Invite Magic [on DR Thursday]

NapMorsel

We are going on an adventure. Our adventure comes with a house on the lake. It is work and although some people might not consider work an adventure, we are not those people. The challenge is great. The work seems oddly destined. It “fits.”

Among the first things we moved into our adventure-home was this painting, Nap On The Beach. One of the quirks of being an artist is investing in the belief (or, perhaps, the cultivated-and-embraced-delusion) that the art you make sometimes carries “power.” This painting is autobiographical. It carries a good memory. It evokes a way-of-being. An intention for living. Once, early in our lives together, we fell into a magic sleep on a beach. We were so comfortable, so at ease entering our new life together.

Magic.

We wanted to invite magic and this way-of-being-together into our adventure-home and our next phase of work. And, so, we hung this painting. There are other paintings poised to join Nap On The Beach. They invite a different spirit. Unfettered, free. But, for now, there is this: comfort. Ease. Peace. Giving over to something much, much bigger. An invocation. An adventure.

 

 

preadventure painting sale box copy

 

read Kerri’s blog post about NAP ON THE BEACH

 

feet on the street WI website box copy

 

nap on the beach ©️ 2017 david robinson

Sort And Re-Member [on Two Artists Tuesday]

eileen's gloves copy

We often wander through antique stores. While Kerri shops for unique treasures, I find myself lost in the historical, the stuff-ness that lingers when the story is forgotten and only the artifact remains. Shelf after shelf, booth upon booth, of time gone by.  Former possessions awaiting a rebirth, a new story-maker to take them home.

We are helping 20 prepare an estate sale at his parent’s house which simply means we are helping him open drawers, clean out closets, sort what has meaning and worth for him, what will have meaning and worth for an estate sale shopper. It is impossible to do this for someone else without significant blowback. At home, we are opening our own drawers and closets and asking ourselves if we really need all this stuff. What no longer has value? What is still used and use-full? What carries so much story that we will never part with it?

There was a time when women wore gloves and hats. There was a time when people wrote letters with ink and paper, folded their note and put it into an envelope, licked a stamp and dropped the whole affair into a box for a postal pickup. There wasn’t an expectation of immediate momentary reply because it simply wasn’t possible. Things change and that changes us (not the other way around).

“Do you recognize those bowls?” Kerri asked. It is common for us to find duplicates of our stuff in the the antique store. We laugh and make the sound of dialing a rotary phone. Sometimes we hover over the bin of albums and reminisce. “Oh, I played this album over and over!” We ring the bell of a typewriter return. We wrinkle our noses at the musty-dusty smell of hardcover books, “My college library! The stacks!”

Artifact. Possession. Story lost and story found. Expectation. Change. Tom asked of the ranch and a treasured box of an ancestor’s artifacts, “What will happen to it after I’m gone?”

 

read Kerri’s blog post about GLOVES

 

preadventure painting sale box copy

Browse now. Buy Wednesday through Thursday

 

 

bistrochairs website box copy

 

Drink It In [on DR Thursday]

I wrote to Master Miller. He is one of my favorite artist confidantes. I told him that I was in a dry spell and so I was taking advantage of my artistic empty well by playing with sketches and revisiting old themes. Drawing memories.

He was (as always) enthusiastic. He regularly bubbles with love of art and artists. He often sends me photos of his young son painting. They have become a source of great joy and inspiration for me. Curiosity and freedom. A father and son, both artists, at play.

I remember a spring day in Colorado. A mountain trail. It was hot and then the afternoon rains came. A short burst, a downpour. There was nothing to be done but turn and face it, open and drink it in.

facetherain morsel

a close up

 

read Kerri’s blog post about FACE THE RAIN

 

vailKdotDdot website box copy

 

face the rain ©️ 2019 david robinson

 

 

Smile And Yearn [on KS Friday]

thetwoofyou songbox1 copy

I am a sap for things that at the same time lift my spirit and make me yearn. The great gift of nostalgia, the double-edge of happy memories. It is the gift of great art to open those double doors.

