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the wheel. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in the back corner of the storage room – up on the concrete ledge, behind the boiler and the hot water heater, in a bit of cobweb – sat this the metal wheel. next to it was a plastic exercise ball for small rodents and a water dispenser from a habitat used decades ago.

we took them off the shelf and i washed them all off, thinking i could give them away to someone who might have a gerbil or a hamster, saving them from purchasing these items.

but it had been decades since i’d used them – our children were little when we had these tiny pets.

so i decided i’d best do a little research to make sure these were still safe.

they are not.

come to find out that the plastic exercise balls don’t have enough airflow and the metal wheel has been the source of injury for these tiny creatures. into the trash they went.

that wheel, though.

both d and i looked at it and then at each other, rolling our eyes. the wheel – the subject of one of our flawed cartoons – a statement piece.

as artists we are used to less. it’s built in to our dna, it seems. we have stepped to the side of the wheel – choosing something different than the norm, different than the 9-5, with a different imperative, with different rules, different expectations, and with clearly different financial rewards as well. without the security of tenure in an institution or corporation and its advantages (particularly in remuneration, advancement, healthcare plans, retirement), we have forged a different path. we have avoided the faster-faster-faster of the wheel, but not without sacrifice.

most of the populace, however, have chosen more traditional routes and now we are watching the administration destroy those, destroy their stability, destroy the respect due each of them.

at the time of this cartoon’s drawing, my own interpretation of it was more of a boss-worker cynical take.

in these times, one quick look at it in the cartoon files and it took on a life of its own:

the oligarchy vs the people.

because – well – it’s obvious, isn’t it?

the haughty, condescending, inflated, pompous hubris – standing around in their opulent affluence – rolling in it – their plenty – while the rest of the people – the real people – work ever-ever faster to get nowhere – to have not-enough.

i’m glad the wheel went in the trash. it’s where it belongs.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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hats for 200, please. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i used to wear hats. not baseball caps – i don’t have the right face shape for those. millinery hats. it was the 90s and i had straight-across bangs, which works best for hats – particularly when you have a high forehead – which i do as i inherited this from somewhere deep into and repeated on related faces time and again in my ancestry. nevertheless, i didn’t have a lot of these fancy hats – actually, only two: this green wool felt bowler-type hat and a black flat rim wool felt hat. i had a suede cowboy hat, and a couple of straw cowboy hats, but i wore the felt hats pretty consistently. i don’t wear them anymore and have decided to move them on. but not before telling d some stories about them, not before modeling them, grimacing at how they now look on me. sigh.

the black hat – a wide brim boater/gaucho – was my favorite. i told him about when i took part in the american cancer society jail ‘n bail fundraiser – a faux ‘arrest’ when you are taken to a place i now can’t remember and – in order to ‘get out of jail’ – you must raise enough donations to equal your ‘bail’. it was a fun event and i was really happy to help this cause having lost my big brother to cancer. i wore my hat that day. and, because i knew about the ‘arrest’ ahead of time, chose a chic outfit to go with it. i wasn’t going to be photographed in just anything.

i’m holding back the black hat, but, as i write this, think i might be able to move it on as well. i’m not a hat-person anymore and someone else needs to sport these stylin’ hats. i’m pretty sure that the outfit – a suit maybe? or something else a tad bit fancy – has moved on long ago. most fancy stuff has moved on long ago. we aren’t fancy-stuff-wearing people these days.

in an effort to not talk about current events, we talked about that on the trail one day. we have simplified our wardrobes. i still have some work to do on that – more ruthless culling – but our first mutual impulse is not to keep things that suggest fancy gatherings or anything highfalutin (as my sweet poppo would say).

i confessed to d – as we slogged through the mud on the hiking path – that i am way more interested in the gear one needs for a thru-hike on the PCT than what i might wear to a derby party or a sophisticated tea. we avoid gold-gilded places and steer away from people who find identity with all that. ick. that all feels like a waste of life. i talked about how i could pretty much get by with a couple pairs of favorite jeans, my ever-present scoop-neck long-sleeves, a thermal shirt or two and my favorite black flannel shirt. oh. and boots. and flipflops. and my hiking sandals. boom, done. what is it they call those minimal wardrobes?…..a capsule wardrobe. (in reading an aarp article about this, i realize i need a few more items to be in on this movement – though those items are likely already in my closet….a consideration for how to effect the pare-down.)

if all this sounds like avoidance, you are likely right. for there are moments right now when one is in peril of being overwhelmed by every single thing going on, one is in peril of succumbing to the angst. and, in those moments, well, let’s go with ‘hats for 200, please’.

anyway, anything i could wish to wear now – at this age – is anything that is actually me. there isn’t a dinner party, a stage, a trail, an adventure we would consider going to, performing on, hiking on, partaking in that would require anything fancy-schmancy. it’s simply not us.

and i’m actually certain of that.

because now – at this point in our lives – there is nothing to prove. we realize there was nothing to prove all along. there is just gratitude for being here – on this planet – and acknowledging that there is a fleeting moment – a.fleeting.moment. – between being here and not.

which i why i will never understand what is happening right now in current events – why there is so much cruelty, so much aggression, so much hatred, so much extremism, so much vile superiority. we all breathe in and out the same way. dominance over others is a waste of this life.

and which is why – on the trail – we talked about the hats i unearthed from hat boxes perched on the top shelf in the closet of my studio.

*****

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

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the notion of chartreuse. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we recently saw a car of this color. it was a small vehicle, so it wasn’t an extraordinarily loud splash of chartreuse, but it was bracing nonetheless. i’m pretty sure this person has zero difficulty finding their car in a parking lot. kind of like people with hot pink rollie bags or wild print suitcases – as these bags come down the baggage claim ramp onto the carousel – along with hundreds of indistinguishable black suitcases – the owner happily swaggers up to the conveyor and – without a single doubt – claims their bag. maybe the owner of this car has a rollie bag like that.

no matter what, i remembered seeing this vehicle and maybe that was the point.

littlebabyscion is kind of a car like that. it is different and sticks out. not because it is fancy, not because it has any – really, ANY – bells and whistles. but because it looks different. despite the fact that it is black – i could have gotten it in copper or various other colors – it has a personality unlike other vehicles i have owned or driven. as this vehicle ages and rapidly approaches the 300,000 mile mark, i have some anticipatory grief about its tenure in our life.

big red – our 1998 ford f150 – is big, guzzles gas and doesn’t really zip around town in the same way as LBS. one has to be ever-conscious of its size, particularly in parking lots. one has to be ever-conscious of its lumbering, particularly when crossing traffic or entering highway on-ramps. zero to sixty is not its forte, so we allow a lot more space and time. big red’s personality is a bit cumbersome, a bit ungainly, but well-loved nonetheless, though every now and then it painfully surprises us with some of its 1998 parts parting ways.

even as we know we are in no position whatsoever, we find ourselves pondering what might be next. and that brings me to chartreuse.

as two artists we have always poked at the envelope. we’ll wear jeans and boots when no one else will. we’ll ride the edges of economics when most would shudder to even skirt them. we’d rather have a carried-in pop-up dinner on a trail than dine in haute cuisine. it’s a way of life to be vulnerable.

i stopped under the tree out on the trail, reveling in the color of its needles against the sky. it felt like spring – like an early march day – with only vests on instead of coats, my gloves carried in my pockets.

in the middle of the chaos that is this country right now, it felt good to breathe in some fresh air – damp with melting ice, on the edge of brisk but not quite there. it felt rejuvenating – this color. it felt hopeful.

we came home from the trail and listened to a podcast, watched a couple of updated news videos. i could feel the tiny vibration in my chest start back up again. we shook our heads at the impunity of this country’s leaders. i could feel tears welling up.

i opened my phone to look at photos i had taken on the trail, out in the forest, to look at this photograph.

and i reached out and tightly held hands with chartreuse – not just the color, but the whole notion of it.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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whatever it is that calls me. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“whatever it is that calls us, that’s our path. and as we walk that path, we have a chance to shine forth who we are. it affects other people around us.” (richard bach)

we were talking about identity. in these later days, i have realized the nonsense of it all. in those striving-striding days of yore, younger versions of ourselves pushed for identity. we poked and prodded and molded and shaped and re-shaped our identity, pushing it out in front of us – as if to parade it, seeking validation. we – somehow in this society based so mightily on valuation – based our value on it. we let it rule us; we let it impact our decisions. we let it undermine our confidence. we let it stoke our egos. all of it.

and, suddenly, it all makes absolutely no sense.

so often, who we are falls prey to what we are.

he asked what we would do in retirement. i laughed. we’re already there. we’re doing it. it’s not a lot different than an artist’s path before retirement. it’s all-the-time.

we just are.

