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artists. just being mint. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“survival lies in sanity, and sanity lies in paying attention…” (julia cameron – the artist’s way)

here’s the thing i have discovered about mint: it is a survivor.

we bought the scrawniest mint plants – looking like they were fading away even as we paid our $2 for them. we brought them home and planted them in some good soil in an old barnwood planter that is somewhat self-destructing. we put the planter on the seat part of an old kitchen chair in the corner of our tiny potting stand garden, knowing that the sun would reach these tiny hopefuls and that these container gardens would have my rapt attention. and then we basically backed up and let nature do its thing.

and, despite some seriously hot weather, some seriously wet weather, some serious challenges from neighboring vines wishing to choke off access to nutrients, the mint has prevailed. it just keeps keeping on and the planters are burgeoning with mounds of luscious green mint.

i had heard – from people who know their stuff – that it would be important to keep mint in a planter rather than planting it in the ground. they said that mint would take over all else in the garden. i can see where that might be true – it is pervasive and aggressive about growing – resilient and tenacious and not at all timid.

which brings me to what i believe might be a good definition of an artist.

i had to have a crown re-affixed this past week – my utterly superb dentist simply popped the crown back on and aimed a blue light of some magical quality that will make it stay there. while i had my mouth gaping open he asked how we were and what we were up to. without the aid of consonants i said, “artist stuff” and he nodded.

artist stuff.

probably a better answer than “oh, we’re just being mint. you know.”

and yet, it is the job of an artist … to be mint. to be pervasive and aggressive about growing, resilient, tenacious and not at all timid. to keep growing despite all the odds, to keep creating regardless of acidic soil or toxic chance of sunstroke or over-saturation or dehydration. to keep paying attention and asking questions and pushing the boundaries – to simply survive.

I wouldn’t have compared myself (or d) to mint before. I would have preferred being sweet basil or maybe spicy jalapeños or willowy dill. or, better yet, i might like to be a pale pink sarah bernhardt peony or a daisy or a sunflower rising above a verdant farm field. mint seems so….survivalist.

but – even as i mosey through that fantasyland – the one where i am gracefully encompassing a body that is tasked with, well, different tasks – ones that are rewarded in traditional fiscally-rewarding ways – i am grateful to have been burdened with these tasks, the task of mint.

to keep on keeping on. to be as beautiful as the ordinary can be. to cling to living and to encourage others to pay attention to the very littlest things. to dance and laugh and sing raucously and to raindance sanity from the universe-sky to a world that is not sane.

“i believe art is utterly important. it is one of the things that could save us.”(mary oliver)

*****

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chipface. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

20 sees faces everywhere. and because he does, so do we. taking the donkey chip out of the bag, it was without hesitation i sent him chipface, pointy nose, weak jaw and all. he sent some snide remark back, making me laugh aloud. communication at its best.

i sorted through some of the most brilliant comments i’ve heard in recent days to choose an apt quote for this little guy. i decided to pick the one that is most obvious, the no-duh-est, the thing people who do-as-i-say-not-as-i-do often say. i agree wholeheartedly with chipface. communication IS the biggest thing in any relationship. and lack of communication – with its undercurrents – makes fools of all of us.

christopher wool holds nothing back. his work is stark and transparently void of flowery language. the piece pictured below – “fool” – sold for $7.8 million at a christie’s london sale in 2012. its predecessor “blue fool” sold for just over $5 million and was identical but with blue font. clearly, black is more fashionable than blue. mostly, it makes me laugh aloud to read that someone paid $7.8 million to own the painting of the word “fool”. particularly because christopher is said to not “suffer fools” and his pushback on people must be rampant. i do wonder if you’d only hang this seasonally – say, on april fool’s day – or if it is a piece for the year round…as a reminder…a humbling…a nudge.

david and i attended a talk in chicago between christopher wool and a docent at the art gallery. in pure christopher wool tongue-in-cheek deliciousness, after the docent went on and on about the premise behind one of wool’s photography pieces, after she touted his possible psychological state and the philosophical underpinnings of his work, he shrugged, looked at the audience and – advancing his relationship with that audience by leaps and bounds – merely said, “i took the photograph because i liked it.”

communication at its best. yes. truth. pure and simple.

chipface woulda loved it.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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smitten. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the boulders. the lake. the obvious. 

beyond the boulders – trees, deep in fog. fuzzy.

minus the beyondness, minus the trees, one would barely know it was foggy. 

but context is everything. 

up close, the boulders are clear. they are like the notes on the page, the score. technically, they are vital. but context is everything and it is the artist’s job to look beyond the obvious, to seek that which tells the whole story, that which evokes more. it is the musician’s job to play that which is beyond the obvious, to play that which evokes. more. 

peter spering, in an online forum that was great-debating which – of technical wizardry and feel – was more important in playing music, wrote the words “…technically great but creatively dull”. 

the boulders without the foggy trees: we have all heard this music, seen this art, read these words, watched this dance. if you have listened to a computer rendering of a piece of sheet music, you are aware of neat and tidy technicality, seamless, even perfection. you are also aware of the lack – of any emotion, any expression, any air, any space. boulders will only sound like boulders. there will be no question. there is no beyond. there is no fog.

to answer the this-or-that question from the forum – technical chops or feeling – is both impossible and necessary. music is the expression of the human condition. music is love in sound. it is a marriage of both the technical and the evocative. 

yet…if art is to convey questions and answers, to explore and navigate, to inform, to find meaning…if the recipient is to be moved, to be smitten by life, then music – the simple and the complex – must be played with heart. and technical wizardry will cease to matter if it falls upon souls with nary a touch, without any dents or brushmarks or trace that it had been there.

“it is enough when a single note is beautifully played.” (arvo pärt)

because a single note – played with heart – will impact you. it will bring you to a place where – even without standing on the shore – you can see the fog, the trees, the dim horizon.

and you are able to “feel the world stand still”. (arvo pärt)

smitten.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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feeling the rain. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“all i can do is be me. whoever that is.”” (bob dylan)

it’s an imperative. composing, songwriting, producing, performing – they aren’t really choices. they are inherent – something inside that begs you to feel it. it is an ancient call for an answer that tugs and prods and taunts until you comply, baring your soul. it makes you vulnerable and demands courage and fortitude, sacrifice and a stalwart sense of purpose. it is not a straight path. It is fluid. it is failure and a phenom. it is devastation and ecstasy. it is necessary.

standing backstage – our son and the board clearly in view – i am whisked away to the place parents are taken when they see their children doing something they wildly love to do. 

i have stood on a giant mountain – one of the highest skiable terrains in the united states – and felt this feeling as our daughter flew past on a snowboard, everything in her aligned in the freedom of expression that single piece of wood opened in her. 

and now i have stood on a wood floor in a crowded nightclub – way past my bedtime – and felt the exhilaration of my son’s music – truly moving him, bringing forth who he is from a place deep in his heart. 

and in both circumstances, i have been in awe. and in both circumstances, i have celebrated. 

because though they have both been scrappy and deliberate, non-traditional, intentionally creating the ability to have the room to express – with any combination of full-time work, layered jobs, skimping and saving, lack of resources – in an ever-changing river, they have led with who they are. what is important to them – deep down – is their truth. their heartbeat. figuring it out as they go. 

our son is an EDM artist – electronic dance music. his music is powerful and pulsing, driving you to dance. it is layered and complex and technical and, as a composer – even understanding a slice of the process – i stand back in wonder. we are both creating music and, even in its difference, it has the same goal. 

“some people feel the rain. others just get wet.” (bob dylan)

he is feeling the rain. and his music invites everyone else to feel it as well. that’s the imperative. it’s what has compelled me to compose. it’s what compels me to write. it’s what compels david to paint. it’s what compels the potter to sculpt, the dancer to dance, the climber to climb, the actor to act, the skier to ski, the athlete to push, the chef to craft, the aerobatic pilot to soar on bluesky days, the creator to create. it takes some guts. but it’s necessary. for the world.

“dear artists. don’t hold back. that’s it…” (okuntakinte)

*****

FIGURE IT OUT from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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orange and red. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

neither orange nor red are my favorite colors. but as i glance down nearby, i see two pencils – one a red mechanical pencil and one an orange colored pencil. they are the closest to me and, because i am a pencil person, i’ve been using them for days.

i remember many years ago, my son mentioned that some day he would like a montblanc pen. it’s pretty funny how a little time changes things. now, i’m quite sure, he would not care to have a montblanc; as a matter of fact, i’d bet he wouldn’t care about any brand of pen – even a bic for that matter – as he rarely writes down anything on paper. it is a generation – now grown-up – sans the need of paper, sans the need of pencils, sans the need of fancy-pens.

i’m not sure how i could function without pencils or pens. or, for that matter, notebooks and pads. i am a lover of paper and all things analog, while at the same time also loving the digital world and its conveniences. (take this blog, for instance.)

