Come Home [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

I don’t know why but this photograph reminds me of a song by Dan Fogelberg:

End of October
The sleepy brown woods seem to
Nod down their heads to the Winter.
Yellows and grays
Paint the sad skies today
And I wonder when
You’re coming home…

Old Tennessee from the album Captured Angel. I played this album – this song – over and over again when I was painting. I could sing loud in my studio because no one could hear me. So, permission to sing horribly and with gusto. My fantasy musician fulfilled!

Woke up one morning
The wind through the window
Reminded me Winter
Was just ’round the bend.
Somehow I just didn’t
See it was coming

It took me by surprise again.

It was present with me the moment she took the picture and showed it to me. “Lookit!” she said. “It looks like a glimmer wand!” A glimmer wand. A wish ready to be granted. And the lyrics began running through my mind. A song of loneliness. A song of yearning.

End of October
The sleepy brown woods seem to
Nod down their heads to the Winter.

Yellows and gray
Paint the sad skies today
And I wonder when
You’re coming home
I wonder when you’re coming home.

Later, looking at the photograph, I realized that we – Kerri and I – are singing a song of yearning. We are awaiting the glimmer wand, the wish to be granted. A coming home. A return to ourselves. Lost jobs, broken wrists, all wrapped up in a global pandemic…Artistry as we knew it went missing. The life that we knew was lost.

For awhile we waited in silence. And then we went looking. And now, we know better. There is and never will be a return to what was. It cannot be found. Rather than seek for what was lost, we realized that it’s time to get acquainted with what is. Not artistry as it was but as it is. As it will be. Learning anew who we are. Now.

This life! As Kerri would say (in her cartoon self): “Sheesh!”

Somehow I just didn’t
See it was coming

It took me by surprise again.

read Kerri’s blog post about GLIMMER WAND

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Take The Curve [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I understand that there are no straight lines in nature. In life, either. Curves, bumps, potholes…surprises… are the spice of an interesting life. A full palette experience. Note: I did not write “an easy life.” Easy is a one-color painting.

That there are no straight lines in life or in nature (same thing) makes this warning sign something of a curiosity. If there are only curves of varying degrees, why warn me that there is a curve coming. I’m presently standing in a curve. There will be a curve after the upcoming curve. And another after that.

I’d be much more interested if the sign warned me of smooth sailing ahead. Or calm waters. Or momentary peace.

I suppose I’m less interested in the geometry of my travels and more concerned with the quality of my journey. I understand that the sign is attempting to help me manage my expectations, moderate my speed, prepare for what’s ahead; it’s a type of crystal ball. It knows what the future holds if I continue on this path.

I already know that there is a curve ahead. I have no expectation of straight paths. Or narrow paths, for that matter. I do, however, expect to be surprised. Although there is no sign in yellow and black warning me of the beauty, I understand that there’s an amazing vista ahead, somewhere just beyond the curve.

read Kerri’s blogpost about CURVES

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Chase A Ghost [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

The question came in through our site from a man who was instrumental in Kerri’s decision to record her compositions. A voice from her past asking a good question.

There are many surface answers to his question. In our case, all would be applicable: to give voice to our thoughts, to build a community, to call attention to our work…This morning, as I ponder his question, I think the purpose of a blog, my blog, might be to chase ghosts.

I began blogging utterly convinced that I had very little of value to say. I’d never considered myself to be a writer. It was a challenge I set for myself. Actually, I had one thing to say and decided I would, every day, attempt to write about it until I ran out of gas. I calculated that the tank would run dry in less than seven days. I was chasing the elusive ghost known as voice. My voice.

The interesting thing about ghost-chasing is that it makes you pay attention to everything. Ghosts can come at you in an instant from any direction and disappear just as quickly. Sometimes you can’t see them at all but feel intensely their icy presence. That was the first thing I learned in my voice-ghost-pursuit: I was paying careful attention, inside and out. It was not intense, not a strain or a struggle. I didn’t have to try. It was natural.

Not surprisingly, paying attention gave me more and more to write about, more to reflect upon. More to offer. “Have you seen this? Do you understand it?”

Chasing ghosts is a great question stimulator. Ghosts are curious and require all manner of suspension of disbelief so they are also terrific curiosity-energizers. Among the first line of questioning is about your self: your perceptions, your beliefs, your ideas of who you are and who you are not. It’s nearly impossible to write about others without exposing your self. Voice chasing leads to an astounding realization: the self/other boundary is permeable. We come to know ourselves relative to how well we know others. We only know our voice because someone out-there is listening and, hopefully, giving voice in return. Contrast principle.

