Breathe Again [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Yesterday, as a birthday present, Kerri took me to the Milwaukee Museum of Art. I haven’t been to a gallery or art museum since COVID and she could tell I was running on empty. In the past, we’d spend hours sitting in front of Richard Diebenkorn’s paintings. The museum has two of his Ocean Park series and I never tire of my conversation with them.

Adjacent to Diebenkorn is the site of my greatest artistic victory: it’s where, years ago, I introduced Kerri to Ellsworth Kelly. At first she rejected him outright. Now, she joins me in my delight of his vibrant love of color. I smiled to the core of my being yesterday when she took my hand and with great anticipation led me to the gallery room where Ellsworth’s paintings live. Someday we will make a pilgrimage to Ellsworth Kelly’s Austin at the Blanchard Museum of Art. It is a sacred space of color and light.

I didn’t know how much I needed to hang out with the masters. I knew I needed to refill my artistic-cup but wasn’t aware of how much I longed to step out of the race-for-tomorrow and sit in quiet consultation with the artist-dedication-to-now. Richard, Ellsworth, Georgia, Pablo and the rest. Today, I feel as if I can breathe…

read Kerri’s blogpost about ELLSWORTH KELLY

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Reminisce [on KS Friday]

Staring at a waterfall throws me into reminiscence. The rushing water pulls me into the past. I never know where I’m going to land, who I will remember, or what moment I’ll revisit. Waterfalls are time machines. They are also great reminders that time-does-not-stand-still.

While Kerri took photos of the falls, I was transported back to the ranch. A long time ago. Sunset over the fields. Tom and I sipped wine while he told stories. He was a great teller of stories. He was a great saver-of-lost-boys and it had only just occurred to me that I was among the lost boys that he’d saved.

Applying for jobs is akin to staring at a waterfall. Reminiscence without the romance. I was preparing material for a position that involved mentorship and, to stir my cover-letter-thinking, Kerri asked me a question, “What was the single most important moment you’ve experienced with one of your mentors?”

I responded with the first memory that came to mind. And, in truth, it didn’t come to my mind; it hit my heart like thunderclap. Tom came for a visit. I was living in Seattle and he flew in to spend some time with me. It was so simple. A visit. This man that I so admired went out of his way to hang out with me. I mattered. It altered the path of my life.

Time flows by. The waterfall of my life is rich beyond measure. I am now the age Tom was the evening that we sipped wine on the deck at the ranch. I am forever grateful that he altered the course of my life-river – by simply showing up.

Tom and me a long time ago.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE WATERFALL

[this piece reminds me of THE LOST BOY and Tom]

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

riverstone/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood

See The Frame [on DR Thursday]

The lake was angry. Had you dropped me in from outer space I’d have sworn I was standing on a beach of the stormy Atlantic Ocean. “I just can’t capture it,” she said, after snapping several photographs. The roiling waves hit the shore with thunderous power and intensity. I felt it in my chest. Distilling the energy within the frame of a photo sublimated the dramatic waves to an everyday image. The frame successfully abolished the fear and eliminated the awe.

On the trail this past Sunday, he quipped that the world as we knew it began its decline when CNN invented the 24 hour news cycle. It’s a lot of time to fill and, to keep people hooked (ratings), the importance has to be exaggerated. When everything becomes ‘Breaking News,’ the really important stories are lost amidst the manufactured dross. Scrolling through our news app this morning I felt as I once did while waiting in line at the grocery store check-out surrounded by the screaming headlines from The National Enquirer. Sorting to the grotesque. Manufactured awe has successfully amped up our fear. A very strange frame, indeed.

The real power of a frame-of-reference is that it is mostly invisible yet it determines the potency of the composition. Focus is largely a function of frame. I’m in the habit of taking “snippet” shots of my paintings. Altering the frame of what I see helps me…see. It promotes inquiry.

A fluid frame is like an open question. It facilitates engagement. A fixed frame does the opposite. It closes the question options: yes or no. A 24 hour news cycle necessarily defaults to a fixed frame. It pretends to be inquiry while promoting dogma. If you wonder why we are at each other’s throats, why we’ve reduced ourselves so severely to a community defined by two primary colors instead of the full palette available in our color-full nation, do an experiment: pay attention to the story-frame you are being fed.

Ice crystals formed on our kitchen window during the latest storm. Kerri rarely takes a single close-up. She takes many shots of the same subject. In a digital age, she is also able to pull a single photo into several different focuses and takes screenshots of the possibilities. A fluid focus. She composes. She questions. She asks. It’s a pure artist’s action. Turning to me she never asks, “Which is better?” Instead, knowing the power of a frame and with full respect for the difference that I might perceive, she asks, “Which do you like and why?”

joy. 50x56IN mixed media

Two frames. Can you see them? [the new site is like a good wine…taking its time to mature]

read Kerri’s blogpost about ICE

joy © 2014 david robinson

Attend [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

She thinks I’m kidding. If we someday walk the 2,650 mile Pacific Crest Trail I will require an emotional support donkey. This is no joke! She does not do well when she’s hungry and I’m not sure I can heft the amount of snacks necessary to keep her from daily H-anger. Hiker hunger is a real thing and without an emotional support donkey to carry sufficient snacks I’d walk all 2,650 miles with low-grade anxiety.

