No Space. No Time. [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on September 9, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

Our saturday-morning-smack-dab-cartoon was about feeling wistful in the fall. We very intentionally prompted something non-political, non-news-of-the-day-ish, so we might give our hearts and minds a break from railing against the incessant assault on our democratic way of life. And then I read something that deeply upset me. Instead of writing about wistfulness, I wrote about our national incapacity of dealing with the truth.

And then, at the end of my post, I wrote an apology for once again shaking my metaphoric fists and railing at the lies.

And then, I erased my apology. I did not want to lie. In truth, I was not sorry for railing at the lies and misinformation and abuse of the public trust. I call myself an artist and the very epicenter of that role is to hold a mirror up to my community. Sometimes the image in the mirror is ugly.

We were walking on the Des Plaines river trail, just north of Chicago, when two fighter jets ripped across the sky just above the tree line. The earth shook. It was the same day that the authoritarian wanna-be, in a meme no less…, declared war on Chicago. I made the assumption that the fighter jets were an opening salvo, a demonstration of power by a weak little man meant to shake the populace.

“Can you believe it?” she asked.

Isn’t it sad that my first assumption was that the president of the united states sent war planes over the region to startle the populace? Isn’t it sad that, in these times, even though my assumption was wrong, it was not an outlandish proposition, not a sci-fi-speculation, but actually within the realm of possibility?

Many of her recent photographs capture fading flowers. I am drawn to them. The brittle shapes. The muting colors. Life energy pulling away from the blossom and retreating to the root to rest and re-energize. It produces a different kind of beauty.

It is this waning beauty, this retreat into the root that has always evoked my wistfulness. I realized that this autumn I will probably not feel my usual wistfulness. The yearning of fall is made delicious because of the promise of spring emerging from dark winter. Wistfulness is letting go to open space for renewal. I realized, watching the fighter jets, aghast that a president would resort to such a childish meme to declare his ugliest of intentions, to turn the military on its citizens, that I do not know if our democratic nation will be here in the spring.

There is no space for wistfulness. There is no time for apologies. There is no longer any doubt that a fascist dark winter is descending. We are fools to think that it will lead to a democratic spring.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WANING FLOWERS

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Into The Space [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Posted on September 6, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

There is a space of time between when we script the cartoon and when we write our posts about the cartoon. Sometimes something – some bit of information or an experience – falls into that space and colors what we write.

A mother talking to her small child about school-shooter-drills fell into the space. It invoked a different kind of wistful. I yearn for a time in our nation when the leading cause of death among our children is something other than a bullet.

What else fell into the space? A fractal. Knowing that our pathological-liar-president is surrounded by people who perpetuate his fantasy. He is protected from the messy truth.

But wait! Take a step back. The fox protects millions of the intellectually lazy from the messy truth. It wraps them with a woeful victim tale. They are made angry and violent by the perpetual assault of an illusion. But wait! We are witness to the scrubbing of our history, the erasure of civil rights and DEI, the banning of books, the stripping of exhibits from museums…all to promote a fantasy-tale of the USA, all to protect us from the messy truth of our nation.

It’s not the first time in our nation’s short history that we-the-people have been protected from seeing the full story of our nation. We are – and have been – surrounded by a fantasy-crap-tale: it’s called manifest destiny. White-people-good; white-males-especially.

Am I feeling the fall-wistfuls yet? No. I am just incredibly sad. Today I am witness to a mother teaching her bright inquisitive child to crouch in a dark corner and try to disappear. Today I am witness to the power players of my nation protect pedophiles instead of the children they raped. They are drilling us to crouch in dark corner. They are normalizing us to the necessity of disappearing.

I yearn for a time that has not yet happened in our history: a time when we are unafraid to look in the mirror and see the whole picture, all of it; the good, the bad, the ugly. I yearn for a time when we are capable of dealing with our truth rather than whipping up fantasies.

Maybe then we will summon the capacity to protect our children from real bullets rather than perpetuating the fantasy that gun control is an infringement upon cowboy culture. Or, to pull the mask off completely: maybe we will prioritize the safety of our children above the profits of weapons manufacturers; maybe we will prioritize the rights and safety of all people above protecting the irresponsibility, the outrages of the privileged few.

