Stack The Impossible [on Merely A Thought Monday]

We watched the video of Jaxon climbing the ladder of the red plastic slide. His momma said, “Is that your big boy slide?” Jaxon said, “Big boy slide.” Pandemonium. “He said it!” his father exclaimed, “I think he said it!”

Big boy slide. A first phrase. The moment when what’s necessary becomes what’s possible. It’s something we take for granted every day. The utter impossibility of spoken language. Sounds uttered in sequence that somehow make sense. Of course, we’re also quite capable of stringing together sounds that make nonsense, too. Soon, Jaxon will ask his parents for the keys to the car and a wholly different kind of pandemonium will let loose. From climbing a ladder to driving the Volvo. The impossibilities stack one upon the other.

My mother is adjusting to life without my dad. She says often, “I don’t think I can take it, this loneliness.” She is doing what is necessary. In our last chat, she spoke of playing pickleball, of taking a walk, of meeting a friend for tea. Moving with intention out of the apartment to meet other people. The moment when the necessary becomes what’s possible. She will, I am confident, live her way into the impossible.

The impossible rarely happens in a snap. We live our way into it. Jaxon’s pronouncement and subsequent trip down the big boy slide was a long time coming, a step in the process worthy of celebration. And then, the miracles will keep coming. Full sentences. He’ll learn to write. Someday he’ll write love letters and drive the car to pick up his date. He’ll ask someone to marry him. The art of the impossible. This life.

And, the most amazing of the impossibilities, as we stack our lives with the formerly inconceivable, we grow less and less capable of seeing it. Perhaps that is necessary? How would we exist if we saw each other as keepers of the impossible? Experiencers of the unimaginable?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE IMPOSSIBLE

Let Me Bring Peace [on DR Thursday]

croppedandsharpenedINSTROFPEACE copy

I identify the chapters of my life through specific paintings. There was the era of August Ride. There was the era of Shaman. Iconic marks a remarkable and productive period. This morsel is from An Instrument of Peace. It is the painting that marks the most recent phase, a creative left turn when alphabets and images ran together. It marks a time of paradox, tighter constraints and spontaneous freedoms, a time when I wandered lost in the only place I’ve ever known as home.

Midway through the painting process, working fast and loose, I picked up my charcoal and scribbled in one long string of letters The Prayer of St. Francis. I randomly repeated some words and phrases, ran them off the canvas.  I sealed them in acrylic, smudging some of the characters.

Just like all the others, I knew An Instrument of Peace was a life-marker when I painted it. I knew it was the end of a cycle, a little death. Now, as I work and wait patiently for the new cycle, sometimes I go into my studio and tack this very large painting on the wall and sit with it. In this era of division and discord in our country, I think there might not be a better aspiration, a more relevant sentiment than this painting and poem suggest: where there is hatred, let me bring love.

 

read Kerri’s blog post about PEACE

 

www.kerrianddavid.com

 

peace/an instrument of peace ©️ 2018/2015 david robinson & kerri sherwood

August Ride

 August Ride

 

ELDERS

Shaman