Aim The Magic Lens [David’s blog on KS Friday]

“That men do not learn the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons of history.” ~Aldous Huxley

You may be as amazed as I to learn that Dogwood is not Doll’s Eye. They have a similar creepy Seussian stare but are not kin. In this brave new world, all we need do is aim Google Lens at the question, “What is that?” and, voila! An answer!

I delight that I am living in the time of easy access to information. I could not write as I do without instant access to synonym and antonym, the lighting fast check-of-fact or spelling, the interesting variations-on-a-theme that pop up the minute I jump down a thought-rabbit-hole. Technology has made it possible for me to be a writer. Were I confined to pen and paper my output would be minimal and certainly impossible to read.

Easy information means easy misinformation. It means easy mass-misinformation. If I were the wizard of the universe I’d provide everyone with a Google Lens for information. All we’d need do is aim our magic lens at a pundit, news-bit or politician and, voila!” Accurate or Absurd or somewhere in between! It would make it fairly impossible to toss a lie into the commons and get away with it.

It’s not that I am enamored of just-the-facts. I’m not. I write stories so I prize a good dose of imagination. But in our time, knowing the difference – or caring about the difference – between fact and fantasy – is tantamount.

One of the great challenges of our brave new world is the intentional passing of fantasy for fact. For instance, Florida. If you are a student of history you’ll recognize in Florida (and, now, sadly, other states) the resurrection of the Lost Cause narrative, a history bending education initiative driven hard by the Daughters of the Confederacy at the conclusion of the Civil War. White supremacy sweeping its dark-side under the rug. Lipstick on a history pig.

I’m capable of imagining that my magic Google Info-Lens would put a stop to the cycle of non-sense but it’s starting to dawn on me that Aldous Huxley had it right: at this moment in history, we have the capacity to check every story, to look up every assertion, to scrutinize every source. It may not be as lightning fast as my imagined Lens but it’s close. We simply choose not to use it. It’s so much easier to believe without question than it is to question a belief.

“Huxley feared the truth would be drown in a sea of irrelevance.” Well.

Today on the trail I learned in a nanosecond that a Dogwood is different from a Doll’s Eye. I know it is possible to assert that slavery was on-the-job-training but it takes a dedicated-head-in-the-sand – and a heart full of ugly intention- to drown the truth of history in a sea of utter non-sense.

No lessons learned. No questions asked. Oops. Here we go again.

I Will Hold You (Forever and Ever)/And Goodnight, a lullaby album © 2005 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about Dogwood

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See A Gull [on KS Friday]

A Haiku

a scavenger bird.

opportunistic, seeker.

see! a gull am I!

The gulls congregate in the Kohls parking lot. We’re not sure why. It seems an unlikely spot for gulls to hang out. Hot pavement. No snacks. Cars coming and going. They camp en masse. Later in the day they exit in full voice and return to the marina. Make sense of that, I dare you!

Susan asked when caring-for-others left the building. I launched into a pedantic monologue that, even to me, sounded like the screech of a gull. Lots of noise, little helpful substance. Or, my diatribe mimicked the adults in a Charlie Brown special. Wah-wah, wah-wah. The sound of a preacher who thinks the path to deeper spirituality is through a map or a dry history lesson. A rule book. A witless shepherd caught lecturing the sheep. (baaaahhhhh)

I wondered what or who I might become if I dedicated myself to knowing nothing. What if I understood to my root that my opinion is just that…an opinion. Not a fact or a truth or blue-ribbon winner at the world-thought-fair. What if life needed no explanation?

What if there is no higher meaning to be found or greater mystery to be solved in the daily seagull pilgrimage to Kohls? What if, rather than seek a rationalization, I gave myself over to the wonder-of-it? What if Joseph Campbell had it right:

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive…”

take flight/this part of the journey © 1998 kerri sherwood

Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes or streaming on Pandora and iHeart Radio

read Kerri’s blogpost about SEAGULLS

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Dine With Jonathan [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I lost my copy of On Reflection by Jonathan Miller in one of my moves. He gave it to me. I treasured it both for the generosity of his gift but also a reminder of a night I had a casual dinner with an artistic giant. He was kind. And funny. And shared his ideas, thoughts and new work like an enthusiastic child. He listened intently to my ideas and thoughts like a fascinated friend. It is the mark of a great artist: humility. Healthy doubt. He loved his work and loved to share the exploration. He was brimming with questions.

I left that evening thinking, “I want that!”