the path of artistry is not for the meek. it’s not a path of return-on-investment, for the investment of one’s heart far outweighs any yields, particularly in a society that underestimates its arts. it’s not a path of certainty, for scrappy is the only thing that is unquestionable. it’s not a path of sanctimony, for any sense of haughty righteousness must fall to the wayside of vulnerable creating. phony should not co-exist with authentic. caste should not co-exist with truthful art-making. all that pretense stuff – wrapped up in some version of identity in which one trembles when asked “what do you do?”

i’ll never forget a dinner i once attended, now years ago. seated in a fancy place with people i did not know, surrounded by those on ladder rungs i might not ever visit, i was asked that question, “what do you do?”

i answered that i was an artist…a recording artist….a composer…a singer-songwriter…a performer. the person – on that other rung – stared at me and gave a little laugh. “nooo, what do you REALLY do?” he asked.

i walk a path. i try my best to create. i try – not always successfully – to shine the truth of who i am, without bending or sacrificing the who of who i am. i try to affect others in a good way.

i know that there will be hundreds – likely, thousands – of cds with my name on them someday in some antique store. people will walk by and either give a quick second look or none at all. they won’t know who i was. they won’t know what i composed, the music i recorded and performed, the words i wrote. they won’t know what my voice – or even my laugh – sounded like.

but i will have walked a path that was mine alone. i will have joined hands with those i loved to walk alongside. i will have yearned and regretted and belly-laughed and wept. i will have realized that art – including music – is the answer to all the questions.

the deer prints will fade as the snow melts. it will be much the same for mine, i suppose.

were i able to go back to the linen-clothed table in the dining room of the country club, i should have looked evenly across the table and answered the guy who asked me what i really do, “whatever it is that calls me.”

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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at home. with dogga. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

bundled up in down vests and gloves, we were finished the cleaning-up of the backyard, readying it for winter. though we are reluctant to face the winter, it feels good to tuck away the adirondacks and the gravity chairs, the rugs made of recycled plastic straws, the firepit and the little wrought iron glass table. as i cleared leaves off the deck to make it easier for my wonderful husband to shovel future snows, i stumbled across this bit of evergreen. fallen from our spruce tree, it reminded me immediately of the little tree we – years ago – had brought home from aspen: “ditch”, named after our favorite trail there, a profoundly emotional place for us.

i brought it inside.

it now has a place of regal importance on the bistro table – the place we tend to sit for happy hour, for dinner. with windows overlooking the backyard, we can watch the waning light and review our day, dogga at our feet, for he loves the cool floor of the sunroom.

we won’t be traveling this holiday season. our old dogga is now a senior dog and as we watch him – in his slowingdown – we are dedicated to being witness to these days with him. it’s not like we wouldn’t like to drive – or maybe, even fly – to visit relatives or friends or go on an adventure, but it is definitely that we don’t want to leave him.

dogga’s presence has been a constant for us in the entirety of our living-together. his steady amber gaze, his unbridled enthusiasm, his quirks – they are all a distinct element of our life. he steadfastly helped us through all the – interesting – transitions in this decade plus. and so, we are committed to being by his side, honoring him in his aging, in his challenges and his ever-growing list of quirks. we want to hold space with him.

and so things like a bit of evergreen, like a strand of happy lights tucked inside the chiminea in the corner of the sunroom, like fluffy pillows on the glider in the living room – they are tiny ways to really enjoy our home during a time we will spend most of it not away, most of it at home.

like babycat, dogga has many theme songs, which we sing for him. “dogga-dogga, you’re the one. do-do-do-do. dogga-dogga, so much fun. do-do-do-do. dogga-dogga, in the sun. do-do-do-do. dogga-dogga, number one.”

he doesn’t require brilliant lyricism nor originality. his joy is pretty simple. kind of like a bit of spruce in a little glass vase.

“dogga-dogga, puddin’ and pie, mom and dad love you as big as the sky.”