THE TWO OF YOU gently opens those doors. It is my go-to piece when I want a good warm smile of remembrance that evokes a healthy dose of tears. It is one of the pieces that begs me to hit the ‘repeat’ button and play over and over again. Just once more…

The cello line and strings in THE TWO OF YOU kill me. Every time I listen to Kerri’s compositions supported by an orchestra, I am astounded by the deep-river-ease flowing through the conversation between the instruments. In THE TWO OF YOU, I am pulled into that deep current and carried away to a place that breaks my heart with smiling.

 

THE TWO OF YOU on the album AS IT IS available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about THE TWO OF YOU

 

gate f8 website box copy

 

the two of you/as it is ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

 

Listen To The Heart [on KS Friday]

MISSING song box copy

This morning, sitting to write about this piece, I find that I have too much to say. Too much to say about missing and memory and delight and yearning. In trying to choose a thought-path I realized that all of my blah-blah would simply get in the way. My words will get  in the way of this heart composition. I will only offer that this MISSING will lift you. It will bring a knowing smile. It does for me.

I will let this beautiful composition speak for itself. It is MISSING from Kerri’s first album RELEASED FROM THE HEART. Truly, it is from the heart.

MISSING from the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART is available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about MISSING

gate f8 website box copy

 

missing/released from the heart ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

Hold And Be Held [on KS Friday]

YOU HOLD ME songbox copy

Tom and I sat on the little deck just off the kitchen of his cabin at the ranch. We watched the sun set on the land his family had owned for generations.  “They’re going to build a Walmart just off McKenzie Road,” he said, not taking his eyes off the setting sun. “That’s about it, I think.” The tide of development would soon gobble up the ranch.

He told me that, without the land, he would not know who he was. It held him. He held it.

It was a complicated relationship. During his life, he’d attempted to flee the land more than once but it would not let him go. During his life, the world tried to take it away from him more than once but he would not let it go.

Tom died on his land. His wife and nephew fought hard to make that possible. They held him and the land together, through their passing. Both are gone now.

Why does a piece of music evoke such a specific memory? Kerri’s YOU HOLD ME always takes me back to that deck and that sunset. A love story. A life story. To hold and be held.

 

YOU HOLD ME on the album THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY available on iTunes & CDBaby

 

read Kerri’s blog post about YOU HOLD ME

 

aspen silver bull website box copy

 

you hold me/this part of the journey ©️ 2000 kerri sherwood

Reach [on Two Artists Tuesday]

REACH copy

Someone snapped their fingers and it is fall. Less than a week ago we skirted the Des Plains river trail, hugging the shade. We’d underestimated the intensity of the heat-humidity combination punch. “Are you dying?” Kerri asked. I nodded my head, too hot to answer. This morning, the air is cool and we are pulling out our flannel shirts.

With fall comes a sweet melancholy that usually creeps in slowly but this year, absent of any transition, I awoke fully awash in the seasonal sorrows. It is, oddly, like a warm blanket. An old friend that calls, “Remember me?”

Kerri tells me this melancholy is the feeling of time passing. It is the season of standing still and remembering. It is a reach to the past when the past feels like the autumn sun on your face. Turning toward the warmth, eyes closed, basking.

Haven’t you heard your elders say that the older you get the faster time moves? This morning, pulling my flannel shirt around me, I know that it is true. Time races. Time is relative to “the long body,” the entire span of a lifetime. With so much time behind me, so many memories, the road traveled seems to have passed in a blink. Life happens in the blink of an eye.

There’s no better reason to stand still, eyes closed, and reach for the sun as its rays reach for me.

if you'd like to see TWO ARTISTS copy

 

read Kerri’s blog post about REACH

 

 

 

 

 

www.kerrianddavid.com

 

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reach ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood