Hold Space [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on March 15, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

I just realized why the stripped forest is having such an impact on me. While opening the back door to let Dogga out, my dials spun and it slapped me in the face. I am like the forest.

For several minutes, staring at the photograph, writing then rejecting, then writing and again rejecting what I’d written, I decided to get up and let Dogga out. This picture was making me anxious. Moving around has always been good for me when I’m thought-wrestling.

I am like this forest. Exposed. Chips and debris are everywhere. Water is overtaking the trees.

I was writing about a question Justin asked one night at dinner. “What’s your stance about secular Calvinism?” he asked.

“I don’t think I have one,” I replied. Justin’s eyebrows hit the ceiling and I made a snap decision not to follow my reply with an explanation. He was sorting his belief and searching his heart. Empty space was more useful than cramming my erudite-and-empty justification into the moment.

Insight requires space. Lots of space.

I wish I could express how rare it is for me to keep my mouth closed when I have a thought on a topic. Kerri will laugh aloud when I read this to her. “No joke!” she’ll say. I wanted to say to Justin, “I don’t have a stance because I think it’s a given.” His question was akin to asking about my stance on the existence of the moon. No culture sees itself clearly.

No person (me) sees himself clearly.

Chips and debris. The river has overrun its banks. One half of the photo is the result of natural forces. The other half is man-made. Choices. Circumstance and intention. This landscape, once so familiar, will never be the same.

I’ve spent my life cultivating my capacity to see pattern and metaphor. It’s an artist’s prerogative to make the strange familiar and the familiar strange. I am the forest. Familiar, yet completely unknown. Stripped for rejuvenation.

Insight requires space. Perspective requires distance. Perhaps the reason I left open space in my conversation with Justin is something I need do for myself, too. Searching my heart, I am the forest. Stripped of invasive plants I can see all the way to the river. So much space.

What is my stance? Right now, thankfully, I don’t think I have one. I’m holding the space for insight to come.

read Kerri’s blogpost THE FOREST

Filed under: Awakening, Flawed Wednesday, Identity, Metaphor, Pattern | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Protect The Seed [on DR Thursday]

Posted on February 23, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

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

Filed under: Art, Creativity, DR Thursday, Identity, Language | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

See The Cycle [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on February 22, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

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

Filed under: Awakening, Flawed Wednesday, Metaphor | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Step Off The Path [on DR Thursday]

Posted on February 16, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

At first we were horrified. The forest filled with machinery. Trees down and the underbrush annihilated. Our beloved trail decimated. We read that the seeming destruction was part of a woody invasive species clearing project. The clearing would allow the native species to rejuvenate.

Later, after the machinery was removed and the air cleared of diesel fumes, we returned to walk the obliterated forest trail. And, on our walk, I learned – or re-learned – a very valuable lesson. The change pulled us from our well-worn path and invited us to explore. Because we could now see all the way to the river, we left the trail. We stepped into the unknown. What had been comforting and known now beckoned us to see anew. To wake up.

We walked in places where previously we could not because the brush was too dense. We followed an animal trail through the snow into a part of the forest we’d never been. It was a place we’d never before considered investigating. We deviated and hiked all the way to the train tracks. We took photos. We felt the thrill of stepping into new territory. Our eyes wide open, our ears attuned to every nuance of sound, we took nothing for granted. Everything was pristine and unknown.

Change is like that. It makes you pay attention.

Returning to the trail so we could make our way back to the car, enlivened by our off-trail adventure, we wondered aloud about the wildlife. We worried for the deer. And, just as the words left our mouths, Kerri stopped and motioned to the forest’s edge. A deer was watching us. And then there were two. Three. Five. After determining that we were not a threat, they nibbled on branches. We stood very still; quiet appreciation.

It felt like a reward for taking the step off the beaten path. It felt like reassurance that the devastation was akin to a forest fire; necessary for renewal.

From a cue invisible to us, the deer leapt in unison, white tails flashing, and disappeared into the forest. It broke the spell. We returned to the car, eyes scanning the forest in case the deer returned. Our senses keen, I felt fully alive.

Change is like that. A clearing project, disrupting comfortable complacency, nothing can be taken for granted, making way for new seeing and discovery. Anything becomes possible.

a work in progress: train through trees, 48x48IN

read Kerri’s blogpost about RIVER BEND

train through trees (in progress) © 2023 david robinson

Filed under: DR Thursday, Edges, Metaphor, Seeing | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Add A Ring [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on January 4, 2023 by davidrobinsoncreative

We teased Dogga this morning, telling him not to forget to date his checks with 2023. As an Aussie, he is fairly high-strung and riddled with the need to please. He tried his best to grok what we were saying and then he gave up when he realized no food was involved. He retreated to the end of the bed for a snooze.

