The Question Of Orbs [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

“Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.” ~ Joseph Campbell

She told me this photograph was for me. My paintings often include orbs. I wasn’t aware of my orb-inclusion until the day many years ago that I showed Jim E. my paintings. He asked, “What’s up with the orbs?” Confused, I examined my own paintings. It was a hysterical moment of self-discovery.

At first I liked to think of the orbs as spirits. Guardians or messengers. I am an intuitive painter so I assigned some Glenda-the-good-witch sensibility to my ever-present orbs. Later, I imagined they represented unhatched possibilities or germinating ideas. I loved the idea that we are surrounded by bubbles of potential. Now, I have no story at all for them. I like them. They are there. They make me happy. They make compositional sense.

Last night we discussed our broken road path to each other. If this or that had changed, would we have found each other? Would we be living entirely different lives? From this vantage point, our meeting was all but impossible. At the time, what seemed like the worst possible thing – life collapsed in both of our stories – nudged us to somehow bump into each other. Two bubbles in a vast universe.

Now, joy is burning out the pain.

Perhaps my orbs are homage to the wonder of bubbles in the universe? A nod to the unanswerable question of my life path – ours or any life path: is it random or is it destiny?

“Whatever your fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, ‘This is what I need.’ It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment–not discouragement–you will find the strength is there…” ~ Joseph Campbell

Meditation, 48″x48″, mixed media

JOY, 50″x56″, mixed media

read Kerri’s blogpost about ORBS


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Love The Question [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

After an interminable stretch of frigid days the temperatures finally rose enough to venture out. Grateful, we bundled up and headed to a trail. In the five miles we walked, on a path that is in no way remote, we saw at least 10 deer. At one point two of the herd stepped onto the path and scrutinized us. We stared at them and they stared at us.

It’s been true all my life that when animals cross my path or show up in unusual ways I take note and later research their symbolism. I like the idea that nature is communicating with me. I like the feeling that nature is sending me messages, reinforcement, guidance. Is it a game I play with myself or a core belief? I have arrived at a moment in my life-walk that I no longer need an answer to the question. I simply love the question.

We have an old wooden glider in our living room. Somehow, outdoor furniture made its way inside. We sit on it every afternoon. It’s become the place where we debrief life, where we have deep-diving conversations. Lately on the glider we’ve been unpacking the past five years. Our previous half-decade has been fraught. It has been akin to the interminable polar freeze. Sitting on the glider, wine in hand, we appreciated that the deer symbolize, among other things, new beginnings. “If one deer represents regeneration and rebirth, what might it mean that we saw so many?”

It’s an excellent question to hold in our hearts. It’s a question filled with hope in a time rife with national unrest, fear and contention. We don’t need an answer. For now – and always – it’s enough to love the question, to live into the surprise, to welcome the possibility.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE DEER

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Upside Down and Wide Open [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Years ago I had a dream. It was visceral and has stuck with me. In my dream the world flipped upside-down. What was heavy was now light. What was difficult became easy. And vice-versa. What I once did effortlessly was suddenly impossible. I could move a mountain but I could not lift a paintbrush. I awoke from my dream both frightened and enthralled.

What is possible? What is impossible? These are good questions to ask on the threshold of a new year. Earlier this week I sat down to write some intentions for the new year and the page is still blank. I’ve decided it is best to leave the possibilities wide open. A blank page has become my intention.

This morning a quote by Noam Chomsky rolled across my screen: “If you assume that there is no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope.”

I was entering 2025 with a sense of dread and then, in a matter of 24 hours, my picture for what’s possible completely flipped over. An unreachable opportunity sparked a series of heart-conversations. My heavy dread dissipated like fog meeting a warming sun. My eyes refocused on the essential instead of the periphery. I stepped across the dateline filled with hope.

Sometimes, when you least expect it, mountains move. Sometimes the world flips over. Sometimes dreams come true.

Riverstone on the album AS IT IS © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about REFLECTIONS

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Scratches On The Wall [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Scratches on the wall. Petroglyphs, the only evidence that remains of a people who once lived in these canyons, who lived by the river we’ve named Fremont. We do not know if they had a name for the river. We do not know if they had a name for themselves. We call them the Fremont, after the river. A location name.

The Fremont River is named for an American explorer, John Charles Fremont, so the people who scratched pictures into the rock over 1,000 years ago also carry his name. As is the nature of history, we locate them from our point of view. We build an identity-structure and civilization-story about them based upon our story of them. We’ve placed them in our narrative timeline, 1 – 1300 CE. We have no idea how they thought of or marked their time.

