reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: artist


by 1 Comment

setting seed. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

tiny parachutes – white filament – catch the breeze and lift the seeds – about 200 of them or so – from their home – the head of the dandelion – scattering them about in the world. the dandelion plant is left behind to generate a new flower head, more seeds, more parachutes. it is not singularly connected to any of these. its job is to simply be prolific, to produce more flowers and, thus, more seeds which will germinate more plants. and the beat goes on.

i would not be a good dandelion. i could not be so disconnected, so cool-y aloof. it is not in my nature to let go so easily, to ride on the wings of apathy. my children could tell you differently. my thready connection with them hangs on, even with all their efforts at asserting their independence. my thready connection – sans parachute – will never cease. motherhood – as i experience it – is like that.

fistful of dandelions is now kind of an old song – recorded in 1999 – which is 27 years ago. i hesitated a moment before i sent it to a newer friend – someone who i doubted had ever heard any of my music. i wasn’t sure if it was the best song to send her way, since it is only the second vocal recorded professionally in the second phase of my artistry – the phase that started in 1995. i know – in my library – there are better-sung songs, better-sounding songs, better-written lyrics, better-performed tracks.

i sent it to her anyway.

because i have found that this song speaks to moms and she is a mom. because it was more raw – desperately honest – an earlier piece sort of buried on an instrumental album, whereas other vocals are more readily accessible, easier to peruse if you wish. because – maybe, hopefully, we’ll see if possibly – someday i may record others and, just as time keeps moving on, so does style and relatability and such.

and so i sent it to her.

i haven’t heard anything back, which is always a tad bit disconcerting for an artist – any artist. we all know that it is how a piece of music, of art, of writing hits another that gives it life, gives it lift, sets its parachutes in motion so that it might float and swing on a breeze, setting seed in yet another place, with other people, new gardens to receive it.

i bent way down on the trail to capture this particular dandelion. its job was not yet done – there were more seeds, more parachutes; there is more possibility.

the same is true of my children.

and i will hang back at the flower zone, in the garden, while they fly around the world seeking rich soil in which to experiment and grow, in which to continue to grow their own wings, those stunning kaleidoscope wings of color and texture and challenge and success and brilliant brilliance – those iridescent shimmers – a myriad of sheen – though invisible to the naked eye.

and i will be astounded.

“…it overwhelms me what i feel, this heart outside of mine/is walking in another person, in another life…”

*****

happy mother’s day.

*****

FISTFUL OF DANDELIONS ©1999 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

oh, mourning dove. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we don’t have a tv antenna anymore. this is our westneighbors’. we have the good fortune of being able to see the birds who choose it as a place to land, a place to rest, a place to view all that which is below them. though i understand that the tv antenna is “coming back” (much like paisley bell bottoms – which i, clearly, should have kept through the years…though the idea of those still fitting makes me grimace and roll my eyes and woops…i am off-trail, bushwhacking my way through my brain back to topic…..)

so…my point…tv antennas are coming back – though it is not necessarily in this form but more in the form of a powerful window leaf or indoor device or lower-profile rooftop doohickey, no longer a towering metal structure, more horizontal now than vertical.

nevertheless, there are many tall tv antennas in our neighborhood – simply because they were already there.

when ours fell down we were fortunate it did no harm and we had a tree guy come and clean it all up. at the time we were subscribed to the smallest cable package and, since then, we have considered cutting that as well. it is, after all, a wifi world these days.

when we take walks in our ‘hood we pass a few houses with solar panels. not as many as might be in a neighborhood with newer houses, but i suspect, as people choose to install a new roof, they might also install solar. in these days of high energy cost, it only makes sense. solar power, wind power, hydropower, geothermal power…all amazing, clean, responsible options for a planet struggling to support so many more people,

which clearly brings me – in this dot-to-dot brain of mine – once again – to the abhorrent devastation this administration is making of renewable energy in this country. the unparalleled gluttony of those in power now is absolutely decimating what is good for our planet earth. but they totally don’t care. and neither do those who continue to support this pathetic and backward set of so-called policies. there is no culpability for the environment; there is only money to be made. it’s disgusting. more on that tomorrow.

and so, the mourning dove sits on our westneighbor’s tv antenna, looking around, resting. the dove has no idea of what flies through my brain as i appreciate its perch on the roof. it has no idea of how admiring i am of its ability to be zen-like and coo in all circumstances. it has no idea how much peace it brings me – to just simply watch it sit on an old tv antenna.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

through the viewfinder. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

i suppose it depends on how big your viewfinder is. looking through the viewfinder of a handheld camera brings your rapt attention to whatever direction you have aimed it.

as you know, we often watch the youtube videos of hikers on trail at night, before sleep. we hike the trail – vicariously – through their eyes and it is fascinating to see how the trail changes – and how the trail stays the same – through a multitude of viewfinders.

it is particularly helpful to be on the trail “with” these hikers, for their cellphones and gopros are our eyes until that time when we are stepping the millions of steps on a thru-hike path with a hulking backpack and – hopefully – a lovely mule carrying it. (ok, just kidding – about the mule.)

we just read each other our posts from an earlier day, as is our custom. we write from an image but don’t share until after we are done. it was during the reading of one of my posts that we just stopped – full stop – and said how very fortunate we are…despite everything.

though there is much that would need be “shut out” in order to achieve serene peace, we focused for a few minutes on what is a part of our personal viewfinders.

for a while – years, maybe – i carried a white cardboard square slide frame in my wallet. my dear friend crunch had told me that there might be times that holding the slide frame up in front of me (not close to my eye), closing one eye and focusing on only what i could see through it – while blocking out everything else – might help my perspective. one thing at a time, not the whole picture. sometimes i have found that is necessary.

“just look through the viewfinder…” and the peripheral stuff falls off. at least momentarily. we all have it – all that peripheral stuff, some of which sets the entire somber tone for the entire country, even the whole global world, some of which is personal and keeps us burdened and struggling, some of which is just the picayune detail of life and living, some of which is a bit lighter, less difficult to carry.

years ago my beloved teacher and friend andrea wrote to me, “nothing is idyllic. i think we have idyllic moments. we have to take time to savor what is around us.”

the viewfinder keeps us in the moment and doesn’t let us forget to acknowledge the right now. it keeps us appreciative of the way it feels to smell the coffee in the morning or hear the earliest bird calls. it’s perspective-arranging, gives us a breath when we can hardly breathe. it helps us see the glimmer on the water, the mica right around us. it is life-giving, even if just for a small bit of time.

it gives us what we need to then leave that narrow focus and, once again, look at the whole horizon and all of that which is there.

****

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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

maypole dancing. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

wearing a traditional scandinavian jumper, i danced around the maypole. holding a ribbon tethered to the pole, i danced to and fro with other young girls also holding ribbons. it was an ancient spring festival – at an arboretum on the island – and my sweet momma happily got us involved in taking part in it.

may day – the first of may. it seems impossible that we are already at may. time has a way of zipping by while at the same time taking-its-sweet-time. langsam – slowww – one of the few german words i remember from six years of studying the language.

but the return of spring it is and we are both grateful for it, despite its exceedingly stormy arrival.

we wake in the morning even earlier now, the sun streams in on our quilt, the breeze through the open window. everything is greening…gorgeous new-green crayon tones against easter-egg blue sky…tiny buds bursting into leaves, stalks of peonies growing taller before our eyes. the aspen is filling out, the ferns are unfurling, the daylilies are daylilly-ing – they require no help whatsoever.

and the birds and squirrels and raccoons are taking full advantage of our zeal to keep the feeders full. they linger on the top of barney, on the top of the potting stand. they gather in the pine tree next to the birdbath, waiting turns at the water.