Count the rings. A year of life. Last night at pot-luck-dinner Jen said, “It all goes so fast!” Add another ring. And, another. Attending a funeral several years ago, my dad quipped to Ted, “Well, it looks like we’re on the front line.” Both had lost their parents. Ted chuckled and shook his head, “Now, how in the hell did that happen?” he asked.

Last week Justin asked me if I thought there was an absolute truth and I replied, “No. Truth is a cultural construct.” Today, I would answer differently. There are two absolute truths. You are born. You die. Absolutely. The best advice for everything in between the absolutes comes by way of the Dalai Lama: An open heart is an open mind.

An open mind is wide-eyed with awe and curiosity. This ride is amazing. The number of rings accumulated is probably less important than what’s filled into the spaces between them. And, remember, if you still use paper checks, before you take a snooze at the end of the bed, don’t forget to date them with 2023.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RINGS

Filed under: Flawed Wednesday, Metaphor | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Locate The Center [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on December 27, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

“The very center of your heart is where life begins. The most beautiful place on earth.” ~ Rumi

What, exactly, is the heart of the matter?

If you listen, what does your heart tell you?

What does it mean to “Follow your heart”?

Heart land? Heart song?

This weekend the question was asked, “Do you think there is an absolute truth?” I amused myself thinking of the oxymoron in the terms ‘absolute’ and ‘truth’. I am almost certain – but not absolute – that the question was really about the location of the center of heart. Is there a heart center? Where is the center of the universe? Here. And everywhere else.

Kerri pitched the small piece of chain onto the counter, saying, “This goes in the special box.” It landed in the shape of a heart.

“Hi, Pa!” I thought, and we laughed.

We wear pull chain as bracelets around our left wrists; the original pieces came from her father’s workbench. They are connective tissue to him and to each other. Heart chain. They periodically break so we are many generations from the original. The current chain is symbolic. This heart-piece was from my most recent chain break.

“What are the odds?” she asked.

Yes, indeed. What are the odds that a piece of pull-chain could so quickly bring us to the heart of the matter?

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART

Filed under: Love, Metaphor, Two Artists Tuesday | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Feel Their Hands [on DR Thursday]

Posted on December 1, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

A Melange Haiku

The woods, remember?

Feet shushing through fallen leaves.

Tree-fingers touch blue.

The trail yesterday was arrow straight, a line running to Chicago. I teased that we need never turn the wheel. The day before we walked by the river so the path snaked with the water course. On Thanksgiving, we walked twice around our yellow loop. It was cold and our finger tips complained. Arrow, snake, and loop.

We are restless and find balance in the woods. Peace-of-mind. We are restless so are searching for new trails. It’s a metaphor, I’m sure of it. We adore our known paths but feel as if we are shedding a skin or busting out of a cocoon. I said, ‘I’m tired of making the same old mistakes, of doing the same old thing.” She is patient and listens without rolling her eyes. She is kind to let my words of frustration dissipate in the cold air. The squirrels sound an alarm. She knows that no response is required.

The sun is down by 4:30. We are fooled again and again thinking it is later than it really is. “It’s too early for dinner!” we exclaim, chopping carrots, eyeing the level of wine remaining in the bottle. We look to each other and laugh.

On the yellow loop we decided to speak of gratitude. We called to mind our nuclear family members and in turn offered thoughts of appreciation. Love is a complex rainbow and I was reminded that much of what we see is by choice. Where we decide to place our focus. I had the sense that our ancestors walked with us on the trail that day. Their hands on our backs.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PERSPECTIVE.

Helping Hands, 53.5×15.25IN, mixed media

helping hands © david robinson

Filed under: DR Thursday, Family, Metaphor | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

Refill [on KS Friday]

Posted on November 18, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

I confess to being a bit blue. Blue. That’s a metaphor for low-in-spirit.

And, isn’t it odd that we locate our spirits as either high or low? Where, exactly, is your spirit? Today, mine is low. Apparently, I think spirits are spatial.

That means my spirit is either laying down, taking a nap, dancing the limbo, or that its flame is minimal. My spirit isn’t burning much fuel. Don’t try and read a book by the light of my spirit! Not today, anyway.

Last night we had dinner with 20. After he left I told Kerri that I was grateful because he “lifted our spirits.” Spirits are impressionable. 20’s spirit breathed some air into my balloon. Balloon. That’s another metaphor. Expansive-spirit. Receptive of the light-hearts brought by others. Apparently, I think spirits are fickle, malleable. Or connected.

The sunset stopped us in our tracks. We knew the ranger would be waiting in the parking lot. Tapping his foot. He can’t go home until the parking lot is clear and people are supposed to be leaving at sunset. He previously threatened a citation. A citation is not a deterrent when a sunset is filling your spirit. I hoped the ranger was standing outside of his truck (and his role) and, like us drinking it in. Refilling.

Apparently I think spirits can be refilled. Refilled. That’s a metaphor. What’s the full capacity of my spirit?