For our seventh anniversary she gave me a plant, a heart-shaped-leaf Philodendron. It was meant to keep me company in my office. I was spending most of my life alone upstairs noodling away at software-start-up conundrums. She thought I might need an ally. We cleverly named the Philodendron “Seven”. I’m not ashamed to admit that my life improved dramatically when Seven greeted me each morning. I surprised myself the day I asked Seven a question and an answer popped into my brain. “Did you just answer me?’ I asked, squinting my eyes at those mischievous heart leaves. Here’s a good Zen koan for you: What is the sound of a heart-leaf Philodendron chuckling?

When the pandemic closed the world we transformed our sunroom into a plant sanctuary. A ponytail palm arrived. A snake plant. Succulents. Our sweet Desi, who dreams of someday being a pine tree. The finicky KC. We sat in the sunroom surrounded by our plants every day. They lifted our spirits. We tended them and they, in turn, tended us. Eventually the plants spilled out of the sunroom into the living room and now our sitting room and bedroom are plant-ed.

When we saw this little plant stake in a shop in Cedarburg, I laughed. We’d need a thousand of the little stakes. The tall grasses in the yard. Breck, the little-aspen-tree-that-could. Kerri’s tomatoes. The basil. I’d consider withholding a stake from the crabgrass but it gives me a mission-impossible that keeps me busy and self-important, so I suppose it’s also an emotional support plant in disguise.

I wonder if the birds might wear tiny bracelets? Emotional Support Bird. Between the green things and the feathers-that-fly – not to mention our bevy of two-legged friends – we’re pretty well emotionally supported. Well, everywhere but on the trail. Do not doubt I’m keeping my eyes peeled for that donkey.

read Kerri’s blogpost about EMOTIONAL SUPPORT

“LookIt!” [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Two Artists Haiku

What is in a chip?

Form and meaning see a heart,

Loving reminder.

Kerri sees them everywhere. It’s a seeing-sense that I appreciate: moving through the world finding hearts. Another trait that I appreciate? When she see’s the heart, she stops. She takes time with it. Sometimes she takes a photograph. Sometimes she simply attends to the uncanny heart, taking it into her being. A message or affirmation. “LookIt!” she exclaims as if this heart-find is the first time.

It happens often. Daily.

Sometimes I wonder: is she finding the hearts or are the hearts finding her? “LookIt!” the heart exclaims.

Either way, it’s not a bad way of moving through the world.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART

Open The Binder [on Merely A Thought Monday]

He was referred to me because he was failing. His English teacher told me that he was impossible, that he rarely came to class and he “just wasn’t interested in writing.” At the time I was working at the “alternative school” running an independent study program. My job was “to catch the students that were falling through the cracks” or “to retrieve the students who’d already fallen.” To this day, the language kills me.

We talked. We laughed. The assignments I gave him were about fun and breathing space. After three sessions, when he trusted me not to judge him, he came to our appointment with a thick black binder. It was very old. The seams were ripping. It was a sacred object. He tapped his fingers on the cover, still deciding whether or not to share it with me. He wriggled in his chair, vulnerable.

I will always remember the moment he asked, “Can I show you something?” I felt honored. It is what I always feel when an artist comes out of hiding and shares their work with me.

He gingerly opened the binder. It was literally bursting with stories that he’d written and alive with illustrations that he’d drawn. This young man was ditching English class so he could hide in the football stadium and write stories.

I asked him to read to me. As he read, he made marks on the page. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making changes.”

After a few sessions I asked questions about the characters. He shared his illustrations. One day, he came to our session with a new story complete with sketches that we placed in sequence across the floor. As he read, we stepped to the next drawing. And the next. He made more marks on his pages. He made notes on his sketches.

One day I asked if I could read one of his stories to him. As he listened to me read, he began to coach my reading. “Whoa! Did I write that?” he said, grabbing the pages from my hand. And then he asked, “How can I write that in a better way?”

“I don’t know,” I smiled. “What does it mean to be better?”

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE YOU

Have No Ideas [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

I was satisfied with the second pair of frames I tried. For me, the whole process of frame selection took less than two minutes. Kerri? Not so much. She went through every frame in the store, twice. And then every frame in another store. And another. And another. She had a specific idea and none of the choices aligned with the frames-she-imagined or fulfilled the criteria on her list.

This is a crucial distinction and perhaps a key to happiness! I had no idea so everything was a viable option. She had a specific idea and an exacting criteria so the field of options was limited from the outset. The key to happiness: have no ideas. Ditch the criteria.

In the end, after weeks of searching and trying on frames, it came down to this: everyone in the shop voted. And, I mean everyone: the optometrist, the assistants, The manager, the other customers, and some random person who came into the shop to see what all the fuss was about. The vote was unanimous. The selection was made.