Our basement is unusual in that it has box-after-box of unsold CD’s – the hard evidence of the music industry making a quick pivot to streaming services. The stacks of my unsold paintings take up an entire room. Our filing cabinets are filled with ideas and manuscripts and songs-not-yet-recorded. There are folios of cartoons that didn’t quite make it to syndication, folios of ink gestures, watercolors, and sketches. Another kind of ghost: the work of years past. When we met and married, we began blogging together, originally to try and call attention to the voice-of-work-past-but-not-yet-sold. That ghost, a very sad ghost, quickly left us; the joy of writing together each day overcame the initial intention.

The joy of writing together. We no longer chase the ghost of voice. It was here all along (of course). Now-a-days, we pursue a much simpler spirit: the gift of paying attention, the pure surprise of what shows up when we dive into and write about our daily prompt. “You go first,” I say, since she is wiggling with excitement to read what she just wrote.

read Kerri’s blog about WHAT IS A BLOG?

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Count The Surprises [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

The weather by the lake is often different than a mile inland. While the rest of our area was buried in snow, we had slush fall from the sky. This was not graupel or sleet. It was as if the 7-Eleven-in-the-sky opened the Slurpee nozzle and it filled up our back patio with slushy like a kiddie pool. Only the color wasn’t neon lime. And then it froze. I grew up in snow country. I’ve lived all over this nation. I’ve never seen Slurpee pour from the heavens. It was a surprise.

The second surprise was even more curious and beautiful. When it froze, the slush formed into polka-dots. Ice circles similar to the phenomena that occasionally occurs on the lake. I’m certain there’s a meteorologist out there who can explain what happened in our back yard – and it’s on my list to investigate – but for now I want to sit in the awe of the tiny circles.

The third surprise came with the blizzard and deep freeze that followed the next day. Again, our area was buried in snow yet we had nary an inch. What we did have was a waterfall that poured in the back door. Lovely and cold. Definitely surprising. I opened the door to let Dogga out and stared through the streaming water – as if I was standing behind a waterfall. Only then did I realize that my feet were soaked. And then I realized that in the sub-zero temperatures, the waterfall was quickly freezing. Kerri met my soaking wet excitement, “We have a problem!” with her usual stoicism. It arises in crisis moments. She took one look at the waterfall, yawned and said, “Ice damming.”

And then she went to boil water. Focus on the solution and not the problem.

We spent the entire day on ladders, pouring the boiling water and using a hair dryer and rubber mallet on the roof of our house, breaking the dam, and draining the reservoirs that formed behind them. Ice damming usually involves the gutters but not this time. Those ice circles, the miracle delivered by Slurpee from the sky and subsequent freeze, made a perfect wall of ice running the length of the roofline.

It was the fourth surprise, something I’d never seen before. The dam was my least favorite and the most labor intensive, but I have no complaints. In a world awash in “same-old-same-old,” I can say with confidence that this week was nothing less than a festival of the unexpected, a celebration of surprises. Who wouldn’t be grateful for that!

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read Kerri’s blogpost about SURPRISES

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See Hope [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

The sun had set. The pond lights aglow. The night was quiet with occasional bursts of the cicada chorus. We were exhausted from the day. I saw its silhouette when Dogga ran his usual circuit by the pond. It leapt across the light and plopped into the water. A frog.

“What are you doing?” Kerri asked as I jumped from my chair.

“But it’s late September!” I said. She narrowed her eyes, my reply too random for synapse connection. “I just saw a frog!” I announced and she was instantly by my side. We stayed by the water for several minutes, searching, but saw no further sign. “I didn’t imagine it,” I whispered. “I saw it. We have a frog.”

“I know.”

I’d like to say that we didn’t need some sign of hope, some whisper of encouragement, but it would be a lie. This unlikely frog, coming so late in the season, seemed like a sign or at least we decided to make it so. “Things are going to change for the better,” she said. I nodded. I was so tired I wanted to blubber with giddy-frog-inspired-relief.

“I’ll take my hope anyway I can get it,” I said.

“That’s what we should name it!” she replied. “Hope.”

Yes. Hope. A silhouette flashing across the light on an otherwise quiet dark night. A leap. A glimpse. And suddenly, anything is possible.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE FROG

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Expect Surprise [David’s blog on DR Thursday]

Hiding in the cornfield that currently grows beneath our bird feeder is a sweet morning glory. The pop of pale blue drew our attention. “Where did this come from?” I asked. “Maybe a morning glory seed was mixed in with the bird seed.”