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the delicate things. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and there are things – here and there – as i continue to muster what i need to go through everything – things i find – things that must be considered delicate, things that must be held gently.

they are not the delicate things that one would label fragile, nor the delicate things that one would think of as valuable. they are the unexpected, the morsels of real life, of real moments, moments felt, moments lived.

there was the torn piece of paper – torn from a decades-old church bulletin – with the first notes of the first piece recorded on my first album.

there was the last physical mother’s day card i received from my girl, before everything went text and digital.

there was the note in little-boy pencil-writing from my boy, filled with hearts.

there’s a small green ceramic compass – just a trinket – i put on my piano.

there is a tiny stick person my big brother made of electrical wire.

there is the (very) ripped sweatshirt jacket i wore driving thousands of miles, criss-crossing the country in busy performing days.

there are the old notebooks. when the kiddos were here, it was my son who first spotted the spiral notebook. it was in a stack of spirals on a shelf in the office upstairs. but this one was sticking out enough he could see his handwritten name on the front cover. he immediately pulled it out to look at it, wondering aloud, “what’s this??” the notebook was empty – all the pages were blank and he asked why we had it in this stack, just as my daughter pulled one out with her name on it. “because we repurpose and there’s still paper in these, so we like to use them so we aren’t wasteful. plus they were yours…it connects me back,” i answered. i would never think of just throwing these out, without using up the paper still in them. it’s a total joy for me to use a notebook that has one of my children’s handwriting on it.

now, there are other things too. there are decorative plates and leaded crystal vessels, vases and wooden carvings, pieces of silverware, scandinavian artifacts, vintage ornaments. i’m guessing some of these items have a little bit of value, maybe – though i don’t imagine a lot. and that’s really ok.

for the things i am finding i hold most gently – the most delicately – are the realest things i come across: the list of homemade candles and tiny cacti i sold door to door when growing up, pulling a wagon behind me around the neighborhood, an early entrepreneur at ten or so. the handwritten notes from my mom or dad, pompom-ing me. the drawings and writings of the girl and the boy. the rocks – so many rocks – i come across, knowing that i chose each one for a reason, for a place, for certain minutes i spent. the earliest lyrics i wrote, the poems from my tree, the bits and pieces of me from a very long time ago, on a different trajectory, giddy and cells-vibrating, in a world i wholeheartedly trusted.

there are many, many things in our house – just like in your house. we try to surround ourselves with the stuff that makes us feel comfort, that makes us happy, that brings us a bit of peace.

in this part of our lives, we are finding that those things are not valuable antiques, newly-purchased tchotchkes or expensive collectibles, top-of-the-line anything. they are the things with story, the things we can carry without burdensome weight, the things that connect us – our dots – back and forward. they are the things that distinguish us from all the rest – our morsels – these relics. they are the delicate things, for without them, we would not be who we were or who we are.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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what we are. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

“life is only a reflection of what we allow ourselves to see.” (trudy symeonakis vesotsky)

when i started my first teaching job – at a K-2 primary school in the poorest part of a county in florida – i found out quickly that the previous teacher had a favorite record album that she played over and over and over. i’m not sure how much music teaching she did, but i know that she played this record for every class, every day. it was a female artist’s album, one of her earliest. in those days her albums were all contemporary christian fixtures, full of praise songs, lyrics based on biblical messages and worship.

even back then – in this very first teaching job in the very first school – i knew that it was not appropriate to play this album ad nauseam like the students described their previous teacher doing. i was not teaching at a religious-based school; this was a public school and i had a different obligation to these children. it was most definitely not to foist christian music upon them.

in perusing social media i just saw rumors that there will be an “alternate” half-time show for the super bowl game, featuring two country artists who i thought knew better. in these times – in a world that draws strength from its diversity – it is unbelievably tone-deaf to think that we need an alternate quote-unquote “all-american” show and just the mere suggestion of what that definition likely means makes my stomach hurt. if we are to believe what we are reading in social media about this show, it is steeped in an incredibly narrow definition of faith and family and freedom – and what “all-american” actually is. it is painful to think of the people i know who will watch this – cheering – steeped in audacious narrowville.

i grew up going to church with my family. i spent 35 years as a minister of music in various christian churches across the country. never would i ever presume to foist christian music or philosophy – as a whole – upon this nation. never would i ever resort to the hateful rhetoric that is pieced – cherry-picked – from religious writings to justify disrespect of others, even ill-intended evil. never would i ever even begin to suggest that god – or any name you might choose to call a divine presence – would sort people into colors or ethnicities or genders or economic castes.

in the many, many years i spent in these buildings of faith – many of which, i learned, were disparately skewed to hypocrisy – i came to understand gandhi’s quote: “i like your christ, i do not like your christians. your christians are so unlike your christ.”

