art | reverse threading

August 11, 2020
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

just know. [two artists tuesday]

we passed the daisy on the trail and i went back to take a picture. it was instant recognition of “loves me, loves me not” as i saw it. the questions we threw willy-nilly to the universe, the don’t-step-on-a-crack, knock-wood, bread-and-butter reflexes of our 60s-70s childhoods.

were it all still to be so easy.

i remember sitting in the grass making clover chains. i remember the transistor radio playing on the bazooka bubble gum beach towel. i remember playing in the woods out back with the neighbors. i remember kickball in the street and badminton and croquet in the yard. i remember hula-hoops and skateboards on my driveway. i remember the “boing” the pogo stick made. i remember koolaid and ice pops that seemed to never run out. i remember bike hikes with sue and carvel ice cream cones with chocolate sprinkles. i remember frisbee at the beach and making apple pies. i remember listening to cassettes and practicing piano. i remember the trunk of the maple tree against my back, the branches holding me as i wrote. i remember the sound the pressure-filled-from-the-sun-light-purple-hosta-flowers along our sidewalk made when popped. i remember it was time to go home when it got dark and i remember catching fireflies in jars with holes punched in the lids. i remember sunday drives and picking apples and kentucky fried chicken on picnic tables further out on the island. i remember cabins in state parks and wide-eyed flirting with older lake lifeguards upstate. i remember duck ponds and friendly’s. i remember my puppy riding in my bike basket and ponytails. i remember loves-me-loves-me-not.

it seemed an innocent time. a time of marvel. a time of safety. never did i wonder if my parents loved me. i just knew.

babycat just rolled onto his back, all four paws outstretched, his big black and white belly just begging for a pet. he doesn’t ask questions. his world is relatively small – since his kittenhood adoption, the littlehouse was the only other house he has known other than our house. yesterday we brought him and dogdog into the basement as the tornado siren went off. dogga was nervous but babycat adapted, finding a place to lay on the carpet. his only demand is for food, several times a day with clockwork precision. otherwise, he is unconditional. his presence in my life has brought me eleven years of a gift i really needed when he arrived.

babycat is laying right next to me now as i type. tucked close in, his snoring is punctuated only by his purring – it’s a two measure repeat in 4/4, each breath a half note. it is the 11th anniversary of his “gotcha day” and he’s marking the day with a celebration of naps. no worry of “loves me, loves me not” crosses his mind. he just knows.

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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August 7, 2020
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

lost. and found? [k.s. friday]

it’s just a thought. a sketch. a few moments of piano. lost.

i recorded eight voice-memo recordings in the studio this morning. all based on the word “lost”. they varied in length; the shortest was 9 seconds, the longest 7:22. i discarded all of them and just kept the first :51 of one version.

lost.

we had just finished reading an op ed that was infinitely disturbing and equally heartwrenching. an article about the united states, it painted a picture of a country lost in itself, untethered from its values, far from moored to its former strength and viability, unattached to its potential of community, of empathy, of oneness.

lost.

even just yesterday we listened to two accounts of persons who had been tested more than once for covid-19. with differing results each time, it has us wondering how we might be able to halt the pandemic wave that continues to threaten when we cannot obtain test results that are accurate or consistent. where are we really in this upsurgence? this is no little skirmish.

lost.

everything is different right now. we sat safely in our kitchen yesterday and talked about the 28 million people who would be losing their homes or the place they rent as home. we talked about the crushing inability to really be with people we love. we talked about the lack of jobs available. we talked about unemployment numbers. we talked about pressure. we talked about economics and finances. we talked about almost 160,000 people who had died from coronavirus. we talked about life insurance.

lost.

sitting at the piano in my studio elicits mixed feelings for me. i pine for the days that the music i wrote, the music i recorded, actually made me a living, at least the times it even leaned toward making me a living. i wonder if that will ever be the case again, if it’s even possible in this online-download-time that has usurped the living of so many independent artists. i experience a sense of betrayal sitting on the bench and work hard, somewhat unsuccessfully, to overcome it.

lost.

my left hand starts. always a provider of depth and rhythm and always strong, my left hand knows how to dig in. even now. i think the word “lost”. my right hand starts to follow. and the limitation of a wrist that no longer bends beyond 20° makes me draw in my breath.

lost.

on the top of the file cabinet in the back hallway of TPAC there was a basket. in that basket was an assortment of stuff: coffee mugs, a jacket, sunglasses, readers, a set of keys. it was the “lost and found” basket.

i suppose there is a simple wisdom in “lost and found” stashes. found, as an antonym of lost, implies not forever lost. it is hopeful.

