Comprehend The Incomplete [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on May 29, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

Three evenly spaced periods. An ellipsis, “used to indicate the omission of words or an incomplete thought.” This series of ellipses punctuated the horizon, marking the line between the dark night sky and the farm fields.

The omission of words. As I watched the horizon-ellipses twinkle, I wondered how many times I’ve omitted the words, “I love you.” Too vulnerable. Not safe. Revealing.

An incomplete thought. Not surprisingly, this brings to mind a thought about thoughts: namely, thoughts are never complete. Every thought is a running ellipsis, a water drop in a raging river. A complete thought is an oxymoron. Because we are given to writing our thoughts – trying to capture them – we are deluded into believing that the stream of babble that runs though our brains is containable or fits neatly into discrete compartments that travel in a single direction, like the boxcars of a train. This thought is connected to that thought just as this letter is connected to that letter so a chain of meaning might be assigned. Someone, somewhere, wrote that our thoughts are the mother-lode of comedy. Random. Surprising. Multi-directional. Rolling, roiling rivers. Shapeshifters.

My word of the week is “argle bargle.” It means nonsense. Motherlode of comedy. Argle-bargle-avalanche.

In the dark of night I look at the ellipses on the horizon; no one can convince me that love, like thought, is ever complete. I look higher into the night sky at the glittering light-dots that have completely ignored the rules of even-spacing and scattered themselves across infinity. Maybe that is why I sometimes omit the words, “I love you.” it’s too big to comprehend. It’s sometimes too much to contain in my one tiny heart…

read Kerri’s blogpost about ELLIPSES

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Embrace The Accident [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on May 23, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

I am a big believer in happy accidents. Kerri didn’t intend to take this photo. A vibrant shock of red thrust into a field of green. I’m tempted to slap a title on it and enter it into a contemporary photography exhibition.

I’ve read that serendipity, an “unplanned fortunate discovery,…is a common occurrence throughout the history of product invention and scientific discovery.” It’s also a common occurrence throughout the history of art. It’s also a common occurrence throughout the history of…history. We have experiences and then we make meaning of them. Not the other way around.

I suppose we pride ourselves on our capacity “to know” so we forget that all knowledge is the result of a stumble, a discovery found at the far end of curiosity, exploration or an outright mistake. The point of a hypothesis (to borrow a term from Quinn) is to cultivate serendipity. Try it and see what happens.

I’ve been following the conversation in the tech-o-sphere about the sudden blossom of the very lucrative job “phrase engineer.” Human beings attempting through trial and error to learn how best to converse with the technology we’ve created. AI. ChatGpt. The unspoken goals are (not surprisingly) efficient and effective communication. There are now several sites with useful phrases, conversational hints, Youtubes abound with guidance for best ways to ask better questions, quickly eliciting the best result: an answer. It’s glorious and reminds me of old 3rd grade language primers or my high school foreign language class – only more enthusiastic.

I am among the millions who hope beyond hope that someone-out-there bumbles into the secret of effective communication. Perhaps if we discover how to communicate with artificial intelligence there will be a profound blowback and we will, serendipitously, discover the secret of easy communication with each other. Generosity. Empathy. Kindness. How-you-say-what-you-say matters.

“AI, tell me what you see and I will listen with an open mind and heart.” I know, I know. More pie-in-the-sky. But as a dedicated believer in happy accidents, I’m given to think that anything is possible.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RED ON GREEN

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Open The Binder [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on February 27, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

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

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Beg A Good Question [on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on August 29, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

She stopped, turned and went back to the truck. “What are you doing?” I asked. She pulled her camera from her purse and snapped a photo of the Sara Lee truck. She showed me the photo and slid her phone back into her purse.

“I thought this would make a good blog photo,” she said, adding, “If it wasn’t a marketing phrase it would beg a good question.”

How should goodness taste?

How should equality look?

How should community sound?

How should generosity smell?

How should love feel?

We experience the world through our senses. And then we make a story of what we sense. Senses first. Story second. It’s how the brain works. The language capacity, putting words to experience, is essentially a translation function. It does not lead, it follows. It’s why, for the most part, we choose the story we tell.

The word that strikes me the most on the bread truck photo is “should.” How should goodness taste?

How does goodness taste? To you?

How does equality look? To you?

For you, what’s the sound of thriving community?

To me, generosity smells like fresh baked bread and hot dark coffee. You?

And love? There are no words. But you know it when you feel it.

read Kerri’s blogpost about GOODNESS

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Tally [on KS Friday]

Posted on August 5, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

“It’s a haiku day,” I said, feeling empty of anything useful to write. She’s already rapidly clicking away on her keyboard.

The sunflower grows/More beautiful over time/Green vine seeks wisdom.

Counting syllables/ on my fingers, I tally/the word “beautiful.”

