Come Down And Look [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

“There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look.” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

There is another, a quote from the Gospel of Thomas: “The kingdom of heaven is spread out over the earth and people do not see it.” If people will just look.

Love. Heaven. Two words that carry the same meaning.

Years ago I understood (finally) that anything that calls itself spiritual but separates is man-made. It’s become a rule of thumb. It’s common sense. Unity, that which transcends boundaries and rules and fears and distinctions, is the aim. Poetry will get you there. A sunset. The quiet of a snowfall. Someone holding your hand.

I regularly disappear from time and space and enter something bigger when I paint. It’s the reason why I paint. When Kerri and I hike a trail I often leave my troubles and little mind behind. The birdsong takes me, the hawk that hovers, the wind through the cattails, the frog chorus, the buds pressing forth from the tree limbs. “I” am just passing through.

During our latest midnight conversation, she said, “I realized that I am not all-that.” Followed by, “When you understand that you are not all-that, you finally get out of the cage.” She is wise. It’s hard to try and be what you are not. Separate. Above. Better than. From such a lofty ego, the most important things are missed. Unity. Love. Heaven on earth. If people (like me) will just come down and look.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART

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Life Spilling Out [David’s blog on KS Friday]

If this beautiful winter skeleton of Queen Anne’s Lace was a sculpture – my sculpture – it would be titled The Impossibility of Containment. Trying to hold on to the magic movement of life. It spills out in every direction.

I once had an espresso martini in Aspen, Colorado. It was the single best drink I’ve ever had. It was so good I did something I never do: I had two. I savored every sip. Occasionally since then, in other watering holes on earth that offer a drink by the same name, I’ve tried to replicate the past. To no avail. The bar in Aspen no longer exists so, like a good sand painting, my espresso martini revelry lives where it belongs, on the wind and in my yearning.

This week I completed another trip around the sun. I look in the mirror and am sometimes surprised by the face that stares back at me. My eyes remain consistent, yet what my eyes are capable of now seeing has changed dramatically. Although I occasionally yearn for my younger face, I would never exchange my current eyes for my former sight.

I see possibility spilling out in every direction. Simplicity. I see extraordinary friends all around. Each morning I open my eyes to the one face that fills my heart to bursting. I am, as Nietzsche suggests, loving my fate. Every pothole, every mountain-to-climb, every seeming obstacle, every frustration, a magic moment, a heart-seed leading to who-knows-where. Life spilling out in every direction.

I’m practicing the skill of opening wide my arms, welcoming the impossibility of containment.

Sweet Ballet/Released From The Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about QA LACE

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buymeacoffee is a possibility cast onto the winds of time.

Today Is The Day [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

The world is upside-down. Father earth. Mother sky.

Today is the day we send messages of love. In grades school I remember that we scribbled Valentines to every single person in our class. And then we delivered them to each student’s unique construction paper mail envelop. I didn’t understand it then but I do now. Love does not exclude. Love has no bounds. It would not be Love otherwise.

Today is the day.

The sun came out after a long period of hiding its face. We were instantly energized, the light reaching the inner nooks and crannies of our soul. Yes, two people, one soul. We stood outside and aimed our faces to the sky for maximum rejuvenation. Just like a flower or a leaf. Eyes closed, drinking.

The world is downside-up. Sky and earth. One soul. Messages of love. No bounds.

Today is the day.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BLUE SKY

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buymeacoffee is. nothing more. nothing less

Do A Take [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s true. Every single day.

Imagine my good fortune.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TAKES

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buymeacoffee is a thing you do if you so desire and a thing we appreciate when you do.

Carry The Impression [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Leigh is an authority on rock art, the pictographs and petroglyphs found in caves and on rock walls around the world. People, for whatever reason, leaving a mark. Leaving their mark. Ritual? Aesthetic? I relished conversations with him as I peppered him with questions, speculating about their reasons.

Brad once said – that when he passes someday – he wants a plaque on a bench so that people will know that he was here. Future bench sitters will read the plaque and wonder who he was and why his name is on the bench.

Recently 20 brought to our house several drawings, conte crayon on newsprint. They are figure studies Duke, his father, did years ago when working with a model. They are gorgeous and free, the drawings of a master. Most are signed. I sign my paintings, too. I want people to know that they are mine, that I created them. Looking at the drawings, now that Duke is gone, I was taken by the power of the marks on the page, his signature, reaching across time to tell me, “This was my work. I was there.”

When BabyCat passed the vet made an impression of his paw for us. A keepsake. A reminder. I doubt BabyCat cared at all but we did. It helps us stay connected. It prompts us to tell stories.

Dogga’s beard is as grey as mine. He sometimes groans when he stands. He snores at night and we smile, knowingly. A few weeks ago, for a day or two, he was in pain, limping for unknown reasons. Although I knew it was not serious, an achy joint or pulled muscle, I was terrified at the depth and scope of what I was feeling. Love is like that. He stepped through the snow and left a print. I stared at it, taken by it, like Duke’s signature or a petroglyph scratched into stone. I watched him prance his circle-of-patrol and was utterly grateful for my terror, for the depth and scope of what I was feeling.