maybe, though we cannot see it, we are living in the very middle of lost and found.

download my music on iTUNES

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

©️ kerri sherwood

August 6, 2020
by kerrisherwood11 Leave a comment

messier. more color. [d.r. thursday]

heart and strawberry

peter max, a pop-art-expressionist, popped into my mind when david showed me this sketch. add bursts of color to this and it’s the happy full-spectrum pieces of the 60s and 70s, full of rainbow and light.

one of the presents i received for my birthday this year was a coloring book and colored pencils. at the time i was unable to use it, but i put it aside for when my broken right wrist might cooperate and i might be able to lose myself in good-old-fashioned coloring.

i dropped david’s sketch into photoshop and started to peter-max it.

the more i worked on it, the happier i became. it was so messy. but it was just so – fun.

color – this infinitely wide range of possibility – fills the lines, goes out of the lines, overlaps and bleeds into the next, reminds me that life, even in these very times, times of chaos and unrest and pandemic and exponential worry, is not just black and white. and, surprisingly, not just the blurry grey in-between.

life is much more peter max than that. messier. more color.

which brings me to this: while it is easy, particularly right now, to sort to grey, perhaps an answer to the myriad of questions is to open the delicious tin of 50 premium artist pencils. and just color.

yes. as dear jeff used to say, “that’s the ticket!”

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

early on…just a little bit of color…and infinite peter-max possibilities

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©️ 2020 david robinson, kerri sherwood

August 4, 2020
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shh. [two artists tuesday]

wow. thirteen minutes.

in a matter of thirteen minutes yesterday all 650 of my blogposts were wiped off of facebook. it seems someone, in the matter of thirteen minutes, marked five of my blogs as SPAM and this must have triggered the facebook “community standards” filter which POOF eliminated everything. over two and a half years of writing. at merely an hour to an hour and a half each, that is well over a month of writing, 24 hours a day. vanished off of the facebook platform. because someone had a beef. i would call that cowardice.

cowardice (noun): a lack of bravery.

all because, i am guessing, someone disagreed with me for some reason and could not bring themselves to have an adult discussion about it. instead, this person chose a different approach, a way to end up censoring my words. cowardice.

i am not paid to write. i do not receive any money for writing. my catalogue of blogposts was written from my heart, from an honest and well-intended place. i am more than happy to entertain any dialogue about any topic, as long as it remains respectful and kind. i am more than happy to have a conversation. i do not take kindly to being censored. i do not take kindly to being a target. i do not take kindly to being on the receiving end of someone’s spinelessness, their secret malintent and inability to give voice, whatever their reason. rendering me voiceless on facebook is mean-spirited and appalling. and seemingly deliberate. it does beg a couple obvious questions.

truth be told, facebook is making me tired. scrolling through a myriad of temper tantrums and boasting-posts to find wee bits of news about beloved family and friends is disconcerting. trying to use my own 200% copyrighted music on facebook and having facebook block it claiming copyright violations is beyond frustrating. watching facebook allow misinformation and foul language to prevail on the platform is disappointing. scouring facebook for ways to communicate with an actual person or to find avenues for correcting their errors is pointless. it’s tiresome. but those wee bits keep me going back – seeking a few more pictures to drink in of people i-love-but-cannot-see-right-now or reading viewpoints that give me food for thought, lead me to ask questions, make me learn.

in the meanwhile, just as no one should be hushed in the expression of thoughts about living life, i am dedicated to continue sharing my own in a variety of ways.

shh???? i don’t think so.

and your thoughts?

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

July 31, 2020
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day lilies in the interlude. [k.s. friday]

in the in-between times. we are there. not at the beginning, not at the end. we hardly know what to call this interlude of time – so many differing points of view, so many differing approaches to life and the living of it. untitled.

this pandemic entered our lives a few months ago. we know little about when it will end. in this nebulous state, we try to cope. not-knowing, we wake each morning to a new day, unsure of which day it is, the fog of repeated sameness fading as the sun’s light opens our eyes.

surely in the middle of all of this there are the day lilies of the garden – the hardy survivors of too much rain, too little rain, too much attention, too little attention, too many weeds, too few nutrients, invasive plants trying to subvert this robust champion. the tall perseverants of the green, they rise up, ever joyful.

surely in the middle of all of this there are the moments that are the day lilies.