and we can hear the call of the cardinals – beautiful song punctuated by sharp chirps. they stick around during the winter; their presence is always reassuring…a sign from the universe reminding me that my sweet momma and poppo are nearby, just on the other side, having slipped from this dimension to the next.

we’ve sat on the back patio a few times now, on the back deck in the sun. we’ve watched these creatures of our yard, narrating for them as they move about. wanting a photo of the cardinal at the birdbath, perched on its side, getting a drink, i grabbed my phone. but i was, regretfully, too late and he took off as i snapped the picture.

it wasn’t until much later – hours, really – as i looked at my photos of the day when i saw this photograph, the cardinal taking off, flying away from the birdbath.

so much better than a static perch photo, the cardinal taking flight – its may dance – its own celebration of the arrival of spring, of renewal, of new life.

we sit in our adirondack chairs and plot out our spring. we talk of our gardens, of an annual flower or two we might choose, of the herbs and vegetables we will grow on our barnwood stand.

it is hard not to feel passion for our very earth watching it come back alive all around us. it is impossible not to take deep, cleansing breaths, to turn our faces to the sun. it is time – for all good things – to dance around the maypole, to take flight.

*****

TAKE FLIGHT © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

bowing to time. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“the white trout lily humbly bows on the forest floor. much like people, though on a different scale, their presence is ephemeral, fleeting. on sunny days, their petals will curl back, up, towards the sun; on shady days these small flowers may not even open. their simple beauty a mystery to the passerby, their faces shyly downward, they fill the underbrush on the side of the trail, dotting the landscape with fragile white blooms. i trust they are not concerned with the impact they make on the world nor do they wonder about their footprints once they are gone. they are simply there – love – dressed in white floral.” (from a post on august 26, 2021)

the tiny trout lily forest – as seen from the ground – stretching on and on, dotting through dry underbrush, the accumulation of fall and winter now giving it up to spring.

the day was stunning…warm, sunny, blue skies. a gift of a day, indeed. it was our first time back on our loop since we arrived home. it was time to process it all and that trail is one of our touchstones for processing. we wandered along the dirt path, talking, being silent, noting how this new season was transforming our woods.

when you travel to or through places where you are not known – where you are a stranger – there is a sense of humility. we immerse in little towns on back roads when we can, finding our way through someone else’s place, through a community of ‘others’ – those in the know about local customs, local gems, local folklore. we are just passersby – soon to be on our way somewhere else.

but we have discovered some of our favorite spots this way. we’ve found places to which we must return some day, places with which we have connected, places that seem magically aligned with us.

discovery is like that. our steps take us past the familiar, into the unknown, the mysterious.

as i got down on my knees to photograph the trout lily forest, i imagined being tiny and walking amongst the lilies. like walking in a city of towering buildings, anonymous to most.

this trail – so familiar – each twist and turn, the spots where we know there will be standing water, the spots where the sun bathes the path, the places where the scent of pine is strong. we are lucky to know this place.

it is not likely that hikers after us will wonder about our footprints. they will be intent on the awakening forest and the swollen river, on their own silence, on their own talk–talk.

but we were there.

and – again – i realize we are each just one of the trout lilies in the woods, just as fragile, just as ephemeral, bowing to time.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

the so-called NYM. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

though they would have you believe that everything happens fast in new york city- that it’s all “in the flashiest flash”, that it’s all practically instantaneous – i would offer up driving across the george washington bridge or a spin on the cross bronx or the cross island or maybe the long island expressway – as counterpoint to that point. nothing happens fast in or on any of those places. it is slower than molasses and any pretense of traversing across the waterways to get to the other side – rapidly – would be dispelled as soon as you plant yourself in a vehicle somewhere near the gwb.

the thing about being on a bridge for a long period of time is that you are on a bridge for a long period of time. you can actually feel the sway of the bridge, the movement of the bridge, the other thousands upon thousands of vehicles on the bridge. it can be alarming if you are bridge-phobic, height-phobic, traffic-phobic, noise-phobic, phobic about going too slow, phobic about being late, phobic about big trucks surrounding you (if you are upper level), phobic about dark places that are underneath a whole ‘nother level of vehicles suspended on pavement and traveling above you (if you are lower level)…many phobias, so little time.

