After All [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on December 1, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

We spent some time hanging out with Frank over the holiday. He is 93 and doing a stint in rehab. Frank is filled to the brim with great stories told with the laughing good humor of a man who has made a friend of folly. On our way out the door he said, “After all, isn’t that what’s most important in life, what life is about? Good friends. The relationships we enjoy. The time we spend together” We nodded and he added, “It seems like we have nothing to complain about.”

Frank is among my role-models for how to age well. Stay wide-open to new experiences. Believe in the goodness of people. Dance the twist at every opportunity. Laugh at yourself. Cultivate your mischief. Stand firmly planted in gratitude.

A few years ago I read about a comic whose performances and life blossomed when he realized that his job was not to make people laugh, rather, it was to bring them to their laughter. It’s subtle but profound: focus on what you bring to others, not on what you get from them. Later, as we prepared our Guinness Irish stew and mashed potatoes, I realized this simple message was Frank’s superpower, the reason why I admire him: even at 93 years old in rehab, even while facing an impossible mountain to climb, his focus was on what he could bring to us. There was not a hint of self-pity. There was no mention of his aches, pains or growing list of obstacles. He told fishing stories and regaled us with adventures from his youth. We laughed and bantered and left feeling full to the brim with great stories and good humor.

“After all, isn’t that what’s most important in life, what life is about? Good friends. The relationships we enjoy. The time we spend together” We nodded and Frank added, “It seems like we have nothing to complain about.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about GATHERING

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Where It Ends [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Posted on April 1, 2024 by davidrobinsoncreative

Today is the day when hoaxsters and jokesters and pranksters abound. It’s the unofficial-official national day of the trickster.

Historically on this day it’s best to doubt everything that you are told, to check the sources of your information. To join in the joking and let off some steam with a bit of harmless mischief.

It’s much harder in this day-and-age since everyday is April fools day! The mischief is not harmless. With so many dedicated conspiracy theorists running amok, shysters selling bibles, serial liars celebrated, vapid minds taken seriously, it’s difficult to tell where the fool’s day begins and where it ends. It’s tough to know where the fools begin and where they end.

So, on this day as on all others, it’s a best practice to doubt everything that you are told [as a rule of thumb, it’s not a bad practice everyday to doubt everything that you think!], to religiously check the sources of your information and to check the sources of information promoted as religious.

Fools and tricksters are meant to make us open our eyes; to step back and take ourselves less seriously. To help us discern between the sacred and the profane. They are meant to shock the system when the system begins to believe that it’s “all that.” They are meant to help us laugh at ourselves.

Play safe out there. Have fun. It is my deepest wish that we might lighten up ever so slightly and learn to chuckle at our foibles. I know, I know…pie in the sky. First we must learn to distinguish between a foible and a strength, a truth and a lie, a joke and a virtue, an ignoramus and a learner, propaganda and news.

Until then, we are all destined to be April’s fools.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FOOLS

[Christopher Wool’s painting, Fool, at the Milwaukee Art Museum]

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Say Uff Da [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Posted on April 20, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

I never met Kerri’s dad. He passed before I came into the picture. I feel as though I know him. When a nasty bit of home repair is staring me down, I often ask his advice. “What should I do with this one, Pa?” I ask. Generally, he crosses his arms in quiet consideration and mutters, “Uff da.” And soon a solution comes to mind.

Hanging beside our back door is a bamboo wind chime. It was Pa’s. Sometimes when we open the back door it voices and I respond with a hearty, “Good morning, Pa.”

His nickname for Kerri was “brat.” I know exactly why Pa gave her that nickname. Let’s just say she earned it and, to be clear, has never outgrown it. 20 often looks at me in desperation and says, “She’s torturing me!” He wants me to intervene, to come to his rescue. I know better. Kerri laughs. So does Pa. We love the brat even if we are the recipients of her mischief.

Earlier this year I lost my dad. Yesterday while on the trail, I confessed that I was overwhelmed with a wave of missing him. “Cycles of grief,” as the Wander Women say. Growing older is filled with cycles of grief and I had cycled in. I sighed. Kerri squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“This sucks,” I thought.

“Uff da,” Pa said.

read Kerri’s blogpost about UFF DA

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Leave It! [on Two Artist Tuesday]

Posted on September 18, 2018 by davidrobinsoncreative

DoggaChipHeadwithwords copy

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then what you don’t see in a picture is worth an additional word or two.

One of Kerri’s many nicknames is “Brat” and it is more-than-well-deserved. No one knows this better than Tripper-Dog-Dog-Dog. He silently suffers her full brat nature. He patiently tolerates her howling laughter when he is, once again, the object of her brat-ocity.

DogDog easily picks up tricks. And, as an Aussie, he is a hyper-sensitive-good-boy, so Brat takes full advantage of his trusting nature, his need to please, and contorts the tricks. This is a photo of “leave it:” drop any snack on the floor, tell DogDog to “leave it,” and he won’t touch it until he’s given the magic sign. Tell him to “leave it” and he won’t move. Instead, he will follow you with his eyes imploring you for the magic sign. On this day, instead of dropping his snack on the floor, she put a tortilla chip on his head. And left it there for a very long time.