for me, there was a video-chat with my grown children, separated by distance and by a healthy respect for safety. these moments were the breath i so needed, a chance to see their faces, hear their voices. for me, there was the hike along the river trail, a cooler-than-normal breeze on my face, the sounds of birds and swaying cattails. for me, there was the social-distanced outdoor visit with treasured ones, laughter and stories punctuating our time together. for me, there was a quick phone call with a forever pal, a series of blurry oh-my-look-at-this-bear-off-my-mountain-top-porch-ten-feet-from-me-right-now texts with a dear friend. for me, there was talk of which thru-hike to take, which rv we would purchase, for, in any circumstance we find ourselves, dreaming is good.

in the middle of all of this, the interlude between before and after, it is incumbent upon us – for our peace of mind, in the fuzzy liminal space of enduring and persisting – to find the positive orange day lilies.

download UNTITLED INTERLUDE on iTUNES

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

UNTITLED INTERLUDE from RELEASED FROM THE HEART ©️ 1995 kerri sherwood

July 28, 2020
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butterfly, butterfly. [two artists tuesday]

this butterfly must have known. my heart was aching and the steps i was taking down the trail were heavy. and then it appeared.

the glimmer of its wings caught my eye, this iridescent blackish-blue, a red-spotted purple butterfly, inviting me to stop, watch. it flew around me and i twirled in place watching as it circled. it landed on the trail time and again, close enough for me to video it opening and closing its wings, a greeting of sorts. my breathing slowed down. beauty exists.

even in the midst of everything negative, even in the midst of worry, angst, missing, deconstruction, transformation, reinvention, heartwrenching choices, beauty exists. even in the midst of a pandemic and unrest and a country in chaos, beauty exists.

a little research: apparently, my little friend, the red-spotted purple butterfly, looks much like a pipevine swallowtail. the swallowtail butterfly deters predators by being mightily distasteful. the red-spotted purple butterfly has piggybacked onto the swallowtail’s predatory resistance by its similar markings, albeit without a tail. predators sometimes shy away from this butterfly based on the vulgar taste of its close-but-not-related twin. a good scheme. and yet this butterfly – beautifully exquisite, and, although somewhat protected, is still vulnerable.

this red-spotted purple butterfly visit was serendipitous. i needed to slow down. i needed to watch this creature as it invited the sunlight to warm its wings and aid in its nectar-picnic. i needed to be reminded of the butterfly in all its transitions – its metamorphosis through life, its graceful acceptance of its own life-arc, its changes, its patience, its endurance.

the next times i walk on this trail i will likely think of these two butterflies: both beautiful and both trying to sustain, to gather nectar, to complete their own circles of life. but one with such a vulgarity to it, such an acidity that predators stay away. very few are lost in the lesson that predators are quickly taught about its toxicity; animals learn to avoid them. i wonder about these swallowtails in community with other butterflies. and i think about the red-spotted purple, sans toxicity, trying courageously to protect itself in its habitat. it looks a little like a swallowtail, but it’s not. it doesn’t poison the animal who consumes it.

much like people. we look much the same. each of us, beautifully exquisite. and yet. some pipevine swallowtails, toxic and cunning. some red-spotted purples, pure and vulnerable.

beauty exists.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

July 24, 2020
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a dance in the night. [k.s. friday]

to sit in the dark. to watch the flicker of flame on the yard torches. to stare into the bonfire. to listen to the crickets. to feel cool air brush your face. to walk barefoot in dewy-damp grass. to slowly swirl, in time to music, in time to your heartbeat, in time to deep breaths.

we all need a break.

instead of a mind racing-against-itself in the middle of the night, we need a dance with slow. we need a dance of hope. we need a dance of release.

do you remember how to slow dance…in the middle of the night?

even in the bleakest of times, even in the dark. the tiniest pinprick of light through an inky sky will remind us of the trillions of stars that are always there.

download SLOW DANCE on iTUNES

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

July 23, 2020
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this world needs you. [d.r. thursday]

all of us. we will all need to participate.

this world will never be the same. we need to ponder, we need to dream, we need to imagine:

a better place, a more fair place, a place that is based on equity and equality, kindness and compassion. a place that assumes virtue and intends the same. a place that protects its peoples, that encourages individuals to care for each other. a place that doesn’t incite rancor, celebrate the weapons of violence, or create enmity and spite. a place where the downtrodden are lifted up and those with excess are generous. a place where inhabitants don’t self-aggrandize or strategize to find ways for more-more-more, ways that take from those with less, ways that undermine those in need. a place that doesn’t normalize language of vitriol, hatred, and antagonism. a place where all races are equivalent, all genders are respected, all ethnicities are indistinguishably included. a place where the environment counts and sustaining it beyond our own time on this good earth is a priority. a place that recognizes the sacred in the out-of-doors, the borrowing of this dirt, this water, this air for the short span of time we are here. a place where we are always seeking ways to better life for each other, to enhance daily living, health, happiness. a place of truth. a place of goodness.

yes. this world needs your good imagination. or we will never get there.

