Popcorn Trail [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Late at night, standing on the platform awaiting the train to take us home, the moon and clouds gave us a spectacular show. I knew that the moon was a waxing gibbous and realized that, although I’d known and used the word since I was young, I had no idea what the word “gibbous” actually meant. It sounds like something related to gibbons, small apes that swing through trees. Is the moon gibbous because it swings through the sky? No! The moon is gibbous because it is greater than a semi-circle yet less than a circle. Gibbous describes the shape! Bulbous. Convex. Protruding.

Yesterday I unrolled many small canvases and pinned them to the wall in my studio. They are like a small flame I’ve kept for alive for over 35 years. They refer back to a large odd shaped canvas I stapled to the deck of my apartment on a sunny day, overlooking Hollywood. I had a very limited paint supply, a few cans of paint used for animation (computer animation was not yet possible so artists painted images on cells with acrylic paints), grey, blue, and white. I had a small jar of cadmium red. I taped a few housepainting brushes to long sticks and made myself a promise to “have fun and not think too much.” And I did. I had fun. I didn’t think too much. I played. In those few short hours, I painted the single piece that would influence my work for the rest of my life. I knew it was special. It was pure. It sold before I could adequately document it (remember the age before the ease of digital cameras?). It sold before I had the opportunity to install it in a gallery and show it.

I call the many small canvases my “narrative paintings”. They are a popcorn trail that I dropped as I wandered into the forest of my artistry. Some of the pieces are studied and lifeless. Some are playful and shallow. Some are raw and heart-full. I tacked them all to the wall to guide me back to the original impulse, that moment of artistic purity.

I am gibbous though, at this age, I am no longer waxing. I am greater than a semi-circle but have not yet completed my full life circle. In my time on earth I have been what Kerri calls a “strider”, someone trying-too-hard to climb the ladder of success. I have pursued my artistry like it was a wild animal, setting traps to capture what I could not easily understand. I have finally learned, or have lived long enough to realize, that I am and have always been what I chase. No traps necessary.

I follow the popcorn trail back to what I experienced that day in Los Angeles: the simple joy of being alive. A conscious moment enthusiastically expressed through a little grey, blue and white paint, punctuated with some surprise cadmium red.

IN THE NIGHT on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY © 1998 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MOON AND CLOUDS

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The Door [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls.” ~ Joseph Campbell

We leaned an old door against the garage. The towel rack serves as an excellent perch for birds. Initially, we entertained the idea of hanging a basket of flowers from the rack but abandoned the idea. As time and weather peel back the layers and reveal the door’s history, we are delighted that we left well-enough alone. The door is beautiful and needs no adornment.

I am rereading The Hero With A Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell’s masterwork introducing us to the idea of a monomyth: the story-pattern found universally in folklore, myths, religious narratives…across cultures. The human journey. This time through I am slow-reading the book, taking in only a few pages a day – or sometimes if it strikes me I linger on a single paragraph. In this phase of my life I am less interested in consuming information and more wanting to savor what I read. I am not trying to “get there” or to “achieve” or ascend the heights of knowledge mountains. I am in favor of strolling and appreciating.

Sitting on the step of the deck, watching Dogga explore the crab grass, I realized that we placed the door directly opposite of Barney the piano. And, because my mind is savoring mythic journeys I was amused at the creation of our unintentional sculpture. Music is Kerri’s bliss. Since she fell and broke both of her wrists the door has been mostly closed. Recently she cleaned out her studio. It feels good in there! There’s light and space and new energy. Occasionally, spontaneously, she will run in and play for a few minutes. Dogga and I exchange a knowing look: the muse is calling.

There was certainly a departure from the known. There have been challenges – more than I care to count. Like Barney and the door, the old world collapses, layers peel away, revealing history long unattended. In the collapse the purest form emerges and finds new light. Though the journey is not yet complete, I am witness to her transformation.

We placed an old door opposite of Barney. Where once there was only a wall, I have faith that this door will open. She will return to the land of the known, and as the monomyth foretells, she will bring with her a boon, a special gift gained from her arduous journey.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DOOR


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Wonderland [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

And just how did the katydid get into the kitchen?

It sounds like the question at the heart of a children’s book to me! We have visits from flies and moths and the occasional ant or two. Never before has a katydid been in the kitchen.

Did it ride on the dog or sneak in the open screen door? It there a secret katydid portal, a wardrobe into our kitchen which, to a katydid, must have seemed like a strange new land? Did it wonder how to get back home?