i have a box of fifty colored pencils that is brand new. it was a gift, along with an adult coloring book – if you haven’t tried this activity, don’t knock it. it’s zen-like coloring pages. i haven’t yet used these new pencils because i have older pencils and didn’t want to use up the new sharp points. ahh, i am my mother’s daughter.

the other day i took out the new tin of pencils and just gazed at the array of color – all beautifully laid out in a spectrum. i suddenly realized that it might be time to try them out. because after taking this photograph of this amazingly beautiful bush out on the trail, i could see that crayola wasn’t going to touch the nuances of staghorn sumac orange and red and yellow. i could see that it would be impossible to shade all the variations – rich – prayer flags burning a place into my memory. i could see that maybe fifty won’t be enough. there’s a set of 72, of 174, of 220, even 520 – the montblanc of colored pencils.

and i could see – gazing at this sheer beauty – i guess i like orange and red a little more than i thought. there’s more to them than meets the eye.

where does nature get her pencils?

*****

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

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sans filters. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the colors intensified as the day drew to a close from our little spot on the deck. i didn’t take any more pictures. instead, i watched it. sometimes, in the taking of photographs, it is possible to miss it, the moment. usually i take my chances with this, but not this particular evening. i just needed to hold tightly to the summer night’s glory, the east bounceback of the setting sun, the quiet.

though i appreciate all the filters out there – on my iphone, on photoshop, on snapseed, really on anything that edits images – i never use them. i come from a practice of manual 35mm cameras, sans filters – though they were available and you could screw them onto the end of the lens. i was always more of a purist in my photography. no filters.

and i’m from new york.

the other day we were talking with friends about people asking other people questions. we live in the midwest so that’s not a simple matter. there’s a silence, a reticence to question here. even in some pretty disconcerting circumstances, confusing circumstances, circumstances that beg investigation, people hesitate to ask questions. they are even question-averse.

i’m from new york, so i don’t get it. different rules apply.

six days a week now, d and i blog. i’m quite certain that there is no one on earth who wishes to read every single word we write – sometimes a mountainous plethora of words-words. we have completely different styles of writing and, once you’ve read a few blogposts, you can recognize our individual voices. david’s posts tend to be informative, filled with teachings and learnings from writers, scholars, philosophers, artists. mine tend to be a bit smushy – thready – experience-based stories, like i’m tawwwking to you, my leading heart wide open. but both of us are sans filters. he spent years on the west coast and, remember, i’m from new york. so, yeah, no filters.

i would imagine that there are some readers reading who think, “whoa! that’s too much information! waaaay too much information!” and yes, i would say we can be pretty transparent. perhaps people would prefer filters (or less words or even opaqueness).

but this is art and the work of an artist is to be open, to communicate, to elicit emotion, to provoke thought. it’s to be vulnerable.

without filters.

otherwise, you will wonder every time you look at a photo of a sunset: is this real?

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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berries or art. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i was minding my own business hiking the trail. the sun was sifting through the trees, the cool breeze was brilliant, the dirt felt good underneath my feet. lost in thought and feeling the glorious change in weather – the heat dome having moved on or dissipated – i was taken by surprise.

the bird poop landed on my forehead and splatted my sunglasses, schmearing down my nose, dropping onto my shirt. it was more than a little shocking and i said to d, “a bird just pooped on me!”. apparently, at the time i said this i was looking down at my shirt and he glanced over to see some evidence of this pooping, none too impressed until i looked up at him.

the look on his face told me what i needed to know. “it looks like blueberries,” he said, intending to be helpful, i think. i responded that the birds – and one in particular – must be eating berries, digging in my backpack for a paper towel and not grokking why their diet was of importance when i had shat on my head and face. i didn’t see the bird, but i’ll for sure remember it anyway. we started to laugh, which is always a good thing, and i instantly remembered the scene in “under the tuscan sun” when the pigeon pooped on diane lane’s head – supposedly a blessing of good fortune.

i googled it.

the thing i came across the most was the rarity of birdpoop actually landing on you. the probability of this is near zero, which is why the act of being bird-shat-upon is considered lucky, even a blessing. when we thought of how many times we have hiked trails – this one and tons of others – we cannot recall a time when birdpoops even came near to us.

so i’m going with lucky.

there were several sites of rock art on our special beach. i found this gathering of rocks particularly beautiful. at first i thought it was a spiral, but it seems more a depiction of a tiny galaxy, a planetary system. coming upon these recently-constructed manmade mini petroforms: the mini galaxy, a black and white pinwheel of rocks, a series of rocks simply planted standing in the sand, we know that someone took the time to align these, to say “i’ve been here”, to leave something behind. we were a few of the fortunate ones who saw their work. it’s likely someone will shuffle along the sand and, tempted by the patterns, rearrange the rocks, undoing these designs.