my own takeaway from a lifetime of work – if we allow ourselves to see the world as a tapestry of differences, respectful compassion, tolerances, a generous embracing, then we see in technicolor, our lives are beautiful and full of the possibility of growth and learning from others. if we allow ourselves to only see a one-dimensional homogeneous world, if that is all we tolerate, that is all we believe is worthy, then we are, as well, one-dimensional and our lives are limited in mediocrity.

if life is – truly – only a reflection of what we allow ourselves to see, i would hope for all to open their eyes. i would hope for all to see what they are espousing – or proselytizing – with their words or – complicitly – with their silence. i would hope that the reflection of reality – real truth – unobscured by agenda or any form of bigotry – would be what we all see so that we might deal with the ugliness of mushrooming propaganda and contempt.

we are our reflections.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

same photo – upside down

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

this is the best place to think. it’s the best place to ponder, to wonder, to sort, or to just – simply – take one step after another. it’s the best place to be quiet and the best place to have conversation. we link arms. we walk. and walk. and walk. we can see why pct hikers keep on going. it is cleansing and powerful. and your body feels the world, your tactile connection with the universe, your feet on dirt.

in a moment i won’t easily forget, i recently had a chance to be forehead to forehead with a horse. we stood that way together for several minutes and i could feel his breath on my face. with both of us – boots and hooves on dirt – connected by touch, i could feel the rest of the universe gently holding space, woven in tapestry with us, close by. powerful moments.

particularly in these times, for more reasons than you will imagine, i am finding the reminder of this connection to the universe to be of comfort. particularly in these times, when there is little to comfort us here in this country, i am finding the reminder of this connection to the universe to be bigger than any story of our land – it overarches the evil intention of stories personal and of the populace. particularly in these times, with so little promise of goodness, so little accountability, so little compassion, so little attention to truth-telling, i am finding the reminder of this connection to the universe to be steadying.

i will keep my feet on the dusty dirt of the trail. i will take any chance to share forehead space with another living creature. i will remember how connected – interconnected – i am with this universe. i will draw hope from that.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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grasshopper, grasshopper. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

jeffie used to use the term “grasshopper” a lot. not really understanding any reference, i always took it to be a term of affection.

in the middle of the middle of stuff we are in the middle of, we took a hike. we always see tiny grasshoppers on the dusty trail – hopping in just the last second and flying away – like small moths zipping past us.

but this day – in the middle of the middle of stuff we are in the middle of – there were Grasshoppers – capital G. never had we seen hoppers this big on any part of this lengthy trail. they didn’t just hop away upon feeling the vibrations of our feet on dirt. they stood their ground.

i bent down to share a few moments with this one. after communing with it, i urged it to jump off the beaten path, trying to save its life from zealous bikers also on trail.

for the first time, i looked up what jeffie’s “grasshopper” reference might be. and it all made sense, reading that kung fu (from the 70s tv series i never watched) used it – yes, affectionately – to convey to his students etc “a message of growth and learning”.

this differential grasshopper grinned at me as i bent down, posing for the camera. he turned and looked down the dusty gravel trail. and then he turned back to me for a few moments before i urged him on, away from potential danger.

“you got this,” he whispered. “keep going. you may feel small and it may feel bigger, but we both have abundant power. i can only go forward. you can jump with me.”

i heard him as he took off with a giant hop for the underbrush, “remember! leap!.”

today is a good day for grasshoppers.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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celestial ballet. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

by the time it was late enough to see both, we were tired. saturn and the moon were supposed to be sharing close space in the night sky, but it was cloudy and we seriously needed to sleep. the show went on without us, somewhere behind the clouds a glorious celestial ballet.

and the universe carries on with universe stuff. our planet earth still rotates on its axis and moves through its elliptical revolution around the sun with gravity keeping us in check in the solar system. through no effort on our part, it all just happens.

but when the universe picks up high-powered binoculars and zeroes in on planet earth, i wonder about how it views what’s really going on. when the universe dons readers and looks at the fine print of what humanity is really doing to its mother earth and its inhabitants, i wonder if there is a sinking feeling, a loss of hope, gossamer strands of what-is-goodness floating off and off, sans gravity.

lucky for us that – despite insane efforts at denying climate change, an abhorrent lack of environmental responsibility, vicious bigoted and hideous genocidal initiatives, flippant care of wildlife and natural resources, what seems a staunch dedication to a lack of peace-on-earth – we – on this floating globe – somehow are granted another day.

it’s no surprise we’re tired. it’s no surprise a lot of people are tired.

and the ballet goes on.

for now.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

EARTH INTERRUPTED VI (50.25″x41″)

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