. Words meant to mislead. Words meant to do harm. Words meant to hurt. Mean-spirited seeds.

I can’t help but wonder what fields of flowers we would produce if we understood the real power of our words. I wonder what future we plant in each other through the words we so easily release into the wind.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MILKWEED

likesharesupportcommentsubscribe…thankyou.

A Narrative Of Hope [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Sometimes the car breaks down. Sometimes the car breaks down and you are hours away from home. When it happens, as is now happening now for us, it’s best to count your blessings. On the top of the list of gratitudes: we are in a beautiful place, up north, surrounded by good friends. Our dear 20 is keeping our Dogga safe. All is right in the world.

Circumstance changes. Plans change. Indeed, plans go out the window. The center holds. Life comes into simple focus.

As we sort out what to do, how best to get home – get the car home – we watch our nation sort out what to do. In our lull, counting our gratitudes, we watch the joy and enthusiasm ripple out of the Democratic National Convention and inspire the nation. A narrative of hope. A narrative of remembrance of who we are. A narrative of community, people helping people, a narrative of service to something bigger…

We are, right now, in a position of needing help. I cannot tell you how important, how gratifying it is to know that the support we need is immediately and lovingly available. It’s what we do for each other.

Why would we do any less for our community? Why would we want any less for our nation?

No one navigates this life alone. Today, Kerri and I know this viscerally, in our bones. This November we can vote for selfish poverty, the angry narrative of the former Republican Party, the lie of every-man-for-himself – or – we can vote for the Democratic ideal that lives at the very heart of our nation: we are our brothers/sisters keepers – because they are also our keepers, our support, the epicenter of our thankfulness. It’s called community. In service to the betterment of all. The choice is ours and it has never been more clear.

Helping hands are everywhere – as it should be.

read Kerri’s blogpost about VOTE

thank you for your support. your comments. your likes. for sharing.

Arrive Again [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Deadheading the day lilies, the afternoon sun pouring through the branches, I realized that I’ve walked a circle and arrived again at the starting point. After fourteen years, I’ve returned to the origin-thought of this blog.

I started writing the direction-of-intention after a conversation I co-facilitated. It was a day exploring and discussing diversity, equity, and inclusion. The group’s conversation veered into questions about power. That day I realized that I had an overabundance of thoughts and questions that I needed to study. My very first post was almost a thesis statement; it was an attempt to capture the essence of what I shared with the group: power-over others is not power at all. It is control. Power, real power, is something that is created with others. Control over. Power with.

I did not return to the beginning without help. The current political reality has drawn me like a moth to a flame back to the topic of power. Our two parties live on opposite sides of the line. The red hats are a case study in Control-Over. The Democrats operate on the principle of Power-With.

Control-Over is distinct in the necessity to blame. It is a victim’s game. It is an abdication of responsibility. It demands lock-step adherence and fears counter-point-perspectives. It evades giant swatches of its history. It pretends to hold all the answers and doesn’t tolerate questions.

Power-With is distinct in the necessity to choose. It seeks responsibility and participation. It thrives on counter-point-perspectives and demands collaboration and compromise. It needs to consider and reconcile with its full history, the good and the bad. It asks many questions and eschews the notion of a single answer.

Control-Over is essentially hierarchical. Caste. Fixed. Rule by one.

Power-With is essentially egalitarian. Relational. Fluid. Rule by the many.

It turns out there’s never been a better time to return to the root of my original inspiration. It is, I’ve learned the original root of our nation’s nearly 250 year conversation. The essence of the democratic ideal.

Today we stand squarely at the crossroads:

One choice continues to follow the complex path of power-with.

The other is a hard right onto the powerless path of control-over, not a step back in time as it pretends.

It’s our choice. It is our direction-of-intention.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUN THROUGH TREES

like. share. subscribe. comment. support…thank you.

Ever And Anon [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“Our moments of inspiration are not lost though we have no particular poem to show for them; for those experiences have left an indelible impression, and we are ever and anon reminded of them.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

This morning, like a leaf in the stream, a painting by Richard Diebenkorn flowed across my screen. I was completely taken by it. It stirred a possibility about the painting that is currently on my easel. I felt as if I was jogging beside the stream so I might study it before it disappeared into the media-confluence.

And then it was gone and I was left filled-to-the-brim with giddy inspiration.

I used to worry my muse might disappear when the circumstances of life kept me from the studio for extended periods. Over time, I’ve learned what Horatio expressed so purely: artists have “pilot lights.” The flame may reduce to a flicker but it never goes out.

“I don’t have enough colors in my paintbox,” Jim said the first time he performed King Lear. He is a world-class actor and I wonder what he might do with Lear now that life has put more colors in his paintbox. His words inspired me. I am working on a play that I started twenty years ago and put in a drawer. I had not yet lived long enough to know what I was attempting to write about. I was stumbling around in the fog and hoped that I might someday revisit it, when I had lived into a greater perspective.