Love is like that. A bottomless impression he has left in me that I will carry to the end of my days.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DOGGA PRINT

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Grok The Rule [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

“A good poem looks life straight in the face, unflinching, sincere, equal to revelation through loss or gain.” ~ David Whyte

A good rule of thumb in the visual arts: areas of high contrast, in color-or-value, come forward while areas of low contrast retreat. Landscape painters use this rule to create the illusion of foreground and distance. Abstract painters use this rule to move the eye around a composition.

Storytellers and poets use the same rule. High contrast creates interest. It grabs attention. Low contrast sets the environment, the mood. “Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing/ kept flickering in with the tide/ and looking around./ Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly…” Dogfish by Mary Oliver.

Misused, it’s the rule-behind-the-reason that most of our news is “Breaking News!” False contrast. Hype. It’s the reason our national portrait is continually painted as divisive. High contrast pulls focus. The money follows the ratings so attention-grabbing is highly prized. Low contrast – like agreement, collaboration, sameness, community…truth – doesn’t generate the same level of interest or income.

Like all rules, there are worthy reasons to wield them. In the arts, the contrast principle is used to illuminate unity. To break an individual through to the experience of something bigger. To open questions. In our news-of-the-day, the rule is used to whistle a song-and-dance of discord and distraction. To separate into tribes. To manufacture the illusion of depth while sitting in shallow water.

The reasons to wield the rule are diametrically opposed.

It was a sad day when the young man, standing in our living room, told me that he would educate his child at home. His reason? He didn’t want his son to be stuffed with ideas. “Just the facts,” he said. “Just the facts.”

“Poor souls,” I thought of this man and his young child. How will they ever stare into the fiery face of democracy – an ongoing idea born of high contrast and wild ideas – the artistic kind, meant to bring people together in one nation under every possible god – like a poem. They won’t recognize democracy’s death when without question it slips like ashes through the fact of their fingers.

As for me, I’ll stick with the high and low contrast of Rumi, MLK, Shakespeare, Kahlil Gibran, Mary Oliver, Maya Angelou…

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” ~ Rumi

[another worthy rule of thumb: never read the headlines prior to writing a post. All the icky-mush rushes to the foreground and permeates my brain]

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOG

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buymeacoffee is a counterintuitive, highly appreciated, offering of support amidst a high contrast environment that keeps the artists among us hopping and hoping.

Tell The Deeper Story [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Walking on our trail in the middle of December, we rounded a corner and stopped. The dramatic shadows of the trees made long and distinct by the low-to-the-horizon winter sun. “It’s mid-December,” she said, “And the grass is green…” Looking at the photograph I’d guess that it was taken on an early spring day. In the era of climate change, it’s not so hard to see the story behind the story of this green, green grass.

What’s the story behind the story? There’s always a deeper story to tell. Always.

On my easel is a canvas marked with a few charcoal lines. A bare-sketch of two people and a puppy. The story? On a rainy fall day, driving the back county roads, Kerri and I rescued a puppy. It was lost and scared.

The story behind the story? When we saw the puppy we had a long drive ahead of us. We were trying to get to Madison. We spotted it at a crossroads. Turn right and go to the puppy. Turn left and keep our appointment in Madison. We turned left. And then in one swirling circle motion, immediately turned around. The first impulse: we’re late! This is not ours to do. The second impulse: who cares! this is exactly ours to do. The moment the shivering-scared soaked puppy jumped into our arms, nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing. The superficial dropped away and the essential came roaring into focus.

We named him County Rainy Day. Rainy for short. We dried him off and fed him crackers. He didn’t have a collar so we called Jen and asked her what to do. We played and laughed and snuggled with him in the cab of the truck. Finally, after giving our hearts to the puppy, we took Rainy to a shelter. He was reunited with his family.

I confess, we’ve returned to the spot where we found him. Just in case. He stole our hearts but more importantly, he brought us to our hearts. There is always a moment of choice. Turn left. Turn right. The list or the life? Behind each act of kindness is a moment of choice. Behind each act – of any kind – is a moment of choice. The story behind the story.

a detail of a sketch. a work barely in-progress. county rainy day

visit my gallery site

read Kerri’s blogpost about GREEN!

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buymeacoffee is a choice made at a crossroads. nothing more. nothing less.

Incite Some Deviance [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I searched for it but couldn’t find it. A short clip of Carl Sagan placing life on our tiny planet into the perspective of the enormity of the universe. A little sun in a galaxy of suns in a universe of billions and billions of galaxies. Through this lens, it is mind-boggling, the hubris necessary to believe we are the center of it all.

Initially this morning, I wrote a post about grace but cut it. I asked a question about the collision of values: loyalty-to-a-group smacking down telling-the-truth. It’s a uniquely human dilemma. The insistence upon tribe, Us-and-Them, spins some very dark necessities. I tossed it because grace was overshadowed by gloomy.