I knew I would be in trouble if I gave DogDog the magic sign. I knew I would bring Brat’s focus on to me if I interrupted her chuckling mischief. So, like DogDog, I sat very still and followed her around with my eyes. When would she give the magic signal? Both DogDog and I quaked with unbearable anticipation. When?! She moved back and forth, Dogga’s and my eyes tracking her every move. She took a picture. Moved across the room and took another. “Don’t torture the dog,” I implored.

“I’m not torturing DogDog,” she smiled, giving DogDog the magic sign, “I’ve been torturing you!”

 

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Lydia! Here’s the link: read Kerri’s blog post about BEING A BRAT

 

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Look For The Mountain [On DR Thursday]

Posted on April 26, 2018 by davidrobinsoncreative

A mountain morsel for this DR Thursday from studio melange.

Kerri laughed her most devious laugh when I asked, “Where does this morsel come from?” I didn’t recognize it as a slice from any of my  paintings. I usually know immediately where the morsel comes from. This one baffled me.

“Guess,” she said, laughing that laugh again. I knew I was in trouble.

Usually, when I hear this particular devious laugh, I look behind me. Or, I check to see if she is clutching cleverly concealed water balloons. DogDog knows this laugh, too. It means he will have to work very hard, go through all of his tricks, probably twice, before getting the cookie that she holds just above his reach.  He always looks to me for support and I tell him, “You are on your own, Dogga.”  I know better than to redirect her brat impulses on to me.

And so, like DogDog, I guessed. And guessed again. And again. I did tricks. I searched my folio site. With each wrong guess, her pleasure at my bewilderment increased, her laughter goading me on. I looked to DogDog for help. He dropped to the floor and pretended to be sleeping. I was on my own.

Finally, exhausted, beyond begging, she dropped a tiny hint. The painting no longer exists.

Thanks to Skip I’ve made it a practice of taking process shots which means Kerri has made it a practice of mining my process shots. Many of my paintings don’t make it to the finish line. They are either not composed well, are ill conceived from the start, or I overwork them and have to scrub them and start over. Sometimes they serve as rough drafts and i abandon them when I see the better path. This morsel comes from one of those – a painting that did not make it. It was poorly laid out. It broke the rule of thirds (and I didn’t want to cut the canvas to correct the problem).

Kerri jumped up and down with joy when I put it together. She knew that she was going to re-introduce a painting to me. She knew, given the right framing, I’d see the beauty of the unfinished piece. So, the morsel: Mountain in Yellow Sky. And, for my purposes, the beauty in the loose painting that no longer exists: Together On The Beach.

 

It is potent blow-back to help me see the old anew. When I said, “I think I need to learn to stop painting sooner, to redefine for myself what is a rough draft and what is not.” she laughed that laugh again. The trouble I am in is so much bigger than I understand.

 

 

 

 

 

MOUNTAIN IN YELLOW SKY products we’ve designed are sold at society6.com

mountain in yellow sky product box BAR jpeg copy

 

read Kerri’s blog post about MOUNTAIN IN YELLOW SKY

www.kerrianddavid.com

 

mountain in yellow sky/on the beach ©️ 2018 david robinson & kerri sherwood

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Fruit Or No Fruit?

Posted on January 2, 2013 by davidrobinsoncreative

664. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I have a photograph of my grandfather dressed as Yasser Arafat. It was taken many years ago when he wintered in Florida at a trailer park for seniors. When I first saw the photo I thought he was dressed as Mother Theresa. He was standing in the middle of a group of elderly ladies dressed as harem girls but I missed the context completely. “Why was grandpa dressed as Mother Theresa?” I asked. “Things were wild in that park,” my dad said without raising his eyes from the newspaper. He turned the page and added, “They were always up to mischief in that place. It was crazy.”

My mother came over to look at the picture. “That’s not Mother Theresa, he’s Yasser Arafat,” she said, pointing out the picket sign grandpa was holding. It read, “Cheap Oil!” I’d wondered why Mother Theresa was holding a sign about oil but decided not to ask; there are some things in life that are best left unknown. Grandpa had a smirk on his face (isn’t that an interesting phrase! Like he had a bit of food on his lip, he was eating a smirk and left some traces on his face…). I recognize that smirk because it’s the same look I get on my face when I am up to no good – which is not often. I’m a very serious guy. Really.

“Was this Halloween? I asked. I like the idea of my grandparents trick-or-treating. “No, this must have been New Years,” my mother said. “Yeah, one year he was in a big diaper because they chose him as the New Year’s baby,” my dad said, licking his finger and turning the page. “Do you remember the time he was Carmen Miranda?” mom asked. “Good god!” my dad exclaimed, “He looked funny! Was that Carmen Miranda?” “I don’t know,” she replied, making a cup of tea, “He wore fruit, didn’t he?” My dad looked up from his paper, puzzled.

“No wonder I have an inner sociologist.” I thought, watching my mother slowly dip her tea bag trying to remember if grandpa had fruit on his head before she continued, “Maybe he was Mae West.”

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