the problem is – this is the way there. to get to long island from new jersey – coming from the west, one must cross a bridge. you have a choice – the gwb or the verrazano. you can cross staten island or you can cross manhattan. the choice isn’t exactly favorable either way.

but – those are your driving-your-car options.

we thought about leaving – heading west – a different way…maybe driving north up along the hudson and crossing at the tappan zee, taking the ‘high road’ so-to-speak and bumping up into rockland county, taking a roundabout route to try and achieve that infamous new york minute stuff.

we chose not to, though, and went the “traditional” way, hoping we had timed it well, that – this very day, this very hour – the planets would align and conditions would be different and we would sail right through.

ahhh. no such luck.

maybe, in the end, the new york minute IS actually a thing. because anything – in comparison to the sloth-inspired-turtle’s pace on the roads to the city, through the city, across the city – would be faster. and a new york minute – that blink-of-an-eye-jiffiest-jiffy takes on different meaning.

*****

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

life in the fast lane

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

wings in the harbor. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“a ship in the harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.” (john a. shedd)

i daresay that any artist understands this. there is no pursuit of artistry without the taking of risks, the exposure of vulnerability, the stepping out of one’s comfort zone. our job – as artists – is to seek growth, to encourage growth, to open up vast space of potential instead of squeezing complacency.

our trip back reminded me of this. the sailboats, the cruisers, even the skiffs in the harbor are protected…from the challenges of the elements and any stormy surf. but these boats will not stay in the harbor. people will take them out on the sound, perhaps around the island to where the sound and the atlantic meet, perhaps further into the ocean. they will explore and adventure; they’ll follow a star they alone can see.

we followed the star here. this is my chance to reclaim it all, to find the 19 year-old i lost, to hold her and assure her that she is now safe and that i have taken on that which attempted to squelch her forever. ships weren’t built to stay in harbors.

i have found my way home – intentionally. and in that finding, i have found her. and in that finding, i hope that the so-many-years lost will come rushing forward – music in every star i can see, in every star i can capture.

and the ships in the harbor will bear wings and, all together – with me at the helm – will sail into next.

*****

the way home © 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by 1 Comment

my town. this time. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

the texture was different this time. being there was different.

this time i didn’t feel the same sense of deep sadness everywhere i went. this time i didn’t feel as disconnected, as unwilling to recognize the significance of these places in my life’s timeline. this time i didn’t try to stave off any feeling of affinity, any bond or relationship to these roads, the sand, the harbor, the dock, the salty air. i didn’t slink back from it all, didn’t hide instead in now, in after.

i still felt the loss. i still felt the trauma. i still felt pain.

but i also felt immense love for this place. i felt pride. i felt connection.

this time was different.

and as we walked around – arm in arm, as we do – i felt comforted being there. this visit put dots on the i’s, crossed the t’s. it gave me back my growing-up years. “i’m from here,” i kept saying.

what has happened in our lives will forever be a texture of our lives. i can look back and see how it all impacted me – really, forever.

but this time i was able to distinguish the place from the trauma. i was able to separate them out and not blame that which shouldn’t be blamed. i was able to love on my hometown while recognizing those who had tarnished it in my heart. and i was able to reclaim the place as my own.

the painted brick wall is over by the bakery. it’s gorgeous, an exterior wall of a big old long island lighting (LILCO) building built in 1924. beautifully peeling white paint, it is striking each time we walk past. the textures of this place are visceral for me.

we sat at the bar in skipper’s, sipping from wine glasses that state “since 1978”. the synchronicity is not lost on me. 1978 was the year. back then i owned this town, that place. all the world was open, people were mostly to be trusted, i was a sunrise/rainbows/poet-in-a-tree girl – a budding peony waiting to bloom, to burst into the rest of the world.

and then.

there is a reality to my trauma, like there is for anyone who has experienced the same. it has played a role in my health, my emotions, my relationships, my ability to trust others, every decision, every bit of the arc of my personal and professional life.

we brought home the wine glasses, holding onto my town and all the moments before – and after – everything changed.