Maybe. I’m capable of wrapping myself in a protective feel-good fantasy, too. I come by it naturally. I am, after all, a citizen of the USA.

read Kerri’s blogpost about WISTFUL

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See It All [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on August 6, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

“It is truth that liberates, not your effort to be free.” ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti, The First and Last Freedom

More and more we are visiting local nurseries and garden centers. I am captivated by the colors and shapes of flowers and plants. Earlier this year, while shopping for specific herbs and plants for the garden, I saw through a different set of eyes. Consumer eyes. Now that our garden is planted and growing, our visits are different. They are not about shopping but about lingering. We wander. We allow ourselves to be pulled. Kerri takes photographs. The narrow focus of a consumer is much different than the open focus of an appreciator; artist eyes. It fills me up to see what is there beyond what I think is there.

Nelson Mandela said, “Let freedom reign. The sun never set on so glorious a human achievement.” This from a man who spent 27 years in prison for resisting a brutal apartheid government. He understood to his bones the relationship of truth to freedom. Freedom is not possible if it’s based on a lie. Lies imprison. As we are now learning, to sustain a foundation of lies it is necessary to suppress freedoms. It is necessary to subdue and distort the truth.

Our divisions, just as the divisions of apartheid in South Africa, are based in lies. There is no truth to division based on the color of skin. It is manufactured, legislated. There is not an invasion of immigrants at our southern border. No one is eating dogs and cats. It is made-up, a hate-lever to those who would control and exploit their way to dominance. Concocted hatred is a worn-out colonialist’s tool. Mandela also said, “No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love.”

People can be tricked into hatred, and if they can be tricked, they are also capable of opening their eyes to the truth.

Seeing through they eyes of truth is different than seeing through eyes dedicated to lies. Eyes that seek truth desire to open, to see everything. All the colors and shapes. Diversity. Interconnection. Artist’s eyes.

The other eyes, the eyes of apartheid, the eyes of ICE, the eyes of current Republicans – are necessarily narrow. They see only what they want to see. They refuse to see beyond what they think. And, more to the point, in order to sustain the lie they need to bully all eyes to see as they see – or at least to pretend.

Pathological lies inevitably become an inescapable web, catching the spider as well as the prey. We are watching it happen in real time with the Epstein files. The liar is caught in his web of lies and so he deflects by contriving division, by escalating his lies.

Narrowing eyes eventually close and see only darkness. We are watching it happen in real time with the Republican Congress fleeing Washington D.C. to escape having to see the truth. All of it.

Truth is found by learning, by opening eyes and hearts to see all colors and shapes as they are, not as we want them to be. I am reminded of key lesson that leadership mentor, Eliav Zakay, taught his students: “Leaders shine light into dark corners.” It is the truth that liberates. It is the truth that sets us free.

read Kerri’s blog about CONEFLOWERS

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Our Dull Ho-Hum [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on June 23, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

“In spite of indignation and anxiety over what has occurred, I cannot help wondering where we have failed. There was a time during the war when we enjoyed the trust and respect of little and big nations everywhere. What has happened to turn that, in some cases, into suspicion and disdain? We cannot blame our leaders, because we are a democracy. Somehow we the people have failed.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt, My Day, August 23, 1946

Our conversation was sparked by a post by John Pavlovitz: “The people I’m struggling the most with right now are the polite people, the patient people, the people who are acting as though they are above those of us who have f*cking had it.“

If our democracy fails – as it now seems is almost inevitable – we could blame the cowardly Republican congress, the unscrupulous executive or the corruption of the Supreme court. What of the responsibility that falls squarely on our shoulders?

We the people voted the corruption into place. For years we’ve tolerated the lies, the meanness of spirit, the grift. We tuned in to news that was more interested in ratings that in factual reporting. We allowed an insurrectionist, rapist, felon to run for the highest office in the land. We did not express outrage when the Supreme Court not only protected the felon, but granted him immunity from the law, elevating him to monarch status.

We’ve normalized the abhorrent. We’ve made the monstrous acceptable, ho-hum.

We have, for a decade, watched the real-time dismantling of democracy like we watch reality tv. We perform the daily doom scroll, seeking, grousing about and then forgetting the latest outrage. I return, again and again, to the forward Neil Postman wrote for his book, Amusing Ourselves to Death:

“Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed oppression. But in Huxley’s vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity, and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.“

We are allowing the whitewashing of history, the celebration of ignorance over education. Only an empty-headed society would tolerate the elevation of the most unqualified to positions of leadership. 90 million people yawned and rolled over rather than go to the polls when the very existence of democracy was on the ballot. Congress knowingly confirmed a kakistocracy that made no effort to hide its authoritarian agenda.