That. Secure in my work. The playfulness of a child. The love of the exploration. The fearlessness to my bones knowing that each painting and every play is not an end in itself – not an achievement – but part of the dance of life on the playground called artist. Dedicated to asking questions. Dedicated to surfacing shared truth.

To Mary Oliver’s question, “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?” I say, I want that. Wild and precious.

That. It’s not an achievement; rather, it is a way of being. A practice. It alters Mary Oliver’s question: How will you be within your one wild and precious life?

Safe. Steady. Unshakable through dedicated practice. Arrived at through a lifetime of grace and humility. Or, perhaps, grace and humility arrived at through a lifetime of questioning. The certainty of doubt. That’s what I saw in Jonathan Miller that night. The paradox of the artist: security in vulnerability. To feel so safe as to play without inhibition. To express sans trepidation. To share and receive with equal enthusiasm.

It is a practice available when the artistry is no longer about the “I” but about the “we”. The bigger energy, call it what you will. It’s humbling. That.

read Kerri’s blogpost about REFLECTION

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Join The Receivers [on Two Artists Tuesday]

“…artists take delight in and care for their work, and we are thereby inspired to find delight in our own work.” – Alex Grey, The Mission of Art

Standing in front of the Atmospheric wave wall, an art installation at Willis Tower by Olafur Eliasson, I imagined how much fun he had creating it. Monumental. The colorful waves rolling up the side of a building. I wondered, if on visits to Chicago, he delights in watching the play his wave wall invokes in passers-by. I would. His work is spatial so it invites full-body engagement. I had to touch it and lean in against it. I had to put my face close to a wave and look up. The shock of vibrant red among the blue, purple and green made my eye dance across the vertical water.

It is one of the great joys of my life to be surrounded by artists: people who care for their work and find delight in it. David just completed a year-long project, a rewrite/updating of Six Characters In Search of An Author. He directed the first production of his new script. It was thrilling to witness his delight in the process. It was gratifying to watch how he navigated his doubt and fear. The delight and the fear go hand in hand.

It’s worth noting that caring so deeply for your work comes with a studied courage. There’s a very nice lie about bold artists throwing caution to the wind and creating without caring how their work is received. That, of course, is worthy of a press-release and works for image-branding but fully negates the point of artistry. In order for a work of art to be a work of art, it requires an audience. A giver and receiver. A loop of caring. The armor must come off. Expressing beauty or seeking truth is nothing if not a shared meaning and a shared truth. Artists may reach deep into themselves but the point is to engage and express meaning that comes alive beyond themselves and between others. Vulnerability is the secret sauce that connects the two into one.

I didn’t know about the Atmospheric wave wall until we rounded a corner and I saw people enthusiastically embracing it, standing back and craning their necks to take it in, gently moving forward to run their fingers along the wave ridges. The pull was immediate and I found myself joining the receivers of Olafur’s artistry. Armor down, hands planted firmly on the wall, we snapped a photo and I deeply appreciated his whimsy and moxie. Inspiration ripples to the sky!

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE WALL

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Turn Around And Look [on DR Thursday]

One little line gives reference to the whole. The horizon line. It is how we naturally – visually – orient in space. It is a baseline of perception. It’s the beginning of discernment.

It is a line that disappeared.

Among other things, art is a reflection of its time. In the past century, art leapt into the abstract. We are “post-modern”. Expressions of personal fantasy rule over community truth, a breaking apart of shared ideals, instant doubt of objective theories…we are mirrored in post-modern art. What is art? What is it not? There’s not a whit of agreement to be found.

General distrust is the beating heart of the post-modern ideal. Division, aggression, tribalism, conspiracy…are its blossoms. Our children perform active-shooter-drills in school; a performance we shudder to attend while our leaders smile and look the other way. Post-modernism at its finest. The absence of a baseline.

Shared truth, group trust, community…requires an undeniable horizon line.

What is up? What is down? What has value? What does not? What has merit? What is undeserving? There is a line. Where is it?

Walking through the antique mall, Brad and I discussed chatGPT. I’m playing with it; he’s using it in his work. It’s raising some very big questions. The questions are not new. They are the next step in a series of questions people have been asking for the past 30 years: what is true? A photograph was once proof that something happened. That hasn’t been true for a few decades. A video was once proof an experience occurred. That is no longer true. News – a word that once implied the accurate reporting of an event. No more. No horizon line.

Brad and I turned our discussion to a sorely missing quality in our times: discernment. In the absence of a horizon line, people will – and do – believe anything. We speculated that, with the introduction of chatGPT into our world, perhaps discernment will once again become important. Perhaps the complete absence of a truth-anchor will turn us toward a common center and require us to look at each other, to seek and restore general trust. The post-modern tide will someday turn and we will draw an old/new line in the sand: we’re-all-in-this-together.

