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Tag Archives: two artists trying to make a living


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teasel tease. [d.r. thursday]

“if left unchecked, teasel can form large dense patches and severely impact a habitat planting. teasel can be very difficult to manage because once established it pollutes the soil with durable seed that can germinate throughout the growing season.” (plantscience.psu.edu)

“leaves have spines on the underside of the midvein and smaller spines on bases on the upper leaf surface. the stem leaves are opposite and prickly, especially on the lower side of the leaf midvein.” (nwcb.wa.gov)

“handling teasel is best done with heavy gloves, every part of the plant is prickly to the point of piercing human skin.” (fairegarden.wordpress.com)

“once teasels become established in an area, they are hard to eradicate.” (fllt.org)

“if left unchecked, teasel quickly can form large monocultures excluding all native vegetation.” (illinois.edu)

if left unchecked…

it would seem these teasel beg the metaphoric reference to people within communities. it is no wonder – in these times – that my mind immediately goes there.

but teasels are beautiful, with interesting texture. like the flat-back-hand-carder for the vintage spinning wheel in our basement that cards wool or raises the nap on fabric, they were utilized for decades and were initially cultivated from the old world. they appear in planted gardens for their dominant sculptural presence and in meadows, growing wild and free.

on a quest – every day – to take photographs, i find myself back at 18. i was given my first 35mm camera when i graduated from high school early, my parents pretty certain i would love it. i did. i was out the next day, walking the beach in winter, reveling in capturing it all. i took that camera everywhere and took pictures of everything, reveling in the freedom of aperture and shutter speed. the deliberate taking of photographs brings one to center, into presence – there is no need for speed. instead, it is about slow movement, about noticing, about paying attention.

and i am – lately – feeling a tad bit back-there. at 18. the tiny lone flower, the shadow, the curl of bark – they get my attention. i pause.

these teasel stopped me. there was a teasing tension between their color, their thorns, the sky, the pine trees in the background. the juxtaposition of the bristle and the luminous. beautiful. i, too, couldn’t resist the teasel.

“despite its noxiousness, it’s impossible not to find the teasel rather endearing…” (jacqueline stuhmiller, fllt.org)

one just needs remember the thorns.

be wary. don’t hug a teasel.

*****

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brush to canvas. [two artists tuesday]

from a distance they are paintbrushes, sporadically appearing in the meadow, catching plumes of downy fluff that spread like thick contrails, and, catching the wind, fly off. i can imagine plucking one of these paintbrushes, dipping it in paint, touching it to canvas, light strokes of color.

i have some paintbrushes downstairs. they are wood and some kind of fiber, inexpensive brushes i purchased when i was painting the canvas for the hall and the canvases for the living room. i actually didn’t use them. instead, i used a couple of housepaint brushes and, in alignment with that, house paint. latex. in cans. there was nothing about my painting that would be called “fine” – it was big strokes, big spattering, big expression. big brushes to big canvas. i saved the wooden brushes and, even now, haven’t yet used them, though recently bought a few small 8×8 inch canvas boards. i’m not sure why yet.

on the other hand, david cherishes his paintbrushes and knows exactly why to use each of them. his careful hand applying just the right amount of paint, brush to canvas, shaping the narrative of the painting. he recently bought a big roll of canvas. cutting off a five foot square, he painted a replica of a previous painting he had done, a piece that someone wanted but that he had painted for me. it was an amazing process to witness, as he brought the same energy, the same freedom of movement, the same emotion to this emerging painting. and suddenly, a month of hours-each-day later, it was complete. unfettered II had a destination and we shipped it off, like a short-term child he carefully tended and then let go.

one of our youtube addictions is to a channel of a man named martijn doolaard, a dutchman who is restoring two stone buildings in the italian alps. slowly, deliberately, patiently – with no expectation, no judgement, no apparent worry – martijn painstakingly goes about this restoration, working from sun-up to sundown, cooking himself dinners that look as beautiful as his vista and relaxing by editing hours of video or by painting. his brushes and his oils are precise. with brush to canvas, he paints landscapes of his surroundings, the environment of peace he has created, his studio the mountainside and sky.

i wonder who will pluck these thistlebrushes. i wonder what medium they will use to paint, upon what canvas they will work. what strokes will be applied to the prickly leaves, the blossoming flowers, the unrealized buds, the underbrush dying from eradication? what colors will be mixed to mimic the rising sun, the blur of a hawk on the wing, the flat bill of the white crane, the camouflage shell of the turtle?

nature has already brought its best in this meadow, in this forest, its brushes to canvas. it has brought its best at the line of surf of the ocean, upon the summit of high mountains, in the deepest of canyonlands, in the setting sun on red rock. it has brought its best in the faces of those we love, those who love us. it has brought its best in the perfection of creatures – domestic and wild.

it is intrinsic upon us to notice.