Three or four? I ask/She’s deep in thought, can’t hear me/Syllables confound.

Beautiful is three!/”My haiku, my choice,” I quip/Who invents these rules?

Green vine seeks wisdom/Rust has seen many seasons/Green seeks. Rust stands still.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNFLOWER

silent days/blueprint for my soul © 1997 kerri sherwood

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Use Your Words [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on June 21, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

Kerri calls this photo ‘Dish rack with orange cup.’ “It sounds like the title of a painting!” she exclaimed.

We generally go through our day making fun of the words we paste on our experiences and pull from our conversations. I am forever proclaiming, “That sounds like the name of a band!” Or, “Hey, that sounds like a lyric!” For a guy that can’t hear lyrics in songs – and is famous for singing my-own-made-up lyrics – I’m particularly adept at thinking I hear lyrics in conversations all around me. I know, I know. I am a walking paradox, a living conundrum, a human-thought-puzzle with a few pieces missing from my box.

Lately, our language game has a new and always surprising twist: simple words that refuse to come to mind. For instance, reaching for the word”ravioli” necessitated, “You know, little pasta pillows with stuff inside.” Tell me honestly, doesn’t that description sound like the beginning line of a poem or a silly lyric? Little pasta pillows with stuff inside. 20 drew a little green orb on his shopping list because the word ‘avocado’ refused a timely recall.

I was on the ground howling with laughter when Kerri’s brain refused to pull a word from the abyss. Twisting her wrist back and forth, making a Tin-Man-esque-joint-with-no-oil sound, she begged for my help. “Come on!” she pleaded, “What is it?”

“Arthritis?” I offered, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“YES!” she danced. “ARTHRITIS! That’s it! That’s it!”

Side note: YES was a rock band in the 70’s. The band members most certainly now have arthritis. Their biggest hit was Roundabout. The song lyrics begin with this: I’ll be the roundabout/The words will make you out n’ out…[side note to side note: I’m not making up the lyric. I Googled it to avoid worldwide criticism].

Speaking of roundabouts, we took down Dogga’s roundabout sign in the yard. Actually, the weather did it for us when it snapped the metal support pole. He doesn’t seem to care. He continues to run circles without his sign giving him direction. The sign will soon go up in my office as a reminder that my brain’s movement and Dogga’s running path are one and the same: circular. Each cutting a trail in our own way.

It’s simple really. Arthritis! Dish rack with orange cup. A still life or almost-haiku-line? “What’s the word for…?” Reminders all to take ourselves less seriously. To never invest too much in or believe too heartily in the words used or the stuff we think. It’s all made up poetry, a band name, a lyric, anyway.

read Kerri’s blogpost and BUY THE PRINT!

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Taste The Sound [on KS Friday]

Posted on May 6, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

Toadshade trillium. Say it out loud and taste the sounds. Toadshade trillium. Yummy words worthy of e.e. cummings.

I am working in a tech space and keep a document on my desktop: Terms in this Unknown Land. Tech folk speak in acronyms, PAI and SMB, SERP and TAM. Although my colleagues are mostly left-brainers, they are remarkably poetic in their language, peppering their acronym-speak with tasty terms like “cluster calculations” and “stemmings.” I admit to losing the sense of the conversation in the sound. They are, despite the stereotype, passionate and creative and unconsciously poetic. “Plots a curve of probability.”

Toadshade trillium. Plots a curve of probability. Forget the meaning and taste the sound! What might Mary Oliver have done with those syllables!

My lesson this week: I cannot stand and work at my computer all day. I can do the standing (I have a stand-up desk) but staring at a screen eventually shuts down my brain. Across from my stand-up desk is my drafting table. I think better with big pieces of paper and a pencil and then translate back to the computer. I need to move to think but that’s only part of the lesson. When at the drafting table I’m more likely to take things less seriously. I free myself. I get snarky and funny and scribble and draw big arrows and make fun of myself and the logjam in my thinking. I play.

And, while I play, I talk aloud, and hear the sounds of the shapes that I draw. Poetry and motion. Taste the movement. One and the same. Free the thinking. It’s enough to scare the dog but it’s liberating to my kinesthetic necessity. I scribble notes in every direction and dance back and forth between word and image. Consequently, I produce better work.

Thank goodness I finally tasted a few word-sounds that sent me tumbling into a productive scribble dance.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TOADSHADE TRILLIUM

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

pulling weeds/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

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Say It Again [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Posted on April 16, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

First, I’ve never heard Kerri use the words “gollygee” or “schnuckums” though, I am wildly impressed that in a single thought-bubble she managed to include both. Now, as all challenges go, I am dedicated to using them three times a day over the next week so I can incorporate them into my vocabulary. “Gollygee, schnuckums, I think I’ll take out the trash.”

