risk | reverse threading

March 22, 2023
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

wet boots. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

the fine line between snow and water. it curved along the shore, made more obvious by the mudline separating the two. the edge between frozen and watery marsh appeared like a crayon thickly outlining the coloring book image, colored in with either whitish snow or blueish water.

standing on the shore – away from the edge – it’s pretty easy to see it…the place where, if you step, you will fall in. undoubtedly, there is also an area close to that place – but not as obvious – where you are also likely to fall in, where your boots will get all wet and perhaps you might lose your balance. you will be – maybe – covered in snow and mud, but you will be laughing there, because you will not have been in danger and it is not likely that you will be hurt. cold and wet, yes. but in real danger – no.

in a time of reorganization of our life together, we are trying to step closer to the edges…the ones we can see and the ones we can’t see. there are places and things that are oh-so-familiar to us, comfortable smushy places into which we sink, easy places to live in. there are places that push the envelope, places that push back and question and, even in that less-smushy-but-necessary zone, we steadily take steps. then there are those places that are a little frightening, a little less solid, a crossing-over place. these are the places we are finding we need to go now. we carry with us all the tools of our lives – education, experience, work, learnings along the way. as artists, as people working in the world, we toss our work over the open water so that it might float around and land – sometimes inside the edge, sometimes out past the buoy and the ropes that designate safe swimming.

and so, in the edge-approach, we glance down and see that our boots are getting wet. the leather – quite worn and no longer waterproof – is taking on marshwater. our socks are getting damp. but, we remind ourselves, we are not in danger. we are simply at the edge. there is much room for growth here, with our feet all wet. there is time to breathe and slow down our fast-beating hearts as we keep going. there is no worry about having to swim or tread water, for it is shallow. and the shallow water offers plenty of nutrients to feed us, teach us, keep us going. the edge looks scary and unfamiliar, risky, but we can see the horizon and the sky meets the land and we can recognize that.

every time we release an album, hang a painting, publish our words, stand in public with our art, openly protest unfairness – whatever it might be – we stand with feet on either side of the edge. we vulnerable ourselves to the world and we are in open water for the moments in which we allow ourselves to consider how our work – our standing there – is being received. but the foot that remains on solid ground – the one on the other side of the edge – holds us to terra firma. and, each time, i suspect, we have found it to be less scary to take the leap, not knowing.

i suppose right now should be no different.

“life is a travelling to the edge of knowledge, then a leap taken.” (d. h. lawrence)

*****

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

February 22, 2021
by kerrisherwood11 Leave a comment

the air of the complicit. [merely-a-thought monday]

the snow was untouched. our steps, way over our boots, made the first tracks and it’s visible in the photograph where we chose different paths, where we broke off and went different ways. across the snowy field we trod, heading north, heading south. our tracks would not cross again unless we turned, faced and walked toward each other. otherwise, they would not. a snow-simple illustration of division, an illustration of disunity, of not walking together, of estrangement.

having just passed by the second senate impeachment trial for the person who used to be the president of this country, no far-reach into the recesses is necessary to exemplify this quote or this photograph. without getting into the nitty-gritty details, and gritty they are, the insurrection at the capitol was ghastly. but the incitement of the fervor and the lack of responsibility placed upon the powerful inciters was egregious. the positioning of those grasping onto their jobs rather than their integrity was appalling yet predictable. the snowfield was divided; a chasm of incoherent morality between the tracks of those who walk in capitol halls. the evil remains, sticking to the floor, the walls, the offices, the grand rooms…in all the places that people-who-did-nothing occupy, in the air of the complicit.

momma would say, “speak up!” and speak up i did.

in the late 70s i spoke up. there was a man, a leader, who was sexually abusing young women in my town, me included. i spoke up. i spoke out. i reported it to the people-in-charge, to the parents of these young girls, to the authorities. it was a different time for victims of molestation and it is revolting that this man was never held responsible for the way he changed each life including mine, a forever arc of impact. though his hideous actions remain unpunished, and his threats on my life back then were terrifying, it would seem that at least some of the evil moved on in the rush of air that speaking up provides. impacted forever but not silent, not in dark shadows of aloneness. you simply cannot watch someone do evil and do nothing about it. even when you are in some way imperiled. even when it’s scary.

momma said, “speak up!” and speak up i do.

and i wonder. i wonder about people who don’t, who watch evil and do nothing about it, who hunker down and just mind their own business, who figure that anything that doesn’t directly affect them doesn’t really matter, who get lost somewhere in the chasm of incoherence. those not willing to ask questions, not willing to speak up, to speak out, to speak for, to speak against. or, worse yet, those who are propelling falsehoods further into the world, never pondering their actions or the actions of leadership, never measuring them against truth. i wonder what they would do were they to personally feel the assault of evil – anywhere on the spectrum of questionable to inappropriate to shockingly grievous. i wonder why they jump on unlabeled bandwagons to mystery destinations alongside people-with-authority-but-without-veracity, people-with-authority-but-without-moral-compass, people-with-authority-and-with-unchecked-personal-agenda.

i wonder why they trek through the snow, never turning to face in, never trying to come together, to challenge evil, to reconcile, to unify.

*****

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

February 14, 2019
by kerrisherwood11 Leave a comment

we jump anyway. [d. r. thursday]

i searched for quotes about risk. there are a plethora of them out there. then i realized that maybe the best one for today was already there – no good adventure is without risk. there are no guarantees in life. we all know that. nothing that says if you do this, that will definitely happen. the ifs-thens are not absolute. the ifs-thens aren’t even, well, iffy on occasion. and sometimes there’s no chance in hell that an adventure, an experiment, an endeavor will work out. we jump anyway.

in this anniversary week of THE MELANGE, we’ve done a great deal of looking back at our jumping. those jumps reach much further back than just this past year. as two artists living together, two artists working together, two artists laughing and breathing and arguing together, we have experienced lots of falling-into-the-water as we’ve gone. our individual artistry output pre-dates this year by decades. epic moments of success are conjoined with moments of missing the next rock in the stream (see CHICKEN MARSALA sketch above to see what that looks like.) but, even knowing that – by reverse-threading now – in looking ahead, at all the mystery of that, we jump anyway.

nothing worth doing comes without hard work. no good adventure is without risk. there are no guarantees. all wise words. all daunting. we jump anyway.