if i had to choose a way to be remembered – let’s say, a choice between, well, the difference between momentary – umm – purge (be that a spewing of anything – including words or actions) or momentary art, i’d have to say i would go with art. though my writing and my music, photographs and designs will be just a flash in the arc of time, they are not as messy – for the most part – as berries.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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“post-old-fashioned”. [merely-a-thought monday]

surely it would garner a bidding war. “post-old-fashioned” – a contemporary art piece. a beguiling installation.

how could it be any less engaging, any less valuable, any less a statement piece, any less desirable than the fresh banana duct-taped to the wall? the first banana (with the used duct tape, i’m guessing) sold for $120,000, followed by more bananas and rising prices. and – it expires! one cannot keeeep the banana piece (called “comedian”) around unless one loves fruit flies and smush.

instead, “post-old-fashioned” is meant to be enduring. the orange peel will shrink and dry, but will remain – likely – bug-less. and the cherry stem…..well, it is likely to outlive all of us.

“post-old-fashioned” is a work of active art that is conceptual and timeless and we could certainly provide a certificate of authenticity and directions for proper display. i cannot imagine any true wisconsinite without this piece or, perhaps, any wisconsin bar without it.

any curator who can go on and on about the benefits of purchasing the long strand of jute with the kitchen sponge hanging off of it should surely be able to conjure up the joy of owning “post-old-fashioned” in its three-dimensional option or a limited edition print of the work.

were it not for the teasing of the hike&spike foursome – and, also likely, the up-north gang – renowned experts in the field of old-fashioneds – i would list it, enter it in contests, send it to galleries. each week – post-hike – in the spike section of our hike&spike – i could add to a burgeoning collection of pieces dedicated to the afterglow of the old-fashioned.

watch out. i’m about ready to follow in the clearly-brilliant footsteps of italian artist maurizio cattelan, who explains, “the banana is supposed to be a banana.”.

it’s simple. there’s only one pertinent question about this work, an old-fashioned supposed to be an old-fashioned.

sweet or sour?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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the light between us. [two artists tuesday]

on the side of the willis tower – downtown chicago – is affixed the atmospheric wave wall. created by the same artist whose rainbow bridge we loved at the milwaukee art museum, olafur eliasson’s piece is striking and imbues the colors of the lakefront – sky, clouds, water in all its moods.

in speaking about his piece, olafur – also a climate and community activist – says, “what we see depends on our point of view: understanding this is an important step toward realizing that we can change reality. it is my hope that this subtle intervention can make a positive contribution to the building and to the local community by reflecting the complex activity all around us, the invisible interactions and minute fluctuations that make up our shared public space.”

the steel catches the light of the sun. the piece seemingly shifts with the movements of everything around it, with time as time passes.

we have not yet seen it at night – lit from behind – but i imagine it is stunning – with light escaping from the intersection of the colored tiles. the places of light: in-between.

just as weird as it was to sit on the train it was equally with wonder to move freely about in the city – after all this time and so much that has happened in our country – sans innocence. it is with a bit of heightened awareness we move in the world now, though i don’t suppose heightened awareness helped any of the victims of the latest violent rages at the hands of angry out-of-control people. it is impossible to figure out why the wrong front door or the wrong driveway or the wrong ask-of-a-neighbor could elicit such unconscionably brutal responses.

we were driving to the grocery store. we took the route we usually take, a side street. two-thirds of the way down this road – before the traffic light – our attention was driven to a guy on the sidewalk, staring at us. brandishing something – we don’t know what – he flailed his arm around, pointing to the sidewalk, swinging, pointing, staring at us.

pre-whatever-phase-one-would-call-the-phase-that-this-country-is-in we probably wouldn’t have thought twice. we might have wondered what he was doing, might have wondered why he stared at us, might have pondered what he was brandishing. but we wouldn’t have been entirely creeped out and we wouldn’t have planned a different route home and, perhaps, a different route to our store for the continuing future. it felt like the place between was unsafe. and i find that devastatingly sad.

we live in a normal midwest town. only – i guess – not so much. our town is now known – in these last years of the more-unsafe-phase – for a plethora of events that have no light in-between. our small city is as broken as every other small city, as every other big city.

were there to be a wall of art to represent this phase of our world what colors would it be?