I know, I know. Pie-in-the-sky. However, I’d like to point out that shared dreaming brought us here. Shared dreaming is how we stood on the moon. It is how we can talk to someone across the planet using a small device that fits in our pockets. When a dream becomes shared it becomes powerful. Manifest. A shared dream is a form of a horizon line.

If a shared dream isn’t powerful enough to establish trust, try remembering the other one; the original line of discernment. The line that invites curiosity. It need not be debated. Turn around and look. The horizon line is everywhere.

Four-by-Four, 48x48IN, acrylic, (sold)

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE HORIZON

4×4 © 2007 david robinson

See The Cycle [on Not So Flawed Wednesday]

I want to re-read Hermann Hesse’ book Siddhartha. Lately I’ve been thinking about cycles of nature, cycles of growth, cycles of life. Chaos-to-order and back again. Daylight-to-dark-night and back again. Nature, Hesse writes, is a self-fulfilling continuous cycle.

In the book, Siddhartha “achieves” illumination when he realizes the lesson of the cycle: that inside every “truth” is the potential for its opposite. Arrival is departure. Birth is death. Both/And.

The demands of language necessitate slicing single moments from the cycle. Isolating a “truth” from its opposite thereby fragmenting the wholeness inherent in the cycle. Slicing the cycle stops the fluid motion and calcifies the “belief,” making it hard, rigid in separation.

And then there’s this, the reason I want to re-visit the book. At the end of his life Siddhartha, as the ferryman, watches the river in full knowledge that what he sees moment-to-moment is never the same river. In the cycle, the moment is always unique. Both/And.

Standing on our trail, having stopped and witnessed many, many sunsets, the thought was so pure it swept the dullness from my eyes. This sunset is Siddhartha’s river. I’ve never seen THIS sunset or this forest or lived this moment. Quietly electric, I watched Kerri, caught in the beauty of the moment, point her camera as if for the first time toward the trees and the setting sun.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SUNSET

Ask A Useful Question [on Merely A Thought Monday]

“Answers are reassuring, but when you’re really on to something useful, it will probably take the form of a question.” ~ David Bayles & Ted Orland, Art & Fear

We read in the morning news about the exodus of teachers from the classroom. One paragraph in the story made me choke on my coffee. “In addition to having to deal with low pay, high student-to-teacher ratios, poor working conditions, post-pandemic learning loss, school shootings and social or emotional issues with students, teachers across the nation are also grappling with culture wars over what they can and cannot teach in the classroom.” (Rene Marsh, CNN, February 3)

If you’re like me, that short paragraph inspires a host of useful questions. To cite a “spurious”quote attributed to Thomas Jefferson, “An educated citizenry is a vital requisite for our survival as a free people.” One of my useful questions: why are we so fearful of an educated citizenry? The collapse of our public schools and teaching as a valued profession is not an accident. It takes a dedicated effort to undermine something so completely.

An educated citizenry asks good questions of its leaders. An educated citizenry would not be so easily duped by entertainment-posing-as-news. An educated citizenry would not fear its history or its future.

When we rounded the corner in the Milwaukee airport and saw the meditation room, it was like a magnet. It pulled me inside. An intentional place of peace! A quiet space for reflection. How rare in a place dedicated to hustle and bustle.

I was struck by the quote from the Talmud and carried it with me for days. To create peace, to experience peace, truth and justice must be not only be valued by the community, they must be lived by the community. Truth must be shared. Removing books from classrooms, gagging teachers from teaching the fullness of our history, does not change our history a whit. It does, however, soil our future, perpetuate the race to the bottom, and intentionally obfuscates truth. It creates discord by ignoring injustice.

As the Talmud quote instructs, in such a world, where truth is not valued, there can be no justice and, in the absence of justice, there is no capacity for peace.

Sustaining ourselves, surviving as a free people. Teachers are the stewards of our core values; theirs is a sacred obligation. And, the teachers are walking out of the schools. Here’s a useful question: Who could blame them?

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MEDITATION ROOM

Both/And [on KS Friday]

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” ~ Kahlil Gibran

Dwight sent a book to me: From Strength to Strength by Arthur C. Brooks. Several months ago at dinner we talked about how to make this next chapter of life the best chapter. As is my practice lately, I am reading it slowly, taking my time. I used to read like a hungry man eats; I gobbled information. Now I savor. I take one bite at a time and taste all of it. Someday soon we will talk about what I am discovering in the book. I’m only a few chapters in and already I’m rethinking my choices, considering different paths moving forward.