Kerri rolled her eyes. “Maybe a bird brought it,” she said.

“A landscaping bird!” I reveled. “The blue accent does wonders for the corn.”

The surprise morning glory reminded me of the frogs that used to appear from nowhere in our little pond. There are very few routes to our pond that don’t include a ride on a bird or other form of critter transport. I can’t imagine the frogs made a dedicated pilgrimage to our pond though that’s not a bad idea for a children’s book. It’s been a few years since we had a surprise-frog-in-residence and we miss them.

Cultivate your surprise. It was among the teachable notions that the younger version of me used to peddle to clients. Cubicle sitting, rote learning, the daily grind…can dull your eyes and lead you to believe that today is just like yesterday. It’s not. Frogs appear in ponds. Pale blue calls from the corn. Insights come. People smile and offer a hand. Old friends appear from nowhere.

In one of the social streams I read that entering the day with a simple shift of language, from “today I have to” to “today I get to”, can change your world. The power of language is the power of perception. Decide what you see. Entering a mystery is much more fun than stepping into a rerun. The same idea bubbles beneath cultivating surprise. Expect each day to be filled with surprise. Look for it and you will find it. A pop of blue in the corn. A frog from nowhere. An opportunity knocking. Where will the next surprise come from?

I couldn’t help myself. This is Eve. 48x48IN, Acrylic on panel. A surprise apple;-)

read Kerri’s blogpost about MORNING GLORY

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Give A Heart Lift [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

We found a quilted heart. Gently fluttering in the breeze, colorful splashes suspended from a limb, we stopped and said simultaneously, “What’s that?” The truth: we needed a heart lift that day. It was why we were on the trail in the first place. This little quilted heart did the trick.

For me, the story gets better. Suspended from the heart was a note: I need a home. The note included a site: ifaqh.com. We were happy to give the quilted heart a home. We were eager to visit the site. What we found gave us yet another lift. From a simple origin story, people all over the world are making quilted hearts and leaving them in public places for others to find – for no other reason than to bring joy to a stranger, to give their heart a lift.

Simple goodness spreads. Brighten someones day and they will do the same. Read some of the stories written by people who found a quilted heart. They will give you a lift, too.

My favorite phrase on the site is on the About page: IFAQH has had a few minor changes over the years, but our heart is to keep it simple, anonymous, random, and neutral with no hidden agenda. Simply leave hearts in a public place for a random stranger to find to brighten their day

Simple. Anonymous. Random. Neutral. No hidden agenda. Now, isn’t that a refreshing intention in a world obsessed with garnering accolade and attention!

“What did you do today?”

“I brought light to someone’s life.”

“Whose life?”

“Does that really matter?”

read Kerri’s blog about A QUILTED HEART

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Follow The Popcorn Trail [on DR Thursday]

More than a decade and a half ago, a friend, a mystic, gave me a short-hand for my ikigai, my life-purpose. We were having a casual conversation when she got that look in her eyes. Nodding to some whispering voice I could not hear, she turned to me and said that she saw no career for me. Mine to do, my job, had (has) three aspects: to express what is true, to reach people through their hearts, to help them to believe (in themselves).

I confess to being a bit distraught at the “no career” part of her message. “What about my career as an artist?!” I wanted to protest but kept my panic to myself. I wanted her to ask the future a surprisingly pertinent question: In the absence of a career, how will I make a living? I kept that question to myself, too. I knew what she was telling me was true. Apparently I will bushwhack my way through life to the very end.

I thought about our conversation, her message to me, this morning while staring at Kerri’s photograph of green teasel. Staring at our prompts I never know what will pop into my mind. I never know what popcorn trail I will follow when we sit down to write. I am constantly surprised by the memory or idea that reveals itself. It’s akin to consulting the oracle: Why did this memory flood my heart and overtake my mind while staring at green teasel? It’s why I love writing our posts: the cultivation of surprise.

Looking back I have to admit that the whispering voice was spot on. When we write – and we write together every day – my hope is to reach people through their hearts. We laugh because I am much more “heady” in my writing than Kerri, who is all heart. Perhaps the whispering voice saw clearly our daily dedication to writing. Expressing my truth in word and image. It is the singular constant in my otherwise seemingly incoherent passage.

Wild teasel is a medicinal plant. In an age before modern medicine I would have sought it to treat my Lyme Disease. It’s an anti-inflammatory so I’d make a tincture to help my aching joints. I’d be filled with the wisdom of self-healing, connected to and grateful for the plants that surround me.