How long had it adventured inside the house? Did it puzzle over inedible carpet and taste-test the plants-in-pots? Did it run from the giants who did not see it? Did it dance to the music that came from nowhere or was the noise thunderous, strange and unnerving?

Did it know it was learning inside from outside? Was the window glass a complete surprise? An impossible impediment to the known world?

Did it understand the giant lady when she marveled at its beauty? Did it pose for its picture? Did it show us its “good side” or did it not-care-in-the-least how it looked?

Was it terrified when the giant lady trapped it? What did it feel when constrained and rushed through the door? Was it disoriented, suddenly finding itself once again in the grassy world it recognized? Was it relieved? Did it think the adventure was a strange dream?

Will it seek the wardrobe again? Will it once again seek passage on the dog to confirm its peek into Wonderland?

The Storyteller emerges from the forest.
Lucy & The Waterfox

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE KATYDID

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Take The Curve [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I understand that there are no straight lines in nature. In life, either. Curves, bumps, potholes…surprises… are the spice of an interesting life. A full palette experience. Note: I did not write “an easy life.” Easy is a one-color painting.

That there are no straight lines in life or in nature (same thing) makes this warning sign something of a curiosity. If there are only curves of varying degrees, why warn me that there is a curve coming. I’m presently standing in a curve. There will be a curve after the upcoming curve. And another after that.

I’d be much more interested if the sign warned me of smooth sailing ahead. Or calm waters. Or momentary peace.

I suppose I’m less interested in the geometry of my travels and more concerned with the quality of my journey. I understand that the sign is attempting to help me manage my expectations, moderate my speed, prepare for what’s ahead; it’s a type of crystal ball. It knows what the future holds if I continue on this path.

I already know that there is a curve ahead. I have no expectation of straight paths. Or narrow paths, for that matter. I do, however, expect to be surprised. Although there is no sign in yellow and black warning me of the beauty, I understand that there’s an amazing vista ahead, somewhere just beyond the curve.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CURVES

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buymeacoffee is a sign on the road that we are not tossing our words and work into a e-void. it’s hope in a modern era.

Find The Hidden Message [on Two Artists Tuesday]

This morning, while the storm raged outside, thunder and wind shaking the house and dumping buckets of rain, I worked on my website. More specifically, I added a visual resume to our melange site. It’s a map of an artist taking his artistry into the marble halls of organizations…

In the past six months I’ve had several resume reviews. Advice from experts. Suggestions from friends. Modification upon modification akin to rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. This mixmaster of my work history has had one incredible silver lining: I’ve had the opportunity to revisit every era of my career, the passions that drove my choices, the curiosity that necessitated stepping off the edge. In essence, so much thorough review and conversation has illuminated for me a through-line of my life-in-work.

My primary actions? I scatter ideas on the wind. Tom used to say, “You Johnny Appleseed-ed your way across the district.” I’m a consummate cross-pollinator: concepts from the stage introduced to the boardroom. And vice versa. But this most of all: I began this life with so little faith in myself that, over time, I became adept at guiding people to their self-belief; something I had to do for myself so I knew the path. I know the path well. It leads to center.

In the past I’ve been hyper-critical of my choices. They’ve often been less-than-lucrative, made from a different criteria – and have left me vulnerable. Now, from my view in the crows nest, looking back at where I’ve come from, I delight in my journey. To some it looks like the drunken path of a butterfly. To me it’s been a dedication to bringing my gift to the place where it was most needed. I followed the call. Every time. I continue to follow it. Following a calling rarely makes resume-sense.

Last week I wrote about sailing toward the horizon with the knowledge that your questions will only bring more questions, that masterpieces are made by sailing into unknown territory. And, if you are lucky, you’ll come to realize that what’s just over the horizon is more horizon. More curiosity. More experiences. More discoveries. More vital life.

This is the message hidden in my resume: I am unbelievably lucky.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THISTLE

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Find Your Way [on Two Artists Tuesday]

I will never forget the day I followed the stream, watching the life-ending struggle of the salmon as they fought the current the final mile to return to their place of origin, their spawning ground. To the local people, the people who tended the hatchery, the salmon were gods. Gods or not, watching their struggle to return was sacred. The utter necessity to continue life through the next generation – as the final act of life. Cathedral building.