in his rush to get one of the coveted front spots at costco, the guy in the infinity cut me off in the parking lot. i parked in a different row, but watched as he got out of his car. he bent down and pulled out some kind of revolver, tucking it into the back waistband of his pants. then he walked into the store.

i must say – i haven’t ever felt a need to protect myself in costco. maybe from overspending, but never from violence. it was disturbing – almost to the point of turning around and going home – to know this guy was walking around – maybe getting a rotisserie chicken or ribs or a bottle of wine or eddie-bauer-sweats or glucosamine-in-bulk – with some big handgun in his pants. i told d about my reticence to go into the store.

we have a code word for anytime we are in a situation that suddenly feels unsafe. post-parade-massacres, post-grocery-store-shootings, post-concert-devastation, post-festival-tragedies, post-school-maulings – post-all-of-it and in the middle of all of it – we know to drop everything and get out or get away if either of us senses danger. no questions asked. no lingering. just go.

it is without light in-between that this country has come to this point. the intersections of peoples and genders and ethnicities and belief systems and economic statuses and, apparently, any differences whatsoever, seem to have no light. they are not backlit nor are they reflective of the sun streaming over this land.

“our shared public space.” shared. from sea to shining sea.

how do we create the invisible interactions and minute fluctuations of a safe shared public space? how – in a country that seems to have insidious anger and no shortage of violence – do we find the light in-between us? because “we can change reality”.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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we are all in our underwear. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

with great fervor, he said, “we are all desperate to make sense out of this life.”

“play the fool,” ethan hawke’s words of wisdom.

every day of this mysteriously unknown-unrevealed-unmapped extended journey of life we have been granted – we are seeking to make sense.

and – in the moment of moments – the ones when the abyss is evident or the peak is present, the ones when confusion reigns supreme, the ones when you cannot imagine any more bliss or any more dread or any more ardor or any more devastation, the ones when complexity is the starting gate, the ones on the roller coaster you wish someone would stretch out flat – in those moments none of this – any form of art – any medium, any life-giving expression of creativity – is a luxury. it surely does sustain, heal, breathe life into the motionless heart of fear or sadness. it is the music, the paintings, the photographs, the lyrics, the poetry, the clay pot in your hand, the dance. it is what the pads of your fingers touch just simply by seeing, hearing, reading, smelling, tasting, watching. necessary. of the essence. crucial. fundamental.

“give your heart to everybody you meet. the rest is pretense.” (e.h.)

and – the creators – each of us – stand by, fools all of us. humankind. finding who we are, what we love, expressing, connecting.

“showcasing a piece is allowing it to come to full bloom, to let it breathe in the world, to share it. but showcasing a piece is not for the meek at heart.

in the way you would likely feel standing in your underwear in a town square, introducing the world to some new piece of your heart is raw. on old wooden stages with a piano and a mic, centered on a wall with a tiny price tag placed nearby, during poetry-reading night in the corner of the general store, sharing with the novel-writing club every first thursday, skating the first performance on ice, tapping “publish” on a blog each day … pieces of your heart float shakily about as you try to hold onto sisu and stay grounded. it matters not how many times you have done this. your heart has been unbridled and you are allowing others in. each and every time.” (the underwear moments* – kerri sherwood)

“but then i thought about beauty. i thought about how artists dive below the surface, try to find the depth of meaning, try to hear and see that which others might pass by, not noticing. i thought about stages and boom mics and connection and standing in front of a diebenkorn – or a robinson – deep inside, marveling. i thought about arvo pärt and his absolute tug on my heart. i thought about john denver and simplicity. i thought about recording studios and soaring string sections, cello lines that make clouds rearrange to allow in light. the weaving of intricate relationship between people and nature, between people and art in any form.

there have been moments – and i can actually remember them – when i have been driving and listening to a song and i weep or hiking and seeing something so stunning i stop and cannot move. these moments when i know, without a doubt, that it was right to turn down the business-school-accounting-program acceptance. these moments when i know, without a doubt, that i will not have the same security as the person-i-would-have-been following that route. moments when i feel a sense of pride to be a tiny part of the tapestry of what people turn to in time of rejuvenation, of rest, of crisis, of pure bliss. these moments when i know, without a doubt, that somewhere along the way what i have done with my time has touched someone, has opened them, has taken them diving with me. below the surface of this great big world – to beauty.” (the gig economy tapestry – kerri sherwood)

“…boldness. the uninhibited freedom of expression – artistry come to fruition in the moment of utter sharing. terrifying and liberating. raw and real. the underwear moments.”(*)

this great big planet earth. sedimentary layers of beauty. we are all in our underwear.

*****

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

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