Last weekend 4 – 6 million people took to the streets to protest the ho-hum. It was the largest protest in the history of our nation. It had no visible impact on our elected leaders. Ho-hum. They pushed forward their Grossly-Gluttonous-Bill with language that prevents the courts from checking the overreach of the executive. They added language that would make it impossible for a citizen to seek redress from government abuse.

They no longer fear the vote of the people. They are counting on our passivity. They are counting on our dull-minded ho-hum. They are counting on our capacity to change the channel when we don’t like what we are watching.

“We seem to have forgotten to weigh our values and to realize that we have to pay for the things we want. The payment which can bring about friendly and peaceful solutions is infinitely less costly than the payments which will have to be made if we are going to be an enemy to all the world.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt, My Day, August 23, 1946

read Kerri’s blogpost about HO-HUM

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Cartoon Possibilities [David’s blog on Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on February 26, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

Call it self-preservation. With the inspiration of MM, I am compiling a mountain of cartoon ideas borne of the laugh-or-cry idiocracy currently sweeping away the nation. There seems to be no bottom to the inanity of the red-hat cult and those that they’ve elevated to power.

The abundance of comic fodder spewing forth from overly sincere conservative faces has me meditating on what makes them both so horrific and so funny. It is this: they ignore – and expect us to ignore –Occam’s Razor. The Principle of Parsimony: It’s a good rule of thumb, if sanity is the goal, to seek the simplest explanation. It is usually the best. If insanity is the aim, seek conspiracy theories and complex machinations.

Take, for instance, the fires in California. Jewish Space Lasers meet unraked forests? Or, perhaps rising global temperatures and drought are to blame? The first requires a reliance on science-fiction and a multi-layer-cake of ill-intent, stupidity and bigotry. The second relies on science. And common sense.

Or, consider this snicker-worthy intrigue: Did the COVID-19 vaccine included microchips capable of tracking people? Or, was it protecting citizens from a raging pandemic? Again, the first requires a madcap sci-fi dystopian fantasy. Occum’s Razor would have us tip toward the reality of science responding to the pandemic. (note: if you use a cell phone or shop on line, there’s no need to vaccinate a chip into your body since you are infinitely locate-able. Google maps already knows where you are since getting you from point A to point B requires, well, knowing where you are…).

The red hats are awash in conspiracy theories. The fox revels in fueling the fantastic and muddling the minds of the easily led. In my comic-thought the actual red hats are lined with tin-foil to protect their brains from alien mind control. That, and better ham radio reception.

I suppose if human beings are capable of believing that the earth is flat, that climate change is a hoax, that the massacre of children at Sandy Hook Elementary was a scam, that Democrats are drinking baby’s blood beneath the streets of Washington D.C…they are also capable of believing in the big boogeyman, the Deep State. It’s the reason we’re been force-fed for the dismantling of our Democracy. Woke waste and fraud! George Soros secretly controlling the world’s economy! Lions and tigers and bears! Oh, my!

It is worthy of cartooning and lampooning. Or a good cry.

This just in from historian Heather Cox Richardson: “…the relative stability of American democracy in the late twentieth century allowed politicians to win office with the narrative that the government was stifling individualism, taking money from hardworking taxpayers to provide benefits to the undeserving…But the Trump administration’s massive and random cuts to the federal workforce are revealing that the narrative of government waste does not line up with reality.“

Does not line up with reality. Occum’s Razor. It’s the simplest explanation for how we find ourselves in an era dominated by lies and lunacy. It’s a rich (and increasingly sad) field of cartooning possibilities.

read Kerri’s blogpost on THE CLOUD

an oldie from the archives at Flawed Cartoon International

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Consistent [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Posted on February 22, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

Every day – every single day – I read in the news, from the mouth of some republican, two words of justification for the systematic destruction of our democracy: in the name of “transparency and accountability”. All the while the Government Accountability Office (GAO) is shuttered, the Inspectors General are fired. An opaque curtain is thrown over the workings of the DOGE.

I have a suggestion for the new Republican motto: Do-as-I-say, not-as-I-do. Of course, if there was nothing to hide, if they were honest, they’d work their agenda through Congress rather than govern by cloak and dagger.