We have no idea what became of them. They disappeared into time. We have no idea what the petroglyphs mean or why they scratched them into the canyon walls. We wonder at the semiotics, the inner symbolic life that produced such strange (to us) images that remain on the red rock walls.

This morning, through my COVID aches and chills, I watched the news. I would like to say that I am mystified by the civilization-story currently being spun and supported by half of my nation but I am not. I would like to say that the hatred and fear-mongering of the red hat tribe is as much a mystery to me as the way of the Fremont, but it is not. The concurrent xenophobia and wild-eyed-creation of an internal enemy (anyone not in a red hat) has roots that are all too easy to see. It’s a fascist popcorn trail, a page from Hitler’s handbook. The language is identical. The images, scratched into the red-fox-walls of our time are all too easy to interpret. A frightened and misinformed populace is easily manipulated. Fooled.

What is a mystery to me is the inner symbolic life of my nation’s conservatives that seem so ready to trade our sacred democracy for a populist authoritarian. What scratches on the walls of their minds are so easily storied into hatred. What has so hardened their hearts that they embrace with cheers the repulsive bile spewed by their candidate? It is as incomprehensible to me as the petroglyphs of the Fremont.

All societies disappear into time. Ours, relative to the Fremont, is still in its infancy. We can only hope that an explorer in some distant future finds our petroglyphs – and although a mystery to them, we will have known that we transcended the authoritarian threat and overcame the fox-fear-fantasy, manufactured hatred and dark lies. And, over the next thousand years, our scratches on the wall tell the tale of how we matured to fulfill the promise of our sacred ideals. Out of many, one.

read Kerri’s blogpost about PETROGLYPHS

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Beyond The Deception [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab]

I’m sure by now you’ve surmised that I am capable of a good rant. Early on in my blog-life I added a cleverly disguised category label, Rant, because, like you, I surmised that I am capable of a good diatribe. I don’t always archive my rants in the Rant category because I am human and not capable of admitting to myself how often I yada-yada. I admit it: I hide the evidence.

For Kerri, there is no place to hide. She is my constant audience and is subject to the full spectrum of my verbose disbelief (again, this is a good time to send her your condolences and heartfelt wishes).

Lately, in addition to the obvious abandonment of their brains, I am deeply saddened and alarmed by the reds’ ability to relinquish their hearts at the door. People have died, people are dying, living in fear, all due to the daily maga-lie-spew. That the river of claptrap is easily refuted makes no difference at all to the dedicated, seemingly brainless-heartless faithful. Their VP candidate admitted that they make stuff up and will do whatever it takes.

As Pete Buttigieg remarked, it’s sleight of hand. Deflection. While the media and the faithful are jammed up by the latest outrageous nonsense (nonsense drives ratings while truth is not nearly as profitable), we are missing the obvious. There is no there-there. In the angry hot air that inflates the baggy blue suit and too-long red tie, no real record of achievement can be found. No serious thought for anyone other than himself is detected. His “leadership” strategy consists of whipping up fear and division with conspiracy theory and baseless allegations all in pursuit of a Disney fantasy yesteryear. Smoke and mirrors. The daily chaos obscures his explicit plan to dismantle the Constitution.

Take a moment and look beyond the deception. The gasbag blather easily dissipates in the light of common sense.

My hope: that a few folks lost in the red-shame pick up their hearts and brains en route to the voting booth and we move forward into the possibility of this nation’s promise rather than backward into the frenzied mire.

read Kerri’s blogpost about RANTS

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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

I worked in or consulted with many schools and businesses. I was always amazed at how much the organization mirrored the personality of the principal or CEO. An angry boss always made for an angry organization. A bright light at the top of the org chart shone in every corner and heart of the community.

And so it goes for nations. This week I had two important calls with dear friends that I have not seen for over a decade. Both commented on the lightness of spirit they feel since Kamala Harris became the Democratic nominee for President. Hope is in the air. A leader who laughs. A candidate who speaks of opportunity, equality and possibility…The energy of optimism is palpable, the uplift is trickling down. You can feel it.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TRICKLE DOWN

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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What Makes Us Classics [David’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

For a little perspective: the body of her computer is a 2008. The brains are from 2012. That she has been able to keep it going for so long – and produced so much with it – is nothing short of a miracle. It is a horse-and-buggy in a freeway world.

Kerri is a child of the depression – a deep imprint left in her psyche by her parents – so she refuses to “buy new” until the old falls apart. As much as I have tried to explain that technology is not like clothes or appliances, they age differently, she maintains her stalwart determination to ride her computer until it fails. And, that day has come.

Lazarus had an easier job of coming back to life than will Kerri’s computer. But stalwart determination dictates that we must at least try to pull the spirit of her computer back from the void. It is with the same determination that she has recently managed, somehow, to publish five blog posts and one cartoon a week with her equally ancient iPad (refusing to touch my computer).