I am guilty of applying the word “antiques” to us and much of our day-to-day surroundings. Kerri gives me “that” look every time I suggest that we are chickens-not-of-the-spring. I never suspected that, behind “that” look, was such a benign phrase. Gollygee, schnuckums. I imagined the phrase running through her mind was something more sailor-ish. Salty. Not recommended for public hearing.

Gollygee, schnuckums. An antique phrase. Benign, with hints of tired pleasantry. Love with overtones of irony. Proof positive that our corningware and mixing bowls are properly matched with the era of their users.

And, aren’t you impressed? I used Gollygee, schnuckums three times in a single post. This challenge is going to be a snap!

(*If I go silent, if I suddenly disappear from earth, you’ll know that I used my new phrase one too many times. Don’t blame her. As usual, I will have done it to myself)

read Kerri’s thoughts on this saturday morning smack-dab.

smack-dab. © 2022 kerrianddavid.com

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Know The Poem [on KS Friday]

Posted on April 15, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

“Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.” ~Rainier Maria Rilke

“First robin!” she said.

“What?”

“First robin. That means spring is here!” she looked at me with “duh” eyes. I was new to Wisconsin so the rituals were not yet known to me. I did not yet understand that in this strange land a water cooler is called a “bubbler” and that cheese curds are sacred food. Before the week was out, I’d heard it three times from strangers. “First robin!”

Years ago, during my first winter in Seattle, after months of gray, the sun came out for an hour and all the people working downtown poured out of the tall buildings and stood facing the sun. They moaned with satisfaction. “What’s this!” I exclaimed. Weird behavior. The next year, after months of dreary gray, the moment the sun peeked from behind the drab curtain, I ran out of my apartment to revel in the return. Leaning against a brick wall, eyes closed, feeling the warmth on my face and the heat reaching my bones, I knew this was my passage to becoming a “local”. I moaned with satisfaction.

Poetry is visceral. It has it roots in the moans of sun drinkers and robin-seers. The green pushing up from dark soil. The smell of spring or the first hint of warmth on the winter wind. Words cannot capture feelings but isn’t it glorious that we try?

We were walking the neighborhood on a cold afternoon. She squeezed my hand and pointed. “First robin,” I said and she smiled. “Spring.”

Now, doesn’t “First robin. Spring!” sound like a grand start to a poem of renewal? Ahhhhhh, yes. A hint of warmth on the wind, harbinger of green shoots reaching. Someday soon, sun will call me out of hiding and color my pale face.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FIRST ROBIN

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

baby steps/right now © 2010 kerri sherwood

Filed under: Creativity, Emergence, Gratitude, KS Friday, Language, Metaphor | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Step Off [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on March 29, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

“A tree is not made of wood, it is wood.” ~ Alan Watts, The Watercourse Way

Language is powerful. It’s a drum I have beat for a long time, the notion that we insist that the narratives we wrap around ourselves are somehow “reality.” We are told that 50% of Russians believe the hell wrought on the Ukraine is merely propaganda. A made-up story. Not true. It is the narrative they are fed and, in order to eat it, they must ignore any evidence to the contrary. Their economy crumbles. The ruble falls. How could they not see it? Don’t laugh. 40% of USAmericans still believe the last presidential election was stolen, a plausible story only if wearing blinders with fingers placed firmly in ears. Burying your head in the sand is not a Russian or American trait, it’s uniquely human. We see what we believe, not the other way around. Our language makes it so.

Years ago I read that the word “wild” could only come from a people who believe all things must be tamed. Wild makes no sense without the concept of tame. Wild, bad. Tamed, good. So, a people afraid of their own “nature” must become tamers. A people who think “nature” not only can be but must be managed. To be “above” it all, in charge and atop the pyramid, giver of names. It is the necessary narrative for such tamers of the wild, those who story their very nature as corrupt. Tamed, good. Above it all. Separate. Is it any wonder the intrinsically conflicted human world rarely embraces peace? Our narrative leads us to believe, amidst so much inner and, therefore, outer conflict, peace is something to be created because we are naturally conflicted. What else?

Where, exactly, does wild end and tame begin? Where’s the line that delineates nature from civilization? What if nature is neither good nor bad? What if your nature was neither good nor bad? Perhaps self-love would be within reach and, as a natural extension, the love of others, too. It’s an alternative narrative though not possible in a belief-story that fears the wild. Wholeness begins with a step off the pedestal.

It’s in the language. Somehow separate from the world in which we live, not “in” nature or “of” nature , we are deluded to believe we are made of different stuff. Above it. Divinely manufactured. Made.

Manufactured. Made. Trees made of wood.

And, just what are we made of? I guess it depends on the story we decide to tell. Wild stuff.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TREES

Filed under: Language, Metaphor, Random, Seeing, Story, Two Artists Tuesday | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

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