Yesterday we went to the polls to vote for the state Superintendent of Public Instruction. The republican candidate, someone with low-bar-no-bar qualifications, said that she intended to bring to the office “transparency and accountability.” I rolled my eyes. At least they are consistent in their prevarication*.

It brought to mind a twist on something Quinn used to say, “If someone has to tell you that they are accountable, they probably aren’t.”

*Prevarication is the act of avoiding the truth, especially in a sneaky way. It can also mean being vague or evasive.

Read Kerri’s blogpost about TRANSPARENCY AND ACCOUNTABILITY

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Stay Clear of the Avalanche [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Posted on January 11, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

It’s a strategy. “During a typical Gish gallop, the galloper confronts an opponent with a rapid series of specious arguments, half-truths, misrepresentations and outright lies making it impossible for the opponent to refute all of them…” ~Gish Gallop: Wikipedia

We have, of course, unbelievably, elected for the second time, a champion galloper. A liar extraordinaire. The Gishiest of gallopers.

It’s a strategy. Chaos is a distraction. When it’s impossible to cut through the daily avalanche of hooey, be certain that what’s happening behind the crap-curtain is ill-intended, deliberate and self-serving.

As Heather Cox Richardson suggests, the only thing to be done is not get caught in the avalanche. Stand back and look for patterns. In this case, we have a lifetime of pattern available for study, easy to see. A career criminal. A bankrupt soul. A parasite in a baggy blue suit.

And so, we canter the other way, just far enough to stay clear of the avalanche – and do as journalist Mehdi Asan suggests to counter the Gish galloper: Call it out. “…do not be fooled by the flood of nonsense you have just heard.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GISH GALLOP

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Scratches On The Wall [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on October 15, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Scratches on the wall. Petroglyphs, the only evidence that remains of a people who once lived in these canyons, who lived by the river we’ve named Fremont. We do not know if they had a name for the river. We do not know if they had a name for themselves. We call them the Fremont, after the river. A location name.

The Fremont River is named for an American explorer, John Charles Fremont, so the people who scratched pictures into the rock over 1,000 years ago also carry his name. As is the nature of history, we locate them from our point of view. We build an identity-structure and civilization-story about them based upon our story of them. We’ve placed them in our narrative timeline, 1 – 1300 CE. We have no idea how they thought of or marked their time.

We have no idea what became of them. They disappeared into time. We have no idea what the petroglyphs mean or why they scratched them into the canyon walls. We wonder at the semiotics, the inner symbolic life that produced such strange (to us) images that remain on the red rock walls.

This morning, through my COVID aches and chills, I watched the news. I would like to say that I am mystified by the civilization-story currently being spun and supported by half of my nation but I am not. I would like to say that the hatred and fear-mongering of the red hat tribe is as much a mystery to me as the way of the Fremont, but it is not. The concurrent xenophobia and wild-eyed-creation of an internal enemy (anyone not in a red hat) has roots that are all too easy to see. It’s a fascist popcorn trail, a page from Hitler’s handbook. The language is identical. The images, scratched into the red-fox-walls of our time are all too easy to interpret. A frightened and misinformed populace is easily manipulated. Fooled.

What is a mystery to me is the inner symbolic life of my nation’s conservatives that seem so ready to trade our sacred democracy for a populist authoritarian. What scratches on the walls of their minds are so easily storied into hatred. What has so hardened their hearts that they embrace with cheers the repulsive bile spewed by their candidate? It is as incomprehensible to me as the petroglyphs of the Fremont.

All societies disappear into time. Ours, relative to the Fremont, is still in its infancy. We can only hope that an explorer in some distant future finds our petroglyphs – and although a mystery to them, we will have known that we transcended the authoritarian threat and overcame the fox-fear-fantasy, manufactured hatred and dark lies. And, over the next thousand years, our scratches on the wall tell the tale of how we matured to fulfill the promise of our sacred ideals. Out of many, one.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PETROGLYPHS

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It Takes Some Courage [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on July 23, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

I woke up this morning with this song running through my mind:

Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she doesn’t have a lot to say
Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, but she changes from day to day
I wanna tell her that I love her a lot, but I gotta get a belly full of wine
Her Majesty’s a pretty nice girl, someday, I’m gonna make her mine
Oh yeah, someday I’m gonna make her mine.

