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Tag Archives: narrative


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tacet season. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in the initial moments when we clear our barnwood potting stand – pull all the plants for composting, stack the clay pots and garden tools to be put away, brush off the stand, close the wrought iron gate, and then step back – i feel a sadness for the loss of our tiny garden. this year yielded a wild crop of herbs and tomatoes, jalapeños and lavender. we thoroughly enjoyed our sweet potato vines and our miniature licorice plant, the sweet dianthus, our peonies. this summer’s heat and humidity was a boon to our backyard. so it is somewhat hard to see it ending.

but the tacet of our garden – after such an amazing fully-bloomed tutti – is just as important in its performance. the quiet of this time will serve to gather its energy, to bring impact to subsequent growth, to give rest to roots bound by pots.

this winter we will propagate some of our summer plants. it is a new venture, introduced to us by the gift of our dear friend – a small indoor greenhouse. we will be learning what these tiny plants need, trying to help them root, keep them alive, bring them back – out of silence – to a spring in which we have a bit of a headstart.

the clearing of our house is kind of like that, too, as we move from room to room, closet to closet, drawer to drawer, bin to bin. we are still in phase one of all this, but each bit of giveaway, of throwaway, of repurposing gives air to some more space and in that space i can hear the vibrations of possibility gathering.

there are two new fuzzy white pillows in my studio on a metal strapped swivel patio chair we brought up from the basement. it feels like sitting in that chair – sinking in – could lend itself to the expression of the tacet i’ve been in, the long time of fallow. i don’t know what that means. it could just mean gaining clarity. it could mean setting it all aside. it could mean a few new notes that lead to a few new songs. the times d mentions the word “when” i counter with the word “if” because i really don’t know. there’s been a lot of pain and the wounds haven’t yet healed over. the tacet and my reticence continue.

but the potting stand reminds me: even after a period of silence, a period of fallow and nothing really happening, there is actually much in play. energy is stoking up. the time of rest is giving import to the time of sprouting. and, though this summer’s heat and humidity were incredibly generative – much like the middle years of my artist life – so will be next summer’s heat and humidity, even if the conditions are different, even if the heat and humidity are less intense. it is still a growth season.

just like now. the season has not ended with the pulling of plants from pots. negative space defines positive space, silence creates tension, the narrative of our plants continues.

just like mine. i am still in a season of growth.

*****

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

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which story? [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

sometime between 300 and 1300 c.e. there were people in this south central utah area who wanted to tell a story, to preserve it. their narrative – told in petroglyphs – was about their daily living – their families, livestock, wildlife they hunted. it was a narrative of living in community. it is astounding to witness the carved chiseling of so long ago, humbling to imagine living in such a harsh, difficult environment. you can feel a pull from the earth as you stand there – something that binds you to those moments so many centuries before. you gaze at these figures and are struck by the humanness of this history – despite absolutely different living conditions, we all simply wish to tell a narrative of our living.

the petroglyphs we were fortunate to see at capitol reef did not depict fighting. they did not depict division nor hatred. they did not depict power or control struggles. they did not depict what would certainly be pictured as part of petroglyphs were there to be some telling the tale of right now.

in absolute embarrassment about how low this country’s people have sunk – the inability to hold democracy and freedom-of-all-to-live as essentials – the spewing hatred and vitriol – i cannot imagine what story petroglyphs etched into big red rock canyon walls now would tell – later.

covid has given us some free time. in-between moments of feeling absolutely horrendous, we have succumbed to reading articles, scrolling the news. it is utterly disturbing.

i want to scream, “this is not about you!!!” to people caught up in the despicable hate, in the misinformation, the disinformation, the conspiracies. i want to beg people to consider the future of this country’s democracy, the future beyond their own lives, to vote for something hopeful. i want to ask people to just stop, listen, think, consider.

i do not recognize you – you, who are supporting the heinous intentions of the maga-party. i do not recognize you – you, who are turning a blind eye to people in your midst who you claim to care about or even love – as you sign on to extreme changes of freedoms in these un-united states. this is not a difference in policy-embracing; this is a deeply undermined philosophical difference on humanity. i do not recognize your heart, turned so very angry, exclusionary, cold. and, in turn, my heart is broken, seeing this, seeing you – now.

but i know the power of rhetoric, the sheer toxic force of those who lie. i have experienced being the subject of warped narrative, of agenda-riddled powermongers. and in my tiny subset of experience, i have seen people – who i never would have expected – support the lies, push the ugly agenda, fight to win. but it is in their winning that they truly lost. and i believe they know that.

if there were to be petroglyphs or pictographs on red rock canyon walls telling our story – the story of we-the-people of these times – what would we wish them to depict?

it boils down to a pretty basic question.

is it a story of community? or a story of devastating division and hate?

which story?

who are you?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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shadow wisdom. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the shadow knows.

on this part of our walk in the ‘hood, our shadows precede us. we follow them east down the sidewalk, never quite catching up. and, just as suddenly as they appeared, they disappear – as we turn a corner and head for home.

i, laughing aloud, wish for the long, skinny legs of my shadow. though we clearly can’t see our expressions in our shadow photograph, we both smile as i take a picture. it reminds me of times of confusion in my life when it was difficult to sort out the emotions of the time – and i smiled anyway.

when i was in junior high we were assigned the task of choosing an old radio show, writing a new script and recording the show onto cassette tape. my group chose “the shadow”. “who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of man? the shadow knows.” i don’t remember the script we wrote or the storyline we chose, but i do remember the commercial we made. it was about a product that could clean anything – from brushing your teeth to heavy grunge cleaning – the same product.

i am aware of shadow work – the shadow – the place where unprocessed trauma is found, where pain is stored, where we somehow try to protect ourselves. the work to help recognize what has become unconsciously present in our lives. it would seem important for all of us to have an opportunity for the quiet time to step into our shadow – the place that knows. because we are human, there are always places in our heart to heal.

in the meanwhile and here in the sweet phase, we walk arm in arm around the block a few steps behind our shadows. we binge on happy moments and hoard them for trying times, sad times, confusing times, times when our shadow tilts its head and asks us to feel something else.

we carry the wisdom of time we have already spent living. there’s a knowledge we gain as we experience the blisses and the traumas of this life. and smiling – even in the shadow times – stokes the fire, keeps the pilot light on, reminds us of the here and now and the evanescence of it all.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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our caribbean vacation. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we landed at our caribbean island a few days ago. anxious to stretch our legs, we dropped off our luggage and changed practical travel sandals to flipflops. the sun was out and the water was inviting. we were on the side of the island with some rocky shoreline but a beautiful footpath led us along to the sandy beach. we just couldn’t get over the color of the water, the sound of seagulls, the soft air, the bamboo populating the coast.

we haven’t ever been here before, but we are both excited to snorkel and maybe even dive – we are both certified scuba divers so having some time in this gorgeous ocean is appealing.

our airbnb is full of light, open to the outdoors, embracing everything tropical. there are two hammocks strung between trees and tiki torches all along the patio waiting for sundown. and we are lucky. we are here during a time that it is not too humid – there are cool breezes off the ocean, the birds are plentiful, the lizards run wild and free and the salty scent in the air is fresh.

we get to the beach and pull off our flipflops to feel the exquisite white sand on our feet. walking along water’s edge we decide there is nothing like this – it’s dreamy.

and – the fact of the matter is – it IS dream-y.

this is not the caribbean nor is this a tropical ocean. this photograph is taken along the harbor down the street from us on lake michigan. it’s all about the narrative.

if there is nothing else we have learned over the last eight years or so, it is to check the narrative of what you are hearing or seeing – BEFORE you believe it. it is to ponder the validity of the words that people around you are saying, to wonder if there is agenda behind those words, to inquire and research and find the truth.

because people tell tall tales – even those who you would never expect to fabricate, those from whom you would expect better, those whose positions literally suggest honesty, those whose integrity you count on. the guarantee is that you will be surprised.

so, before you think – wow! they are in the caribbean on vacation – realize you must never assume anything these days. for things are not always how they look and it is incumbent upon each of us to make sure we understand what really IS true.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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as long as. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we will be there as long as the sun is at our backs. and then we won’t.

and the we-there – on that bridge – will first get longer and longer and we will appear taller and taller – more long-legged and spindly – and then we will flatten and distort and eventually disappear into the lack of distinction of color and shadow and water.

it will be over the course of a short time – not a long time. and if we stand there, we can watch the whole process, intrigued by the morphing of presence to absence.

i suppose – in an over-simplified way – life is like that. here as long as the sun is at our backs.

which means we have some stuff to do.

as daylight wanes – for it is none too obvious now that we are more waning than waxing – we each peel back layers of comparison, false imperatives, losses – and we expose the vulnerable – and exquisite – more-of-who-we-are. we pay attention to the tenderest of touches – literal and figurative, to the tiniest of blessings, to the most evanescent moments. we look back – with more forgiveness than we could ever muster before. we look ahead – with more optimism than we allowed before.

we begin to sort and see more clearly – even in our shadows in the water.

the sun is at our back. and we have some stuff to do.

*****

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

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swiss cheese games. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and adults play it too. the telephone game.

you remember…when we were kids, we played it in a circle. sitting cross-legged. on the floor. like right after duck-duck-goose.

it started with one little girl or boy leaning over to the next and whispering something in that child’s ear. that child whispered in the next ear and that next ear whispered in the next ear and the next and so on…until it came around to the end of the circle.

the child at the end of the circle would then state what he or she heard – whispered to them.

and it was inevitably always completely different from how it started. and everyone would giggle and giggle about how funny it was that this tiny message would be so misconstrued – so distorted – by the end of the circle game. it became a tiny beehive of misinformation.

i recently learned that adults play this too. only it is not with the innocence of children in a cross-legged circle. it is not a game of giggles. it is, however, played in a beehive.

and instead of lighthearted buzzy laughter, it is an effort with meanness and agenda at its core. it takes information that hasn’t been fact-checked or questioned or even properly considered and passes it on. and one person passes it to thirteen people who pass it to thirteen people who pass it to thirteen people and voila! the real-real has been warped beyond repair and the telephone “game” has taken on an air of righteous targeting, the spirit of nasty, baseless and malicious. this now-swiss-cheese-story is punctuated with lies and innuendo and is passed on and on and on – with no thought or respect to truth, no thought or respect for the target.

it’s a far cry from cross-legged giggling children on the floor.

but it’s still a game.

an ugly game.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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bricks and boundaries. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the snow fell in a not-so-unexpected twist of march. it was heavy and wet and, in its stickiness, made the world around us beautiful. we were both glad for it. now, a few days later, we are ready for tulips and daffodils. but for those days that it stuck around, it was perfect.

the old wall out front is one of my favorite things about our yard. it is far from perfect; its mortar is shedding. but it is gorgeous old brick and divides the upper yard from the lower yard. when the water company did their thing out front, i was worried it would topple. my fears were alleviated when they dug next to the wall and i could see that there was a four-foot footing deep into the ground, at least holding up the structure in a basic way. not that some of the bricks would not individually separate from the wall, but the wall itself would remain stable.

boundaries are kind of like that. weather – or things – or people – can try to undermine them, but a good solid foundation – and some sisu – will ultimately keep them standing.

this is something i have needed to remind myself.

in a time when finessed narrative and the non-telling of truth has been rampant, i need remember to stand firm, to hold fast, to grit my teeth and trust what i know to be true. i need remember that people are all fallible and that gossip is a more powerful force than truth and that anyone who doesn’t ask questions – seeking truth – should be paid no heed.

i have discovered – painfully – that people will attempt to knock all your bricks down for their own purposes, whatever those may be. i have discovered – shockingly – that people will declare their own righteousness and – yet – will fabricate whatever it takes to be right, to be more powerful, to be better. i have discovered – disappointingly – that people will betray others for agenda.

i haven’t really understood completely why i love that old brick wall so much. we could have our yard smoothed out – level the higher and lower portions – or smooth out the difference in a gentle slope. but i truly do love the wall. the old bricks – which have endured decades of time and the changes and challenges that weather brings. the old bricks – with a patina that no tumbler would be able to attain. the old bricks – worn in just the right way – bits and pieces broken off, yet still standing.

mostly, i have discovered that old brick walls have a real purpose in life.

as do boundaries.

*****

BOUNDARIES from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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drive away. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

there are people who are immersed in negativity. they eat it, drink it, breathe it, live it. i have learned – that it matters not what truth is if they can convolute it into their own narrative, if they can spin it as negative, if they can lift themselves up by pushing someone else under water – or, in some cases – under the bus.

life

is too short for that.

is too much a gift for that.

is too interdependent for that.

is too precious for that.

has more potential than that.

and we can all choose differently.

we drove away from negativity. walked down the hill, got into littlebabyscion, drove out of the parking lot, made a right and a left and a right and drove on. away.

and behind us – far behind us – we left the scourge of scowling faces, of spinning stories, of agenda-riddling, of adversarial contention.

and we drove further, further.

away.

i opened the window of littlebabyscion.

the cold air rushed in and swirled around, pulling negativity out.

and i could breathe.

and my sweet momma – through the filament of dimension between us – whispered, “live life, my sweet potato.”

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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the fuzzy-wuzzy. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i’m on the side of the fuzzy-wuzzy.

there is never a time i will pass by a caterpillar attempting to make its way across a busy trail without stopping to help it, to aid it across the pathway, to shield it from harm, to literally pick it up and place it on the other side, to protect it.

i have gotten some funny looks doing this.

yet, i will continue to do this. i will continue to protect, to aid, to shield, to carry tiny critters that are in harm’s way, beings that are subjected to elements against which they are not equipped, creatures that are in the way of someone else’s forward movement – by foot, bike tires, four-wheelers, agenda.

because – if one has ever been the caterpillar on the trail, threatened – even debilitated – by someone else’s negligence, someone else’s inaction, someone else’s inconceivable agenda or apathy, someone else’s aggression – then one knows the importance of others, of their care and concern, of their help, of their doing-something, of their protection.

and because we never know when we might be the fuzzy-wuzzy.

*****

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

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waveform. [merely-a-thought monday]

it was a cacophony of sound in the restaurant. so.many.people. but it’s chicago and it’s summertime and it was a beautiful night and a trendy 7pm dinner hour, so it’s to be expected. we leaned in to hear our daughter speak and figured most eateries at that hour would be similar. i’d imagine that the frequency decibels would be all over the place and that any recording of the ambient sound would have to be compressed in mastering to accommodate the full spectrum, most especially the louds, the gain between quiet dinner and boisterous restaurant.

i’ve looked over the shoulder of my producer probably hundreds of times, watching the waveform of my music. reducing sound and hours of composing to crisp contrails, manipulating them, editing, mixing, ultimately mastering – it’s complexity, the telling of narrative, an artform in itself.

i would imagine that – somewhere – there is one colossal frequency wave. it started when all-time started and it keeps going. it builds and wanes and layers all manners of sound – the roaring ocean, a tiny peeper frog, a destructive tornado, a baby’s first cry. it mixes piano and the gentle ding of a triangle, cymbal washes and sweeping cello lines. it wraps in first graders singing in denver and the country artist on the flatbed in nashville and the happy guy in the shower in fort wayne. it expands with the din of the city and gets tiny under northern lights and the milky way. it soars over countries, soaking up rich sounds of tradition and ritual, vernacular music.

and then, the frequency wave – giant, unending, inclusive of all sound – is distilled by the wind. it becomes a bit less distinct, its edges are less rigid. particles break off and float, and, though they remain in the atmosphere a long while, they begin to fade, eventually fading as if to zero.

but just as the wave feathers on one end, it grows on the other, pushing forward. and all things continue. all sounds have a place in the wave.

and we listen to live music and the birds at 4am. and we listen to the voices of beloveds and mournful foghorns. and we listen to laughter and sighs. and we listen to the rain and the silence of sunrise. and we listen to harmony and dissonance and cacophony.

and it’s all a contrail in the sky.

*****

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

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