The fog is still with me but I’m no longer stumbling. Instead of chasing I’m letting the play come to me. Greater perspective has taught me that inspiration is a wild thing. It will emerge like Michelangelo’s David in full form when it – or I – or both – are ready to step into the light.

WHEN THE FOG LIFTS on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY © 1997, 2000 Kerri Sherwood

WATERSHED on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FOG

share. support. subscribe. comment. like…thank you.

Secret Sauce [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

The Des Plaines river spilled out onto the flood plain. The trees, not at all surprised, rose tall through the murky water in this yearly ritual of spring. “Has it ever been so high?” she asked. I shrugged.

We walked the path. It mostly rose above the waterline. With water lapping on both sides, the trail sometimes resembled a bridge. A crystal clear day teased forward the colors of the birch and grasses. The world was vibrant and strange. We had the sense that we were walking in another dimension. Second attention; alternate reality.

The beaver tree made more dynamic by its reflection in the water stopped us in our tracks. Were I judging sculpture in nature’s competition, this would be a clear winner. The massive tree, already tipped and chipped at a precarious angle, compounded by the image mirrored in the river overflow gave the illusion of a sphere without roots and heightened the tension of the unstable tree. Weebles wobble and, despite their reputation, sometimes they fall down.

Creative tension. The secret sauce of all good art. Between the river challenging its boundaries, the trail snaking and in danger of disappearing, the vibrant color teased forward by the sun’s eclipse, and the good work of an aesthetic beaver with the notable assistance of the water’s reflection, this walk was as artistically rich, inspiring and refreshing as any day I’ve spent in a gallery.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TREE

like. share. support. subscribe. comment. thank you!

Look Closer-In [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Nicholas Wilton flipped back and forth between an image of his recent painting and one completed a decade ago. He wanted to show that the recent painting is, in many ways, a close-up view, a morsel of the ancestor painting. Look closer-in. The seeds of today’s work come from explorations of the past.

I’ve been thinking about color. A tour through my gallery site reveals a very narrow band of color. I’m filled with the impulse to break it open. One day soon, after the BIG HOUSE CLEAN moves out of my studio, I’m going to mess with color. Paint with my fingers. Fully explore the new tools that Master Miller has sent my way. They scrape and pull and smoosh. They are not recommended for nuance and that is exactly what the art-doctor ordered.

More than once I’ve recounted this story: early in our relationship I told Kerri that, “I don’t sing and I don’t pray.” The other day, because of this story, I had a good hearty laugh at myself. In our reorganization of the basement I was moving my paintings so, I had a good look at every single painting. By far, the theme in the majority of my paintings? People praying. People in moments of touching something bigger. Or trying to. I howled at my unconsciousness. I may not pray but my paintings do.

Look closer-in. I started my life as an artist by drawing eyes. Hours and hours of drawing eyes. I was not attempting to draw realistic eyes; I was attempting to get behind them. Through the eyes, the mirror of the soul.

Perhaps I found my way in. Perhaps not. This I know: color is pulling me just as the eye used to pull me -either further inside or perhaps it beckons me to come out, to return to the place where I started. This time, instead of #2 pencils and typing paper – my seeds – I have scrapers and pullers and paint and old canvas. I look forward to what I might find there.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEEDS

share. support. like. comment. thanks for stopping in!

buymeacoffee is either an opportunity to begin again or a natural progression to the next.

Look To Nature [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Like waves frozen in time, the tall grasses have taken on the persona of an angry sea. We’ve stood in wonder at the whipping wind sending wavelike ripples across a field of wheat; this is not that. These waves are motionless.

They are worthy of Andy Goldsworthy. If they stretched for miles and miles I’d be certain they came from the mind of Christo. Yet no human hand or mind is at work here. Nature mimics herself in these grasses. They merit our awe and attention.

Along our trail there are several nests visible. Sparrows and swallows and hornets. I cannot imagine creating something so delicate and intricate. I have opposable thumbs so would be working with more than a beak yet I doubt I could craft such a miracle. It’s taken a lifetime for me to see beyond the word “nest” and see – really see – these fabulous sculptures made of grass, sticks, and mud.

Admiring the rolling grasses as Kerri kneels to snap her photograph, E.O. Wilson slips smiling into my mind and repeats: “Nature holds the key to our aesthetic, intellectual, cognitive, and even spiritual satisfaction.”

Yes. I remember.

from my long-ago unfinished project: Kichom and Fucci. An illustration study for a story told by Kichom Hayashi

visit my online gallery

read Kerri’s blogpost about ROLLING GRASSES

like. support. share. comment. thank you.

buymeacoffee is what you make of it. nothing more. nothing less.