Pondering my next steps has also been an exercise of looking at where I’ve been. A lyric from Dan Fogelberg just ran through my mind [The Last Nail, by Dan Fogelberg]:

I left a trail of footprints deep in the snow
I swore one day, I would retrace them
But when I turned around, I found that the wind had erased them
Now I’ll never replace them

With distance it’s easy to see that some of the worst choices I’ve made in my life have also been the best choices I’ve made in my life. I can see that my desperation brought innovation. I can see the prison I made of my judgments and the hard truths necessary to unlock my cell door. I can see I needed a broken heart to arrive at an open heart.

With distance, I’m beginning to understand that no single experience lives in isolation. No day is either “good” or “bad.” No single period of my life defines the worth or wealth of my time on earth. No title, like “artist,” can wrap its fingers around the totality of my time. I am all of those things and none of those things.

On Monday, we interred Beaky’s ashes. She is with Pa in the national cemetery. We sang a song and then an attendant closed the niche. A journey’s end. Later that day I jumped off the back of a couch into a pile of pillows with a two year old, laughing, wiggling our toes. This wild-child is in full discovery mode, everything an adventure. A journey’s inception.

This life is achingly beautiful, each and every moment.

The entire album: Released From The Heart © 1995 Kerri Sherwood

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

read Kerri’s blogpost about HEART DIVOTS

Remember This Vivid Moment [on Merely A Thought Monday]

When we first met, we sat on the living room carpet staring into the fire, and talked the night away. The sound of the birds at dawn surprised us. I remember the coming light and sweet birdsong like it was yesterday.

A few days ago we sat on the living room carpet in the sun, and talked the afternoon away. Our quiet conversation reminded me of that very first night. Our topic in the winter sun: letting go of too-tightly-held-ideals. “Truth will out,” wrote Master Shakespeare in his Merchant of Venice. Our truth was out in quiet voices that brought affirmations of better days.

A story I once loved to tell was The Crescent Moon Bear. The heroine, a young wife, must go on a journey. She must leave all that she knows in pursuit of her purpose. Leaving all that you know is easier said than done. It doesn’t happen in a moment; it requires some sweet visitation of the past. “What was” as launching pad to “What will be.”

Before I left my studio in Seattle, I had to touch the walls, run my fingers along the sill. I knew I would never be back. Even in that moment, all I could remember was the goodness I experienced in that space. The refuge. The sanctuary. The creative fulfillment. The hard times I’d known there dissipated like mist.

What was. Krishnamurti wrote, “You can only be afraid of what you think you know.” I marvel that the hardships of my past soften into pastel remembrance, translated into useful lessons, while my future fears are as sharp as broken glass, monsters around the corner. Acute imagination.

I marvel that the generosities heaped upon my life are vivid and bring tears to my eyes just as they did the day that I first experienced them. Keen remembrances.

Sitting on the carpet, the low afternoon sun warming us, I realize that I will always remember this vivid moment. The day we opened our hands and let fly illusions. We both took a deep breath. New air rushed into the open space, Not knowing where we might now go or what we might now do, we sat in the waning light, surprised that the sun was setting so soon.

read Kerri’s blogpost about REMEMBERING

Ask A Better Question [on Merely A Thought Monday]

I just erased the post I’d written for today. We often write a few days ahead so we have time to reflect on or edit what we’ve written. We’ve learned that it’s a good practice to consider what you are about to spill into the world.

It’s a good practice because it affords us the opportunity to ask, “Is this what I mean to say? Is this what I really want to say?” The post that I’d initially written was bothering me. A lot. Sipping coffee, I confessed my discomfort to my chief editor and life-collaborator (Kerri) and we followed the trail until we found the source of my chagrin.

There is a question, a much more important question, behind and beyond clarifying what I really want to say. It is this: “Is this who I want to be?” My post was making me uncomfortable because it was the opposite of what I profess to be. It was the opposite of who I understand myself to be. Of who I want to be.

I’ve often written and taught about “the spaces between.” Relationship. Intuition. Heart. Facts and data require interpretation and live on the spectrum at the farthest point away from wisdom. Focus on the spaces between, the movement rather than the noun, and an entirely different life opens. Wisdom is more like water than stone.

Most cliches touch a truth-root and today that is the case for me: We teach what we most need to learn. Thank goodness my editor was around to gently slap open my eyes and help me ask myself a better question.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE SPACES