It’s the last track on the Beatles album, Abbey Road. A 23 second ditty. I haven’t listened to the album in a decade. So, why was Her Majesty running amok in my dream life? I don’t know. The rest of the dream faded so all context was lost. It’s enough to make me “gotta get a belly full of wine”.

Sense-making is a product of context. For instance, this photograph of the sun piercing the clouds is nice but becomes much more meaningful when placed in context: we were under a tornado warning when Kerri suddenly grabbed her camera and ran outside. “Hope!” she said in response to my puzzled stare. Now, this is and always will be a photograph of unlikely hope.

Context is everything. For instance, the election-was-stolen-lie only gains traction in the red hat community if the context is ignored. Context: 62 lawsuits were brought contesting the results of the election and nearly all were dismissed due to lack of evidence. Liars routinely attempt to insert a fabricated context in place of an actual context. “The election was stolen,” is on the same eye-rolling-level as “The dog ate my homework!”

It only takes a question or two to pop the wildest fabrication.

Of course, one must first want to pop the fabrication.

We are witness to the greatest pathological liar of our times spinning new and fantastic contexts for his question-free believers. If the actual truth doesn’t match their group-hallucination they cry in unison, “Fake News!” Fake news is a go-to context akin to “The dog ate my homework.” It covers a lot of missing homework. It stops the most basic questions. It’s intellectually and spiritually lazy.

We are under a metaphoric tornado warning. I hold a small hope that a few of the red hats might one day wrinkle their brow at the outrageous baseless assertions they are fed and wonder if the dross they are eating is actually true. In that moment, it’s possible that they might ask a question or two. It’s possible they might seek context beyond the group-lie.

It takes some courage to ask questions, especially when it is unpopular to ask them.

It’s never too late to pop the fabrication of a pathological liar. It’s never too late to come back to your senses. It’s never too late to ask yourself, “What was I thinking?” It’s never too late to find your courage. I imagine it would feel like the sun piercing through threatening clouds.

An unlikely hope.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUN THROUGH CLOUDS

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

Posted on June 24, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

The interviewer asked me to name three things I love and three things that piss me off. “Ah, here’s the trick question,” I thought. Tom Mck once told me that, when conducting interviews for teaching positions, he’d ask a trick question, “Tell me about your experiences with a bad student?” If the interviewee answered the question, he would not hire them. “There is no such thing as a bad student,” he said. I knew better than to answer the interviewer’s question but I did anyway: “I can’t see my dad anymore and sometimes that really pisses me off.” Of course, I did not get the job.

I read The Little Prince, first to myself and then aloud to Kerri. As I turned the last page I saw that she was silently crying. “I forgot how it ended,” she said. So had I. In the book, after the Little Prince is bitten by the yellow snake and dies, the narrator searches the sand but cannot find his body. The author, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, a year after he wrote the book, crashed his plane over the Mediterranean Sea. It was 1944. His plane was later found but not his body.

Neil Postman wrote Amusing Ourselves to Death in 1985. It is more relevant today than when it was written. He predicted our indifference to lies. It’s not that we cannot discern fact from fiction, it is that we do not care to. It’s much more entertaining to spew self-righteous bile and shared discord within the confines of the social-bubble. A free press, the mechanism meant to function as society’s lie-detector, has collapsed and become a terrific magnifier of falsehood. Entertainment. That which can be seen with the eyes but is nowhere detectable with the heart. Wild lies, outrageous claims and blame, blame, blame, blame, blame are much more captivating than essential truth. It’s about numbers: grotesque behavior attracts more audience than genuine discourse so completely dominates the info-stream.

The body politic fragments, like pieces of an airplane tumbling from the sky.

Lately, I hear often – and speak – this common refrain: “I just can’t understand how people don’t see it.”

“Oh, people do see it,” whispers The Little Prince, sweeping clean his volcano, adding, “With their eyes.”. He winks, “Closed hearts are not concerned with the essentials.”

The wind shifted so we sat outside and enjoyed the evening cool after a hot day. Just like my dad used to do. Now, when I close my eyes, I can see him. We made dinner with 20 and ate under the waning light in the sky. It was the solstice. The stars made their slow entrance. Gazing up, I wondered if perhaps Antoine de Saint-Exupery found a way to join The Little Prince on his planet so together they might attend to the vanity of the rose. I hope so. For a moment, we sat in silence and appreciated all that our open hearts could see.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEEING CLEARLY

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