We brought home a Selenite crystal. It is raw, translucent, gorgeous. A Google search of its properties reveals that it promotes calm and provides clarity. I’ve never actually been invested in the debate about whether or not a crystal has powers. I’ve made the association so, when I look at it or hold it, I have in my mind that we brought this beautiful crystal home to elevate our spirits. And, so it does.

I live in the golden age of marketing. I’m told that a new truck will make me sexy, the latest medication will make my life a snap, that a pizza delivery will bring my family together like never before. Status and power are available through the purchase of machines and clothes. One year, no interest. We buy these messages, filling our closets with passing satisfaction. Is the fulfillment of a new pair of shoes imagined, less-than-genuine? We are consumers so doesn’t it make sense that contentment lasts no more than a spin through the washing cycle? Momentarily satisfied. What’s next?

I suppose the question is whether or not the crystal brings peace to me or do I bring more calm to my day because I’ve surrounded myself with messages – and, therefore, intentions – of serenity?

I know without doubt that a new truck will not imbue me with sex appeal. Yet, I have a pair of jeans that I save for the days that I want “to look good.”

Skip drove two days to find the sun so that he might stand in it and rejuvenate. I go to the basement and stand amidst the boxes that currently fill my studio and stare at a large blank canvas. Like the sun, it rejuvenates me. Yesterday, the nurse at the community health clinic said she loved her job because she felt that she was really helping the people who need her the most, “There are better rewards than money,” she said. Imagine the necessity – the hope – she brings to her life and work. Rejuvenation.

I do not know whether we are gods or not, but our struggle to find our way home is no less beautiful or fraught than the salmon. It is breathtaking, this swim upstream. Confusing. Sacred.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CRYSTALS

Breathe The Same Air [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

network connections copy

For years I had a debate with my business partner. She was a first adopter, always jumping into the latest technology. Her position in the debate: real relationships were possible through technology. My position: you need to be in the same room with someone if you want a real relationship. Technology can provide connective tissue but can never approach the visceral, tangible, sensual realities necessary in a relationship.

Over time I’ve flip-flopped my position and then flipped back again. Connectivity is not relationship. I am connected with people all over the world – and I deeply appreciate the network connection – but I am only in relationship with the people I spend time with. It is simple. Relationship takes time. Relationship needs time. It is not an achievement; it is an ongoing investment in the heart of another.

John O’Donohue writes about the “digital instant,” the expectation of arrival compressed into a nanosecond. The absence of journey. If the website doesn’t come up in a second or two, we leave in frustration. We click our angry departure for another instant arrival. If I don’t answer an email within a compressed amount of time, the originator of the email wonders why I’m ignoring them. Connectivity comes with expectations that often prohibit relationship. Or, rather, connectivity is the low-bar expectation of what now qualifies for real relationship.

Yesterday 20 and I continued a conversation that we started four years ago. We will pick it up again because our conversation has no end. It is a lifetime conversation. There is no expectation of arrival, of conclusion. The focus is entirely on the journey, the friendship, the continuance. The laughter, the deep sharing of fear and frustration, the vulnerability, the sharing-of-time-to-listen-and-give-presence. What we share is not a network connection (that phrase feels scrubbed, antiseptic, even in the writing of it). It is something with breadth and depth and texture that can only come when two people breathe the same air, sit in the same room, read body language, and feel what is beneath the words.

 

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read Kerri’s blog post about NETWORK CONNECTIONS

 

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Live Your Metaphor

2mayyoubepeace-jpegA view from 30,000 feet (a meditation on metaphor):

Joe used to say that the universe tends toward wholeness. “Tends” is a precarious word of movement, like a tree that leans. Still, to me, Joe’s sentiment – his metaphor – is hopeful. He might have said that the universe tends toward confusion.

Chris and Janelle are starting a new theatre company, The Seadog Theatre Company. They are dedicating their work to exploring stories of alienation and reconciliation. Both alienation and reconciliation are words of movement. The first, alienation, is a movement away from wholeness (toward confusion?). The second, reconciliation, is a movement toward wholeness. Push away. Reach across.

Chris and I agree that all stories, from the deepest mythology to the most whimsical lampoon, are explorations of alienation and reconciliation. It is the human journey, it is humanity’s journey. It is the human experience. Journey is a word of movement, from here to there.