Stubborn determination. Brilliant work-arounds. Tech-death-denial, infrastructure collapse…is no obstacle. A husband who’s in awe of her perseverance, her unwavering belief in squeezing out the last drop of possibility, yet learned to hold his tongue, nod his head and support her dedication to try-try-again. That, dear ones, is what makes us classics.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CLASSICS

smack-dab © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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Peacehenge [David’s blog on KS Friday]

The stones are placed by human hands, as clearly as the menhirs at Stonehenge. For a moment I had the odd illusion that the smaller stones set in the amphitheater where once monolithic and time had worn them to nubs. Ancient remnants of once grande structures. A fingerprint.

At the Sanctuary, the standing stones are engraved with lyrics or wisdoms. I wondered at the human impulse to use stones – giant stones – as monuments. To memorialize. To ritualize. 4000 year old standing stones can be found in Asia, Africa, and Europe. Now they are found in North America – to be discovered by humans 4000 years from now. The lyrics may wash away over the centuries leaving our distant descendants a mystery: why did those people stand these stones in this place? What was the purpose of this henge?

It was no small task for people to erect the monoliths at Stonehenge. A mind-boggling task. Likewise, it was no small feat to create a sanctuary, a place inspiring inner-quiet in honor of a musician who sang of peace. I hope the lyrics do not wash away. I believe our distant descendants would find comfort in the discovery of a Peacehenge, proof positive that we were not all violence, divisive, warmongering and tumultuous but took the time to set standing stones in honor of a poet who believed in our better nature, who sang of goodwill and possibility.

Longing/As It Is © 2004 Kerri Sherwood

Hope © 2005 Kerri Sherwood

Kerri’s albums can be found on iTunes and streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about STONES

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A Message [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

This is a volunteer. A bright pop of color, a surprise tulip bloom showing up behind the garage.

The narrow space behind the garage is the place we toss old spinach and halo oranges. Strawberries and kale. It has long been part of the critter highway so we do our part as trail angels and leave the bunnies, chippies and opossums a road snack. I imagine one of the travelers brought a tulip bulb – wittingly or unwittingly – and the rest is blossom history. We love it. I consider it a message delivered from the furry world.

For some reason our tulip brought Tom McK to mind. As an educator he regularly expressed awe at the resilience of children: Their capacity to withstand and bounce back from tremendous difficulty was often breathtaking. Their ability to climb impossible personal mountains and yet somehow find the courage to smile. Pops of color showing up in impossible places.

And so, the furry world, in gratitude for our trail magic, have left for me an enormous gift. At a time that we are climbing a steep mountain, the critters have delivered a sweet message from Tom. A reminder. Climb the impossible mountain because you must – thereby transforming it into a tale of the possible – and don’t miss the vibrant color along the way.

“Take your time,” he’d say, smiling.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TULIPS

Tom and me a long time ago.

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Maple Dreams [David’s blog on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

Tiny helicopters capable of catching the wind and carrying the seeds of a maple, each a pod of wild-tree-possibility.

They require something more than luck to let-go and launch into space. With no control over the direction or force of the breezes, once aloft, they twirl to their seemingly random destiny. Some will find fertile soil and ample light. Most will not. The strategy of the mother tree is nothing more or less than to freely scatter potential, to litter the area with maple-dreams. The evolution of hope.

Some pods never launch just as some ideas never take hold. No matter. Creativity in all its permutations is an infinite game. The idea that lands in just the right spot at just the right moment may, in time, grow into a mighty tree. It may not. The perfection is in the process of plenty, not in the illusion of a single flawless ideal. “Throw many pots.”

On her piano is a notebook of songs and compositions. Hieroglyphs to me but she need only open her burgeoning notebook, decipher the magic writing, and play a song or composition capable of making me weep. Or smile. Or feel something so deeply that I lack words to express it. Her compositions are pods waiting to launch. Pages of plenty, ideas-in-sound, waiting for the force of the unpredictable wind to carry them…somewhere.

She is like the might-maple-mom. Freely scattering potential, littering our lives and those around us with ideas in word and music and paint. She’s so abundant – her idea-pods so ever-present – that we take them for granted. Each carrying the pip of a mighty potential, the germ of a forest of possibility. They are everywhere.

Some have found her intimidating and tried to constrain her promise, to lasso her imagination. Too bad.

Today she completes another spin around the sun. I can already see the next generation of magic seed pods forming. I can’t wait to see what wonder-of-her-spirit will take root and reach for the sky.

[happy birthday]

read Kerri’s blogpost about PODS

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