Let The Show Begin [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

She only calls me “Schnuckums” in the cartoon. It makes me laugh every time, the nuance in this alternate-cartoon-reality of ours.

What is true in both realities is the delight I take in our fashion shows. She regularly asks my opinion about her clothes, “This or this?” Sometimes it’s about her shoes, “These or these?” It’s a riot when we are in the ladies clothing section of a store because other women stare in horror when Kerri asks my opinion – and then their mouths drop open when I actually answer with something aesthetic…style-informed…and not merely a caveman grunt.

Once, when we were shopping for new jeans, she came out of the dressing room and asked, “Do these make my butt look big?” and a women emerged from the next dressing room and said, “Girl! Big butts are in!”

Imagine my dilemma.

read Kerri’s blogpost about FASHION SHOWS

like. share. support. subscribe. comment. many thanks!

None. Nada. [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s not that we are inept or anti-tech. We are not. We are mostly savvy and can generally figure things out. When we can’t, we have a 12 year-old cultural-informant on standby who can guide us through the maze of complexity.

One of the promises of technology is to make our lives easier. Often that is true. Often it is not. I have found that being inundated in a 24/7 firehose of information with multiple competing channels, services and choices and changes and updates, password-password-do-you-remember-the-password, resets, google searches for clues, revamps and rolling technological improvements…life is not easier. Too much is too much. Too fast is too fast. And, let’s face it, much of what is out there is noise. It’s impossible to fill the belly of a 24/7 hungry ghost with brain-or-heart-nutritional substance.

We don’t watch much tv. But, when we do, we don’t want to spend an hour scanning or searching or retrieving or updating the app. I confess to fondly recalling the days of three channels, an on-and-off switch and a remote with a single button. I also like the feel of turning pages in a book and have been eye-rolled a time or two for saying it.

Here’s the bottom line: I have limited time on this earth and don’t want to lose it looking for something to watch.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CHOICES

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

like. share. subscribe. support. comment. (wow! only five choices;-)

Work On It [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

In my pre-Kerri-era, I took a 20 minute power nap every afternoon. I’d hit the studio floor at about 3:15, snooze like a champ, and be ready to go for the rest of the day. All that changed when I moved east. All of my work patterns and life patterns changed.

Although she definitely does not see herself as a nap person, occasionally, after a loooong night awake, I have been able to coax her into a dedicated-nap-fest. And, as a rule, she is fast asleep before my head hits the pillow. It tickles me. I confess: I am plotting to expand her definition of herself to include more naps. I tell her it’s a sign of sophistication. I tell her naps are sign of arriving at adulthood. I’ll tell her anything as long as we eventually arrive at the return of the power nap. The only thing better is a good hot bath.

In time. I’m working on it.

read Kerri’s blogpost about NAPS

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

like. share. comment. subscribe. support. we thank you!

My Wise-Eyes [David’s blog on KS Friday]

We were awake in the middle of the night. I don’t mind these doughnut holes in our sleep because we tend to have heart-to-heart chats. In the dark hours we reach deep into reflection and yearning. We ponder. Last night we talked about our writing. The differences in our styles, what we have learned from each other, how we are becoming better-and-better writers because we write side-by-side, share our work and edit each other.

Every artist needs a person to view or read their work who is completely honest. No energy need be spent protecting the artist-ego. In the theatre that person is called “wise-eyes.” And, in order to take full advantage of the wise-eyes, the artist needs to have open-ears capable of hearing honest reflection. It’s a relationship of deepest trust: “Tell me what you think, see, hear…” Wise-eyes are hard to come by.

Last night, as we talked, I was suddenly overwhelmed by my good fortune: we can – and do – talk about anything. I trust her feedback and insights implicitly. She has my best interests at heart and I have hers. And so we grow. I married my wise-eyes.

The gorgeous shock of dried flowers against an impressionist’s blue sky. I would never see this image were I to walk on my own. And that’s the point. She has me opening my eyes to look at the world in ways that do not come naturally to me. Paradoxically expanding my view to include the close-in, the detail. My head is usually in the esoteric clouds. My wise-eyes-wife is teaching me to also look down, to plant my feet on the ground, to (as she says) “gear-down”. To challenge my idea of what comes naturally. I am becoming a much better artist for it.

Untitled Interlude/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 DRIED FLOWERS AND BLUE SKY

like. share. support. subscribe. comment. thank you.

Count On It [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

It’s true. There’s rarely been a punch-clock in either of our careers. No one who actually holds the service imperative of a mission-driven-not-for-profit counts minutes and hours because it would only serve to confirm what you already know: if you are good at what you do, you’re working for pennies-per-hour. There’s a reason it’s called a not-for-profit. There’s a reason they call it a service organization instead of a business. Those folks dedicated to the gods of efficiency and effectiveness, those bottom-line devotees, can never fully grok it. It’s almost impossible to see actual service through an accounting focus and a forest of numbers. It’s very possible – in fact, predictable – to strangle a service organization by attempting to make it run like a business.

It’s also true that we used to be night owls. There was a time that my best work, my most productive time in the studio, began at 10pm and ended with the sunrise. There was a time when we took midnight walks. Now, we are transformed. Night is for sleeping. Or at least the attempt at sleeping. We delight (I exaggerate) in rising at the crack of dawn, the birds sing us awake. Dedicated 9-to-5’ers!

read Kerri’s blogpost about 9-to-5

like. support. subscribe. share. come out of hiding if you have something to say: comment.

buymeacoffee is an online tip-jar capable of feeding the creative production of the artists and thinkers you appreciate.

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

We took a walk to clear our heads. There, on an embankment adjacent to the trail, were daffodils in full bloom. The yellow was shocking. They were so vibrant that they stopped us in our tracks.

They were so unexpected that they tossed us out of our dilemma-of-the-day and infused us with their quiet hope. We didn’t stay for long but we did take their inspiration home with us.

Such a small thing. Such a generous and timely blossom.

read Kerri’s blogpost about DAFFODILS

like. share. support. comment. subscribe. thank for any and all.

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

It’s true. When one of our children alerts us that they are coming for a visit, life as we know it instantly enters a high-energy-whirling-dervish phase. Kerri begins spinning so fast that she blurs. Dogga and I seek cover.

Eventually, a list of assigned duties comes flying from the tornado. A small piece of paper lands at my feet. I try to make sense of the instructions that whip out of the whirl but sound travels slower than my bride and, in her spinning, I can only catch every third word. With my list in hand and a puzzle of instruction, I begin my tasks, careful to stay out of the path of the funnel-cloud-of-excitement whizzing about the house.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE VISIT

like. support. share. comment.

buymeacoffee is easily less dangerous than kerri cleaning house.

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

like. share. support. comment. thanks.

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

Uncover The Story [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

Cleaning out, for Kerri, has been like an archeological-story-dig of her life. I am a relative newcomer to the house and came with a truckload of paintings and not much else, so we are mostly excavating her life before me. Sometimes there is a gasp. Sometimes hysterical laughter. Sometimes I know she has found something important because of the profound silence. Sometimes there are tears.

Always there are stories. Treasured stories. Memories stirred by the simplest of finds, a shirt, a cassette tape, a teething ring.

I am the lucky recipient of her story-archeology and delight every time I hear her say, “Come look at this.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TEETHING RING

like. share. support. comment. all are helpful. all are appreciated.

buymeacoffee is a story opportunity just waiting for you to say, “once upon a time…”

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

support. like. share. comment. many thanks.