This is what I intended to write: on this tiny blue ball there is a group of Us defined as “All Humans”. Loyalty to this group is understood as idealistic. How can we possibly reach across so many imagined boundaries? What would we do with a definition of Us that was all inclusive? We would invite grace. Float all boats.

Each year, everywhere I wander, I am steeped in songs-of-the-season that appeal to the best of our nature. Peace on earth. Goodwill. Love one another. Perhaps we should listen to the lyrics of these songs. They are written by us for us as an appeal to our idealism, a sentiment central during this season of light’s return. Peace. Peace. Peace. We should “take it to heart.”

Let’s face it, loving one another is deviant if it is all inclusive.

It’s a reach, I know, but it’s really not so hard to imagine Us in the context of this vast universe, on this tiny ball spinning and spinning around our minuscule sun, one of billions and billions and billions. In such a context, the boundaries-in-our-minds dissolve and invite a different set of questions to arise: How can we better share this blue dot together? Conflict makes money yet collaboration creates possibility.

Pouring a little light into so much dedicated tribalism is deviant. It requires a touch of dignity. Pouring light into darkness is called Grace. Grace, in the face of so much division, is deviant.

When I cut my initial post I wondered what it would take to breach the code of tribe, reach beyond the singing platitudes, and incite some deviant behavior like peace-on-earth and all-inclusive love-of-one-another.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DEVIANT BEHAVIOR

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buymeacoffee is a force like gravity helping the artists you appreciate keep their feet on the earth.

Listen To The Sing-Song [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The sound, rhythm and pattern of language. Listen to the sing-song of a mother talking to her infant child. Exaggerated prosody. Love carried through time and space on a warm carpet of sweetly over-elaborated sound waves. The words carry less meaning than the prosody. The shape of the sound, exaggerated to invoke a giggle. A bright face. A smile.

In our house, the exaggerated prosody is reserved for Dogga. “It’s time for sleepy-night-night!” Kerri sings to a tired-faced-Dogga. There is a distinct rhythm to “sleepy-night-night” that has become a comforting ritual chant. Our day would not be complete without it. He wags his tail and lopes toward the bedroom. Or, “We’re going to the living room!” she says in response to his constant anticipation of our next move. The words “living room” elongated and embued with excitement. He dashes to beat us there and, in my mind, to convince us that he’s been waiting all along.

When Unka John arrives, his ritual Dogga sing-song goes like this: “Hey! Hey! Give me that bone!” The game is explicit, the sound of the words as exacting as a line from Sondheim. After Unka John pretends to eat Dogga’s bone and returns it to the awaiting Dogga mouth, signaling the end of the arrival game, he chants two consecutive times, “Do you want a treat!” with the hard accent and lift on the word “treat.” It sets-off a full body wag and race to the treat jar. “Gentle! Gentle!” is the incantation that signals Dogga to sit and tenderly accept the treat. Of course, the whole sequence of Unka-John love-fest is ignited when we say to Dogga, “Guess who’s coming?” in a melodic line that we know will provoke a bouncing-dog-rush to the front door as we await the imminent arrival.

The meaning is not carried in the words, rather, it’s in the poetry of the tones. The generosity of the sound.

It’s the poetry of everyday life. The ritual sounds we use to shape our day, to create our comfort-home. To fill our hearts with gratitude. To clearly say, “I love you” in sound and tone when our words are merely, “Do you want some lunch?”

read Kerri’s blogpost about EXAGGERATED PROSODY

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buymeacoffee is a sing-song of generosity offered to the ongoing work of the artists and travelers that support you journey.

Live Your Words [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Language is among the most powerful yet rarely acknowledged and mostly discounted forces on earth. We name our experiences, we story our lives with words. Alter a single word this way or that and the story of a lifetime takes on a completely different cast. Success. Failure. Together. Alone.

Currently we are witness to an aspiring autocrat label fellow citizens as vermin and thugs. A well-worn page from the despot playbook. Dehumanization of others is the first step in approving, priming, unleashing, and then normalizing violence. If history teaches us anything it is that language is not only capable of creating unspeakable beauty, it is also capable of unleashing unimaginable horror. This is not playground rhetoric or locker room talk. This is laying the groundwork for brutality. White. Black. Supremacy. Equality. Community. Tribe. Division. Togetherness.

Language matters (education matters).

Consider this simple phrase chalked onto a park bench: I With. This phrase struck me as particularly potent yet unappreciated. I accompany you. I am with you. I walk with you through this life. I choose to stand with you. With. I.

No word is more dynamic and intoxicating than “I”. There is no more necessary or formidable preposition than “with”. I with love? I with hate? I with unity? I with division? I with open-heart? I with closed-mind? I fear. I embrace.

The great power in language is in the words we choose to live.

read Kerri’s blogpost about I WITH

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buymeacoffee is a phrase formed of individual words meant to initiate a possible action of support for the continued work of artists you appreciate.