Her ideal remains unfulfilled but I am happy to report that after much searching the frames have landed.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FRAMES

smack-dab. © 2023 kerrianddavid.com

Appreciate It [on KS Friday]

“…where there are people, there is art.” ~ Alex Grey, The Mission of Art

Have you ever Googled the definition of art? I have: (noun) the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.

It’s necessary to pay attention to the two phrases comprising the definition: 1) expression or application of human creative skill and imagination…2) to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power. Appreciated expression. The value measurement is beauty or emotional power.

A deeply personal expression that touches the universal. The art in a small child scribbling is not in what’s “produced” – it’s in our witness to the beauty of a new-human being discovering the joy of expression. Moms, full to overflowing with appreciation, hang the scribble on the refrigerator. There is no purer experience of art.

Very few children survive the moment when free expression tangles with expectation: now we make art. Scribble meets intention. Appreciation is less easy to attain when the circle grows beyond mom’s refrigerator. “Art” meets a bottom line valuation where beauty and emotional power sometimes take a back seat.

It sounds bleak until you look around and recognize what you see. People pointing cameras everywhere. Painted rocks on the trail. A chalk drawing on the sidewalk. Homes decorated. Magazines with recipes and gorgeous shots of possibility. Sculpture on the beach. Youtube videos abound. Architecture and the design of apps. Music! My god, the music. I passed a man whistling a tune that lifted his step and mine.

Expression. Appreciation. Imagination run amok. Mom’s refrigerator is everywhere. What could be more human?

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about ICE

nurture me/released from the heart © 1995 kerri sherwood

Protect The Seed [on DR Thursday]

Lately I’ve been applying for many jobs so I’m configuring and reconfiguring resumes and writing cover letters. They essentially serve as a surface-layer life review. This is who I am. This is what I’ve done. Of course, for me, that means I am thinking about art and artistry.

When I write the words “art” and “artistry”, I am aware that they mean something to me that I will never be able to convey through language. They are not “things” that I do or have done, they are not welcome career paths or positive attributes that potential employers desire to see on a resume. I wish I could count the times someone has said to me, “Yes, but what are you really going to do?”

“No, no, no!” I think. “You don’t get it! It’s not something I do.” I’ve learned over time to keep that thought to myself. There’s no point debating the worth of a way-of-life in a world that measures value in dollars and cents. Against this calculus, artistry makes no sense.

What am I really going to do? Paint. Write. Perform. And bring my artist’s sensibility to an organization. The people who hire me will fully realize the benefit of someone who sees through my eyes, someone whose artistry permeates everything they do. At this stage in my life, I’ve run companies, I’ve saved companies, I’ve held people’s hands and led them into and through impossible conversations, I’ve stood in organizational fires and, sometimes, taken Tom’s advice and let the place close-down. “Make space for something new to enter.”

As I write my resumes, I am daily reminded that we are embroiled in a culture war. We are standing in a historical teachable moment: we will either tell our full story and grow or we will do what we’ve done in the past and ignore our addiction to fantasy and opt for history-censorship. There’s never been a better or more necessary time to be an artist. Artists hold, express, and reflect the identity of their community. Nihilism has brought us here and that empty “anti-woke” sun is setting.

What we say matters. That’s an artist’s thought. How we say what we say matters. That, too, is an artist’s thought. Mattering is a word of relationship. Consideration of others is the province of mattering. That, too, is an artist’s thought. It’s an artist’s imperative: tell all sides of the story.

Kerri and I walk the trails to clear our minds and our walks have provided me with a perfect metaphor; artists are pine cones. The pine cone holds the seeds. It’s a protective, nurturing organism . It’s “…the female reproductive structure of the tree.” It’s the keeper of the essence and promise of the next generation.

From the deep archive. A painting from another century. From the estate of Marian Jacobs

read Kerri’s blogpost about PINE CONES

painting from another century (I can’t recall the title) © 1990, 2023 david robinson

See The Cycle [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I want to re-read Hermann Hesse’ book Siddhartha. Lately I’ve been thinking about cycles of nature, cycles of growth, cycles of life. Chaos-to-order and back again. Daylight-to-dark-night and back again. Nature, Hesse writes, is a self-fulfilling continuous cycle.

In the book, Siddhartha “achieves” illumination when he realizes the lesson of the cycle: that inside every “truth” is the potential for its opposite. Arrival is departure. Birth is death. Both/And.

The demands of language necessitate slicing single moments from the cycle. Isolating a “truth” from its opposite thereby fragmenting the wholeness inherent in the cycle. Slicing the cycle stops the fluid motion and calcifies the “belief,” making it hard, rigid in separation.

And then there’s this, the reason I want to re-visit the book. At the end of his life Siddhartha, as the ferryman, watches the river in full knowledge that what he sees moment-to-moment is never the same river. In the cycle, the moment is always unique. Both/And.

Standing on our trail, having stopped and witnessed many, many sunsets, the thought was so pure it swept the dullness from my eyes. This sunset is Siddhartha’s river. I’ve never seen THIS sunset or this forest or lived this moment. Quietly electric, I watched Kerri, caught in the beauty of the moment, point her camera as if for the first time toward the trees and the setting sun.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNSET