reverse threading

the path back is the path forward

Tag Archives: painter


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stripe and dot. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and nature bent way down, furrowing her brow at her canvas. and then, after careful consideration, she took her paint pens to the swallowtail caterpillar and drew stripes – the lightest green, almost opalescent. thinking that wasn’t enough, she took out her most vibrant sunshine-yellow pen and polka-dotted in-between the stripes. she sat back and looked at her work, smiling. “yes,” she thought, “yes, this is right for the swallowtail.” she moved on to the other caterpillars waiting to get their colors.

it never ceases to amaze me what is quietly starring just in our backyard alone. when i opened the little gate to our potting stand, they took me by surprise. they stand out.

since i am a big fan of painting polka dots on rocks, i was instantly fond of the two caterpillars eating their way through the wild vegetation growing between the big flat rock-slabs on the ground. they made me think of children’s books and writing stories of two caterpillars out adventuring for the day, their obvious names “stripe” and “dot”.

i was careful not to disturb them as i tended the parsley and basil, snipping back the spindly ends. they stayed right there, not at all thrown off by my presence. i closed the gate and checked on them later. they had made little headway, maybe an inch or so. but caterpillars, so i surmise, are not in a hurry.

we think we are so brilliant, we humans. we study and research pantone matching systems and cmyk process charts. we bring home paint and fabric swatches. we mix paints on palettes thick with color.

and nature giggles – glancing at her caterpillars and butterflies, flowers and trees, canyons and mountains, sky and prairies, oceans and fishes, birds and rainbows and sunrises – knowing she will always have the upper hand. it comes naturally to her.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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like this tiny plant. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

it was precisely the message i needed. like this tiny plant – clearly steeped in sisu – was quietly saying, “there are ways. even against all odds. it is possible.”

and on this day, walking along the lakefront downtown, i nearly missed it peeking out of this drain in the asphalt aggregate street.

i thought about the days, the challenges coming, the uphills, and standing-my-grounds. as we all choose our battles it is much like this tiny plant. the odds may be stacked against us, the difficulties numerous. frustrations will loom mighty, listeners won’t listen and talkers won’t talk. the village looks different than you thought.

but we carry on like the little plant with chutzpah – with sisu – so that we can climb out of the drain-in-the-road and have our say. we speak up and we speak out. we stand firm.

and we root – with fortitude and courage – with sisu – and tether ourselves to the good earth. we stoke up perseverance and grit – sisu – so that we have a surplus from which to draw when we need it.

and, together with the little plant growing out of the drain in the middle of the asphalt street, we rise up and whisper, “don’t underestimate me!”

*****

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

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the later it gets. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

the truth is, he’s pretty much always adorable.

well, except for when he’s bugging me.

then, not so much.

and in the middle of the night – him sleeping like a baby and snoring like a freight train – while i am sitting there, wide awake, gazing adoringly at his smug-sweet-sleeping-snoring face – as much as i remind myself my insomnia is not his fault – it is neither his joy or his angst – it is not his to own or relinquish – it is not his to have and to hold – he tends to bug me just the teensiest-tiniest-minutest-nanoscopicest-infinitesimalest-bit.

not so adorable.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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smack-dab. ©️ 2023 kerrianddavid.com
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out from umbrella-world. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

and from my tiny home under the clover, i can look up and see that maybe the sky is clearing and the rains have stopped. the whole town has put up black umbrellas; some are bent from the wind and most are taller than they are wide, so it’s still easy to get caught in the downpours. and i can see – over there – the brown fulton birdcage umbrellas all set up, rounded bubbles – but everything that has been drenched is now drying a bit and it’s all verdant green and lush. it’s time to carry on.

i’m leaving my little home under the clover to go back out into the world. to see its giantness and feel the arriving sun and appreciate the balance of sunsoaked and rainsoaked, to try and understand the relationship between lack and abundance, to navigate the seesaw of positive and negative.

i see that it is quite possibly all about perspective. for the birds flying over our umbrella-world don’t see us here and, from our vantage point under the umbrella canopy, we don’t see them there. it’s only in the open field that we see each other, in the open field we can discern and hear each other, in the open field we can find truth.

my perspective has gotten lost from time to time, focused merely on my own parched landscape and drenching rainstorms. stepping out, looking around, taking stock – i see past the tiny market-umbrella-town in which i’ve taken shelter.

and i am no longer silent. there is much to be said, much to be learned.

and in the sun i’ll revel. and in the rain i won’t carry an umbrella.

it’s time.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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EARTH INTERRUPTED acrylic mixed media 50.25″x41″
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cornfield. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in the way that dads are corny, my sweet poppo was just that – a little bit corny. somehow, it seems it’s supposed to be that way. his humor was lighthearted and the way he repeated some jokes was comforting. “do you think the rain will hurt the rhubarb?” he’d quip. waiting just a few seconds, he’d respond to himself – if you didn’t beat him to it – “not if it’s in cans!!” and then he’d laugh. every time.

i think he was buying time to think when he’d quip about the rhubarb. it wasn’t like he was intently concerned about the rhubarb. matter of fact, i only remember them growing rhubarb maybe one or two years, back behind the house. and even then, it wasn’t like he was a huge rhubarb fan. i think the only way he liked it was with strawberries – in a pie.

but his jokes were harmless and predictably silly. no stand-up routine for him, he was just daddy-o, trying his best to carry on. and because he wasn’t a giant conversationalist – he turned that over to my sweet momma – he’d just fill in the gaps. “well, how do you like them apples?” he’d say.

i’m pretty sure he’d had loved the corn we grew in our backyard this summer. the squirrels and chippies had everything to do with this crop. they’d deplete the birdfeeder in mere hours, tossing kernels and seeds everywhere. i have no doubt where the cornfield came from. but it was pretty astounding to see. we suddenly became prolific mini-farmers.

it was everywhere. next to breck, our aspen. inbetween the ornamental grasses. under the birdfeeder. under the potting bench with our herbs. next to the garage. yesterday we found it in the front garden bed.

i could hear david’s dad columbus chuckle from the other side when we found it in the front garden. a cornfield-lover from way back, i figure he might have had something to do with that. we laughed as well, delighted in a – hmmm – corny kind of way.

for the longest time we left it all right where it was. there was something really pleasing about glancing out at the corn.

but then we decided it was time to pull it out, so that it wouldn’t suffocate our intentional plantings. we took pictures and then pulled it, thanking it for the entertainment it had provided.

outside on the driveway we talked to our westneighbors. we talked about our hummingbirds and our feeders and the birdbaths we had placed in our yards and the chippies and squirrels stealing seed and the birds gathering in the bushes. we were all zealous, loving the little creatures in our yards. “we’ve turned into our parents,” i noted and we all nodded and laughed.

“well, how do you like them apples?” i thought.

*****

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

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our hope frog. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and then, there it was. in our pond. the first frog in a couple years.

it was helen, who is steeped in her gift of faith, who told us the significance of having a frog appear. “f-r-o-g,” she said, “fully-rely-on-God.”

it is astounding how very much the appearance of this frog means to us. in the middle of the middle, a nod (or hop) of reassurance is unbelievably gratifying.

not every frog likes a photo shoot, but “hope” participated nonetheless. she was shier than most of our other frogs, but maybe that’s because she’s just getting to know us. one of our frogs – 2020 maybe? named “pando” – actually let me pet it, stroke its head and speak to it up close.

regardless, we’re a tad bit worried because it is so late in the year. she arrived on the equinox and the fall weather will race past the starting gate, sprinting to winter.

we hope that hope will survive the seasons.

in every way.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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food bliss. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

yowza. we are not up-to-date.

it shocks us every time we are out. at the grocery store, at a department store or boutique, at a restaurant. the prices!

though we love a wonderful epicurean experience just like the next person, we rarely have them out in cafes or eateries. the cost of eating out and a generous tip equals quite a few groceries for us. so instead, we end up creating our own dining experiences – at our kitchen table or in the sunroom under happy lights or out on the deck or somewhere else at our pop-up table and stools. we eat as healthy as we can and enjoy a glass of wine with dinner when we can. nothing fancy.

because we believe it’s not really about the food. it’s about being together.

i remember when we were on the whole30 diet. we’d pass a tray full of scrumptious brownies and be taunted by their deliciousness. ultimately – because brownies are not on the whole30 – we’d walk on. and the thing we’d remember is that the brownie experience would have only been about five minutes of food bliss.

in paris – with fabulous cuisine and bistros at every turn – we picnicked at parks and on cathedral steps with baguettes and cheese, olives and tiny salads, glasses of wine. neither of us felt gypped. instead, it was an experience rich with blissful moments, immersed in the city.

and so it’s a little bit like that with eating out for us.

we either need to get the side salad and bread or we just need to find our food bliss somewhere else.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2023 kerrianddavid.com
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places you carry. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

my tree. i found a photograph of my tree. the one i sat in for the years i was growing up on long island. i wrote poetry and tinkered with lyrics and sorted out the pinings of teenagehood. in that tree.

things are never as big as what you remember. the maple tree wasn’t huge – but it provided solace and a quiet, private place for me. i’d climb up and sit on one of the limbs, my back against the sturdy trunk, sun filtered through the leaves, my bedroom window within view. it wasn’t in a thick forest. and it wasn’t a giant old tree. it was a younger maple, just old enough to wisely offer me space, fill the place in me that needed it.

we walked into the silo. it was silent and tall. like a tiny round cathedral, it hit us both as a place you could sit, meditate, think, pray. a place to go to when you need to get centered again, when all else is spinning, when blustering winds or words are pummeling you, when you feel you cannot stop.

as we stepped in, damp cool gentle air wrapped around us. everything slowed down – hushed slow motion in a cave. had we had a chance to sit, we would have folded our legs beneath us, closed our eyes. leaned back against the trunk … oh, wait, it was cement…

quiet spaces are like that. inordinately remarkable, uncannily ordinary. but they share something. serenity.

guided imagery meditation ushers you to a quiet place. in belleruth naparstek’s meditations she invites that space to be anywhere – the forest, the shore, the desert, the canyon. places that have brought you peace. places you hold in your mind’s eye. places that are sacred to you.

even without guided imagery we find our own corners and crannies. they are the porches of our hearts – a spot to rest and rock.

i suppose the gift of these places is the unexpectedness. the silo was unexpected. the log on the side of the mountain stream, the jetty jutting into the sound, the edge of the canyon. i guess the first time so was my tree.

it’s all in recognizing it when you feel it. and you’re forever changed as you carry that place with you.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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IN QUIET PRAYER acrylic 16″x20″

PAX acrylic 24″x24″
buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” donation site where you may help support artists whose work you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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tattered heart. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i ask that you hold my tattered heart gently

and that you stand with me in the wind

so as to tether me to something

beating

i ask you to see

the rips and the holes and the rough edges

sometimes peering at them closely

sometimes from afar

bringing salve to open wounds

and light to dark

i ask you to be real

love

to not expect a heart not battered

by storms and swells

by fallow and failure

to not expect a heart not swollen

by riptides and windshear

by tears and deluge

by uninhibited adoration

by wavering pride and ever-present bootstraps

i ask you not to be reckless

it is more fragile than you realize

and stronger than i imagine

and its wrinkles in time

mark life

and land next to my eyes

where you can see if i laughed

or cried

and i am again open to float

to feel the passing seasons

and to hold the passion of the sun

and the cool rest of the night sky

it is not threadbare

it is merely tattered

yes

but it is whole

in its ragged

and alive

and beating

with yours

*****

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

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buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” website where you may help support the artists whose work you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo


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fluid flame. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in these days – in any days – i could sit and – for long periods of time – stare at a dancing flame. much like cumulus clouds lazily floating by in a brilliant sky, my imagination drinks in the possibilities…every moment a different shape. constant flux.

“i do not understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.” (anne lamott)

no given moment – as i have learned – is static. no given moment – as i have learned – is untouched. every everything is moving and swirling and spinning and the unexpected is right around the corner. just exactly when you think nothing is going to ever change. it’s fluid flame.

enthralled with it (my astrological element is fire) i took out my camera and started shooting flame photos, one after the other. it took less than a minute. it’s sometimes hard to remember that, in the overall arc of time, change is the only constant. one needs only watch the flame to get a sense of the evanescence of it all.

these moments – in the dark cool of a late summer night – the sounds of a few tenacious cicadas on the wind and squirrels scrambling along the wires and branches – watching the fire column interpretive dance – were glimmers. they visually reminded me of change taking place – that i can feel, that i can intuit, that i cannot even imagine.

and for a few minutes – precious minutes in these days – i gave over to the flame, grace and the mystery.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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

buymeacoffee is a “tip jar” donation site where you may help support artists whose work you value. thank you for your consideration. xoxo