Perhaps that is why wild teasel inspired a memory of my mystic friend? An oracle. Nature’s healing. The sagacity of hindsight. Grateful for the wisdom and good hearts that surround me. The willingness to follow the popcorn trail, especially when it makes absolutely no sense, but knowing in my bones that it will lead to a delightful surprise: a memory of Ikigai revealed. A worthy life-purpose that can only be found in giving your gift to others.

read Kerri’s blogpost about TEASEL

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Labor For Surprise [on DR Thursday]

I designed the set using a David-Hockey color palette. Rich and vibrant. A gifted scenic artist brought my renderings to life. I was concerned. Sometimes what looks good on paper does not scale well. Sometimes scaling up fulfills the promise. Dreams are that way, too. You can’t possibly know a good idea is genuinely good until you give it a try.

I moved from California to Seattle. When I first arrived in Seattle I took my paintings to many, many galleries hoping to find representation. I was excited to be in a city with a mature art scene. I was ready to scale up my career. The response was unanimous: my paintings were too vibrant. Too much color. As a kindness, one gallery owner suggested that my paintings were appropriate for a California audience but would never sell in Seattle. Apparently the cloudy skies and reputation for rain dampened en masse the local appreciation of color.

I was deflated but undeterred.

After a season or two in Seattle my color palette was noticeably different, toned down. The ubiquitous rain naturally muted my spectrum of color. There’s no telling what will happen when lofty dreams hit the hard work of reality. It’s unpredictable. The labor of surprise. Once I was sufficiently color-muted, everyday, every-single-day for 15 years, I showed paintings in galleries, in coffeehouses, in theatre lobbies, in studios, in pop-up shows…

I left Seattle when I met Kerri. I knew immediately that she was The One. Early on, before I actually moved, as we were driving around town, I wondered if my art-life would survive in this new place. I wondered if it was time for me to scale down. The same rule that applies to scaling up also applies to the opposite direction. It was new territory. My dream had never included the idea of trimming. From this vantage point I can safely say that I had no idea how hard it would be and no idea of the abundant changes – that brought simple abundance – this move would bring.

Yesterday Jen asked, if we had life to live over again, and money wasn’t an option, would we make the same choices. Kerri and I laughed heartily at the money-part. This path has been hard – so far, money hasn’t been an option – but we were unanimous and immediate in our response: I wouldn’t – we wouldn’t – change a thing. This dream was and continues to be a genuinely good idea, regardless of scale, filled to the brim with vibrant color and the hard labor of surprise.

cloud watchers, acrylic on canvas, 20×49.5IN, © circa 2002

My still-as-yet-unfinished-because-I’m debating-the-how-what-and-why-of-my-life-website

read Kerri’s blogpost about PEONY RAIN

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Look Closer [on KS Friday]

As the cowboy rode passed us he asked if we’d noticed the Mayapples. We laughed. This same cowboy, a few years ago, taught us about the Mayapples. He’d forgotten but seemed pleased when we reminded him. “That cowboy loves his Mayapples,” I said as he rode on down the trail.

We see each other through soda straws. A few brief encounters, a man on a horse dressed as if he just rode in from Wyoming, a lover of Mayapples. I really know nothing of his story or the realities of his life. I thought about him as we continued our walk. He might be a surgeon or a professor of botany. He might be an apparition. I doubt that “cowboy, lover of Mayapples” is the totality of his identity. I have many story-possibilities rolling for the cowboy, yet, my bet is that I’d be surprised if I had more than a straw’s view into his life.

Most of our judgments about others is a result of the straw’s view. We are master storytellers and only require the slightest prompt to spin a full tale. We see a 30 second news spot and believe we have the complete story of someone’s life. I suspect most of what we fear about other people is mostly soda-straw concoction. Laura Blumenfeld’s book, Revenge, is a great reminder of what is possible when the soda-straw view, the assigned role, expands into a full human portrait. A closer look always reveals a richer human story.

Later down the trail I howled with laughter. We’ve been fans of the Mayapple since our first encounter with the cowboy yet never knew there was a blossom hidden beneath the canopy of leaves. “Oh, my god!” Kerri exclaimed, lifting the broad leaf, exposing the white bloom. We lifted a few more leaves, each hiding a surprise flower. “I had no idea!” we chirped in unison.

“Have you noticed the Mayapples?” asked the cowboy. Apparently not.

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about MAYAPPLES

nurture me/released from the heart © 1995 kerri sherwood