*****

19 & 64

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by Leave a comment

stopping on the way. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

the woods are different out east. the rhododendron is en masse and the scratchy underbrush is minimal, so you can walk in the trees, weaving your way in and out of the stands of these tall towers.

we had a bit of time before the sun set to walk on this special retreat land, stretch our legs from roadtripping, sit on the balcony with a charcuterie we had prepared ahead of our drive, watch the sun go down.

it was peaceful and – truly – just what we needed. the wind sailing through the pine trees near us was soothing, the scent of spring in the allegheny-appalachian mountains would bring us down from the drone of the interstate. it was the perfect stopping ground.

our accommodations were simple and inexpensive – a small studio above a garage – but with a kitchen so we could warm up the dinner we brought with us and make breakfast in the morning. we were thrilled to have such a serene setting as we knew the next day would bring the hectic chaos of the city, the bridges and the cross-bronx-cross-island craziness.

early the next morning with our coffee we strategized about how calmly we would approach the traffic of the day. we took back roads to the interstate, learning a bit of how rural-mountain folks are living, wondering where the grocery store was, wondering what the roads are like in the dead of winter.

we hadn’t gone too far that morning when on the side of the road were two wild turkeys. just as we approached one turkey decided to take off and fly right in front of big red. i slammed on the brakes, determined not to hit this very-slow-to-get-momentum-flying creature right in front of my windshield, like a lumbering skyvan. thankfully, the turkey made it to the other side of the road safely and we continued on. i felt a bit shaken. but d looked up the significance of this large grounded creature – particularly when one flies right in front of your vehicle. a reminder of abundance, of courage, of tenacity, of openness and readiness – all these attributes of new beginnings and changes were positive trade-offs for the frightening close-up of a turkey in flight. we chose to adopt these meanings and i quietly thanked the turkey for the good omens.

we left behind the forests, sandstone outcroppings, striated vertical walls, and the mountains, trading it for the shore, forsythia, stands of woods, sand and bluffs. and though we didn’t wake up the next day in a sanctuary forest, we sipped our coffee watching the harbor, its water still, perfectly reflecting sailboats and skiffs moored, buoys out past the dock.

a different kind of peace, i felt like i had come home.

*****

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

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.


by Leave a comment

shimmering too. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

this place. these shimmers of light. these sounds. this air. this salt. this place. this magic.

in the days we are there, taking it all in. i am reminded – once again – of owning it all – in the days of my growing – in the days when anything felt possible and nothing was necessary.

in the days we are there, reconnecting to plank under my feet, waterfront air in my hair, soft ink falling on the dock, clanking masts.

in the days we are there, the pride of where-i’m-from returning, the tethers of heart, sand in my shoes, salty waves at my horizon.

in the days we are there, revisiting, reclaiming, restoring, recognizing the waters of before and after and – then – in the same way the waves of the inlet and the sound meet, allowing it all to mesh into one.

in the days we are there, standing in the sun, standing in the dark. it is night and it is day. and this is my town and i am wrapped in it.

in the days we are there, i become the wake – following all that has come before, choosing to ride the triangle of waves behind the rest of life. and i discover – it’s all one.

and then.

i am shimmering too.

***

night dock (jan 12, 1977)

clanking of metal-rigged sails / politely interrupt the still evening. /

the water below is soft, shadowed chasms away, yet close and quiet.

orange and pink hues fade from the night / and are enraptured by the hushed harbor.

faint strums of a guitar revolve in the mind / and in the silence of dark.

white starry sky fills the air.

men ready a boat and set sail.

the waters part to let them go.

the wake follows, alone.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. – thank you. xoxo

buymeacoffee is a website where you may directly support an artist whose work directly impacts you.