The Big Bang is science’s great narrative of alienation and reconciliation. Out of nothingness (formlessness) in a violent explosion of energy, all forms took shape. Stars, meteors, planets, atoms and oceans and daisies and Dog-Dog. Energy expressed in form. And then, so the narrative goes, form returns to energy. Like the tides going out the energy of the explosion will eventually turn, exhausted, and fall back toward the center in the Big Merge.

The eye blinks open, a universe comes into being. The eye blinks closed, a universe disappears. The tide comes in. The tide rolls out. It’s a cycle of movement. Metaphor.

“Your words are alienation and reconciliation,” I wrote to Chris, “mine are separation and unity. Same thing, yes?”

I’ve never been comfortable with religions because they often claim their metaphors as fact – and that freezes movement. For instance, Adam and Eve were Big-Banged out of the Garden of Eden for eating an apple from the tree of knowledge. One bite of the apple blew their minds open to differences. Separation. It is the experience of birth into this whacky world of duality and confusion. And just like all the stars and planets and oceans and daisies of the field hurtling through space and time, it is a story meant to help us seek wholeness as we stride though this field of opposites.

The universe may tend but we can intend. We can create. We can choose. We can point our ships toward alienation, we can cleave our world into us-and-them, run in fear and separation. Or, we can make conscious our stories (as Chris and Janelle intend in their theatre), we can walk the middle path (a potent metaphor), and recognize that the separation is at best temporary and arbitrary. Like the stars and planets and oceans and daisies, we will also exhaust the force of our explosion into form and fall back into the Big Merge.

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Peace.

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PEACE on iTunes:  kerri sherwood – track 5 on AS IT IS

 

 

 

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Make No Sense

Untiltled Narrative by David Robinson

Untiltled Narrative by David Robinson

The cliché: life is a cycle. Order begets chaos and chaos begets order. Both are necessary. Just as spring is not possible without winter, order without chaos makes for only half a life. Safety without uncertainty makes for only half a life and a very boring life story.

Ann passed away last night. Her battle with cancer was long and nothing short of heroic. Kerri said, “She was such a bright light! Damn cancer. This makes no sense.” Too true.

Last night, John came back into our lives. We sat for hours talking of the events and changes of the lost years. He told us of the necessity to finally stop trying “to make things work” and how he stepped into the discomfort of uncertainty. Now, standing solidly in his uncertainty, he feels both lost and found. That is a great description of how change feels. We got the news of Ann’s death while John was visiting. We had a glass of wine and made a toast to her life. And then we made a toast to appreciating life in all of its textures. John said, “At the end of the day, all that really matters is a bottle of wine to share with friends.” Too true.

More clichés: rejuvenation necessarily begins in the province of disorder and the unknown. The journey back to self winds through miles and miles of uncharted territory.

Each journey is made beautiful by the monsters and masters we meet along the way. Both are teachers. Both bring gifts and force changes of direction. The Cyclops is as necessary as the sage and both serve new sight and the refocusing of the eye. Both are necessary to strip away our resistance to the cycles, to peel away the protective layers we pile on to life that obscures what truly matters.

title_pageGo here to buy hard copies (and Kindle) of my latest book: The Seer: The Mind of the Entrepreneur, Artist, Visionary, Innovator, Seeker, Learner, Leader, Creator,…You.

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Lost & Found

711. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

…a long day of writing on the book. Since I have not another thought in my head, here’s another excerpt:

It is probably poor form to start a story in the middle, in a moment of high crisis. When a story stalks you through your lifetime you inevitably learn some things about stories; you unwittingly stalk them, too. One of the first things I learned was that the word “beginning” is arbitrary. An end is always a beginning. A beginning is always an end. What we call a beginning or the middle or an end is really a simple matter of our point of view. It depends on what we see.

Another valuable thing I learned about stories is that they unfold according to established patterns. Beginning, middle, and end is a simple pattern. Within this simple pattern is a more complex pattern structure. For instance, in order to grow, the main character has to leave behind everything they know and go on a journey. That journey can be literal or an inner, metaphoric journey. To leave behind what you know is part of the pattern that leads to trials, confrontations, and catharsis. It’s a pattern and since each of us is the protagonist in our own story, the pattern is alive and at work in our lives. The trick is to become aware of where you are in the story cycle. What part of the pattern are you currently living?

Stories never begin with being found. We hear a call. We pursue it blindly and discover that we are lost in the woods. Stories begin when someone, the main character, you, gets lost or is knocked off balance. In this sense, being lost is always a step toward being found.