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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July 22, 2020
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quiet. new chalk. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

quiet. we walk in quiet most of the time. even our longer hikes are quiet. it is a time of rest for us, rest from the noise of the rest of life, the noise of worry and angst, the noise of dispute, the noise of too much bad news, the noise of chaos. we listen to the birds and our footfalls on the trail. we listen to the wind and the sound of creatures rustling in the underbrush. the quiet calms us; the quiet lifts the cellophane from the magic slate cardboard, it shakes the etch-a-sketch and takes it all back to zero, back to start, back to a rainwashed driveway waiting to be chalked all over again.

having run out of everest, k2 and annapurna footage we are watching appalachian trail and pacific crest trail and john muir trail videos these days. on our own treks locally we decide which one of these to take, listing the specific merits of each. make no mistake, these are serious treks. the AT is 2190 miles from georgia to maine. the PCT is 2653 miles from the border of mexico to the border of canada. the JMT, joining with the PCT some of the way, is 211 miles through the sierras, high elevation pass after pass. clearly, the training needed would be intense. but, as we envision this extended trekking, we are drawn to the quiet. the noise of this world has become raucous and the woods and the mountains seem to beckon with absolution, with grace, with rejuvenation.

there used to be a button on the cassette player that you could push that would quicken the pace of the tape to the end: fast forward. it would seem these trails, this quiet, like sleep, would fast forward through the dark and bring you to the light once again. these trails – this quiet – remind you that next comes.

and so, the noise of the day will cease. and you can listen to the sound of your footfall on a new day, ready to be chalked.

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

July 21, 2020
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against all odds, teachers teach. [two artists tuesday]

“against all odds and despite all the obstacles, we are going to make it.” (marilyn monroe)

the desk and the chair were connected and under the chair was a metal book rack. there were 35-40 of them in my tiered room, which oddly doubled as both my choir room and my eighth grade math classroom. math 8 was the last period of the day and, to give you a sense of the personality of the class, both of the children who were later voted “class clowns” were in my general math class. a hot day in florida, the air conditioning was competing with the outside heat and trying to keep tired students at-the-end-of-their-school-day awake.

he was sometimes vocal, but mostly quiet. he didn’t like math; he told me he didn’t really like school. his eyes were bright even in his sullen face. every day i greeted him and told him i was glad to see him.

that day, when he came into the room, i sensed he was even more unhappy than usual. it wasn’t but a few minutes into my math lesson that his desk-chair came hurtling down the tiers at me. it didn’t hit me, but back-in-the-day hurling desk-chairs was serious stuff and i, a young teacher at the time, was unnerved.

i think back now about that desk-chair being flung, the way it was all dealt with, the intervention and the caring hearts that were involved. i think about that young man, whose name i still remember. i knew back then that against all odds and despite the obstacles facing him, he had a support system and he would make it.

amid a contemporary rise of real scaled-up violence in schools, less and less is about those support systems, for students or teachers. resources, help – both are short in supply in public schools across this country. yet, despite all odds, teachers teach.

i shake my head at the any-day-any-school terrifying concern of shootings in the classroom. with gun-control-be-damned mindsets determining legislation, children must practice active shooter drills. despite all odds, teachers teach.

i think about the lack of funding, the lack of supplies, the lack of a sustainable student-teacher ratio. despite all odds, teachers teach.

and then, i think about this pandemic. a global threat, this country’s leadership has not risen to the challenge and, in mindblowing checkmate moves, it has mandated that children physically return to schools this fall. in the middle of an urgent and dangerous contagion, caution is being dismissed, putting children and teachers and administration and support staff at absolute risk. it’s deplorable.

and yet we know, foolishly mandated, that against all odds, and despite all the obstacles, teachers will teach. that’s what teachers do.

“against all odds and despite all the obstacles, we are going to make it.”

against all odds and despite all the obstacles.

but the words “we are going to make it” beg a quagmire of unanswered questions, deeply concerning worries, and matters of life and death.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Category Archives: art

just know. [two artists tuesday]

lost. and found? [k.s. friday]

messier. more color. [d.r. thursday]

shh. [two artists tuesday]

day lilies in the interlude. [k.s. friday]

butterfly, butterfly. [two artists tuesday]

a dance in the night. [k.s. friday]

this world needs you. [d.r. thursday]

quiet. new chalk. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

against all odds, teachers teach. [two artists tuesday]

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