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNSET

in transition/released from the heart © 1995 kerri sherwood

Filed under: KS Friday, Metaphor, Navel Gazing | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

See Beyond [on Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on September 6, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

Breck, the small aspen tree in our backyard, is beginning to change its colors for the season. Although we have yet in our neighborhood to smell autumn in the air, Breck is giving us a heads-up.

A decade ago I wrote that, in order to see beyond preconception (thought), artists and entrepreneurs need to master two skills: pattern recognition and metaphor. Look for patterns and you will eventually see beyond them. See beyond the pattern and, as Ash Bhoopathy said, “The familiar will become strange and the strange will become familiar.” What an amazing definition of metaphor.

In this pattern cycle, the green becomes brilliant golden yellow as Breck turns her summer attention from the sun and sends her focus into the root for winter nourishment.

Kerri’s photographs are often extreme close-ups. She has a bit of Georgie O’Keeffe in her artist’s eye. Often, when showing me the latest photo, she pulls the-already-close-up-image into a detail. I am always amazed at the pattern beneath the pattern beneath the pattern. The plumes of the grasses are a festival of pattern. The many feet of the caterpillar, perfect suction cups.

Despite our dedication to our perceived differences, we, too are a festival of pattern. The operative word is “perceived.” Pull the lens close-in and our divisions disappear as rapidly as our skin color. Pull the focus farther out and we move together in a sweet-and-sour ballet. Koyannisqatsi. History repeats, a pattern, like the cycle of the seasons. Order moves to chaos to order to chaos…mainly in our minds. Order is what we crave, so purblind are we to seeing the ubiquity of pattern.

The plumes explode pink and red on the grasses The chipmunks have picked up their foraging pace. The geese have reappeared. The miracles are in the familiar, strange and surprising when seen again for the first time. The feel of the hand of the one you love. The moon on a clear cold night. The yellow rim reaching through the green quaking leaves.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BRECK’S LEAVES

Filed under: Metaphor, Pattern, Two Artists Tuesday, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Overflow With Artistry [On Two Artists Tuesday]

Posted on July 19, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

Sitting amidst the boxes that currently fill my studio space, I realized that I’m rolling into the third year since I’ve completed a painting. I’ve been staring at the same canvas set on my easel for a very long time. Broken wrists, the pandemic, another broken wrist, lost jobs and economic free fall initiated an era of blank canvases.

I’ve done this almost every day for two years. I stand at the edge of the boxes. I look at the large canvas layered with undertones of red, covered with layers of tissue, preparing the ground for the image. Charcoal sketch marks barely visible, images I drew and wiped away. I suppose it’s not accurate to say the canvas is blank.

My sketchbook is closed. It sits on the table next to the easel. If I opened it, on the last pages, I would find rough sketches for the painting. Ideas in rude pencil scribbles.

Memory is an organizing principle. A story plot line. We make sense of today based on how we organize our memories into a tellable tale. Looking at the canvas is like looking into a mirror and I ask myself what made me pick up a pencil the very first time. The small-boy-me was seeking. “Running or seeking?” I ask. My studio has always served as a sanctuary. A place where I found quiet, made sense of the chaotic world. “Running or seeking?” I ask again.

Staring at the canvas I should feel loss but I don’t. Each morning, Kerri and I sit next to each other and write. This is the 232nd consecutive week that, five days a week, we’ve written together. She edits what I write, makes suggestions, and I do the same for her. We produce a cartoon every week. For my work I’m also drawing a series of cartoons that, after I script and draw final drafts, I hand them off to Kerri. She digitizes them and, quite literally, adds elements that improves them. I’m not empty of artistry but full to overflowing. I no longer need to retreat to enter my sanctuary.

It’s hard to know where my work ends and hers begins. They are ours. A perfect collaboration. Two as one.

Last week we had a fence installed. Invasive neighbors, throwing rocks at Dogga, lobbing toys into our pond, we’d finally had enough. The fence felt like reclamation of space. The impact was immediate. We hadn’t realized how completely the space invaders – like broken wrists and job losses, had interrupted every rhythm and pattern of our life. Basking in our space – our space – Kerri started to laugh and point. Two birds, lawn art purchased in a small town on our long drive from Seattle, always in our yard but always barely seen, we’d hastily placed them next to the new fence. “Two birds, one shadow,” she said, jumping up to snap a photo.

“Two birds. One shadow,” I repeated her words. I’ll take it as an affirmation. A new fence. A new era. All the world is my studio. My sanctuary. It’s what the small-boy-me was seeking all along.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TWO AS ONE

Filed under: Art, Creativity, Gratitude, Identity, Love, Metaphor, Seeing, Two Artists Tuesday, Uncategorized | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment »

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  • visit the studio melange at kerrianddavid.com

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  • Lucy & The Waterfox is also available on Amazon.com