*****

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our dividends. [k.s. friday]

we did not birth a baby together. until all these bunnies. our new-parent-juju is rising. together, we watch over them, noticing how they are growing, changing, their different puff-ball tails, their different markings. truth be told, we are not sure how many bunnies we actually have. we suspect that the number is rapidly increasing – as different sizes are showing up – all in the same day. so we are likely parenting multiples – twins, triplets and beyond.

my sweet momma used to tell me that when she discovered she was expecting – a decade after having my sister and brother – she wanted to have twins. she wanted me to be twins. she didn’t get all regretful or anything, but she just wanted me to know that she wanted me to have a sibling close to my age.

i wasn’t a twin. and my sister and brother grew, lightyears ahead of me, leaving home and marrying while i was just reaching double-digits. i, ever the little-sister, had special relationships with both of them and treasured time and sleepovers at their homes. but i can see the wisdom of my mom’s wish for twins. she called me their “dividend”.

and so i grew up – post-just-turning-double-digits – with older parents. they were already in their mid-fifties when i was a mid-teenager. and they were from a generation a little bit more old-fashioned. so, i s’pose i was a little bit more old-fashioned too.

they were already at the stage where suddenly they had a little bit more time to pay attention to the birds, the animals around our growing-up house, their garden. while i always appreciated their zeal, i didn’t stop in the zooming-around of a teenager to partake in much bird or wildlife watching or spend a lot of time in the gardens. after they moved to florida, in their last home together, they would sit for hours gazing out at the lake behind their home, watching for waterfowl, tiny lizards and traces of lurking alligators. witnesses of nature. it always brought them peace.

and now i get it.

last night we sat on the deck as the sun began to fall behind the horizon. the night air was cooler and the birds, chippies, squirrels, bunnies were busy. we marveled at the hummingbird flitting in to the feeder and we laughed at the antics of a gleeful dogdog, who was outsmarted every time by whichever bunbun was in the yard. we both sighed. the day was coming to an end and our yard-family was getting ready to tuck in.

the joys of dividends are numerous we see. old-fashioned goodness.

my sweet momma and my poppo – over in the next dimension – smiled knowing smiles and clapped their hands as they watched me, as they watched us.

*****

and goodnight ©️ 2005 kerri sherwood

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growth spurt. [d.r. thursday]

breck is having a growth spurt. like when your toddler suddenly grows inches and miles and you cast aside the tiny outfits, reaching for the next sizes up.

you don’t really know what to expect about how a child will look when a baby is born. every day – in the middle of the chaos that is parenthood – you look at this precious child, pretty much incredulous. there are days when nothing about their tiny face and body looks much different. there are days when you have an inkling of what this little person will look like as they grow. there are days you stare and wonder whose child you are holding.

breck is kind of like that. for years since we brought breck home from – yes, breckenridge, colorado – it has looked like a small quaking aspen sapling. potted and then in the ground in numerous places in the backyard, its leaves were small, easily-identifiable aspen leaves, the classic well-loved shape of mountain breezes and stands of shimmering, rustling.

and then, this summer.

breck is now – apparently – an awkward teenager. the new leaves are giant, the new growth resembles the beanstalk that jack planted. it is as high as the lowest point of the garage roof and each day there are new leaves up there, new inches. we are not quite sure what is happening out there. but it sure looks like breck is having the time of its life.

breck’s vigorous growth this very summer seems really hopeful to us. in these past five summers we have watched breck maintain, keep status quo, a little teeny growth here or there. we’ve been grateful it has sustained. we feel inordinately connected to this little tree that made its way home from the high mountains with us in littlebabyscion.

we wonder about its sudden enthusiasm. we wonder about its new and different leaves. it feels like it is somehow bursting out of slow-and-steady into what-the-heck-full-steam-ahead.

we’re hoping it’s contagious.

*****

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not yet open. [k.s. friday]

i’m trying to decide just how vulnerable to be, how brutally honest, how much to share. it’s like sitting on the fulcrum in the middle of the seesaw…you can choose either way from the pivot point.

this lovely couple – who we considered extended family and saw every sunday – was next door at the garden club’s secret garden event. we saw them from our deck, waving to us over the neighbor’s fence. we gestured we’d meet them in the front yard. giant hugs later, we started a little catching up, having not seen each other in years now. they had family tales and travel tales and many tales of adventure.

they told us they missed us. we were grateful to hear they missed our “energy” and “the fun we brought”. they asked about us.

he asked if i had a position now. i don’t. being terminated during a global pandemic at the age of then-61 with an injury to my hand doesn’t naturally lead to a new position, particularly in the arts. i’m 64 now and we can both agree that age discrimination is alive and well in our country.

she asked if i was composing, if i was “doing my music”.

i sat in the middle of the seesaw.

i’m asked this fairly frequently – people expect someone who has 15 albums already and who has also spent decades as a minister of music – to be fully immersed in music now. after. usually, i somehow deflect, saying something like ” you know, the pandemic…” my voice trailing off. then i quickly ask what they are up to, how their family is, the new grandchild, the retirement, the vacation, the joint replacement…

this time, though, with these dear people standing in our driveway on a beautiful day – post-hugs – tears sprang to my eyes and i began by saying, “eh, this might be too much information.”

and then i told them that i am not composing, that i am not “doing my music” and that i haven’t been able to. that it’s too been too much, that it was too hurtful, that – as much as my studio is a part of me, my essence – being fired devastated me in more ways than anyone can really imagine. it is not as simple as walking back into the studio, sitting at my piano, grabbing pencil and paper, placing hands on the keys. it wasn’t just any old job they took away. it was part of my soul. and – to be honest – i am having trouble recovering. still.

the fulcrum teetered and the seesaw arm – the resistance arm or the effort arm, i wonder – fell to the ground, jostling me. i apologized for the over-abundance of emotion.

they stared at me. they looked surprised; they looked sad. we were quiet for a minute, while i regained my composure and climbed back onto the fulcrum pivot.

but the words were out there. and they were the truth of it all.

and i am this coneflower.

not yet open.

*****

blueprint for my soul ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

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french lavender. [d.r. thursday]

with the string you tie around boxes of cakes and pastries from a bakery or sweet patisserie, small bundles of dried lavender hang around my studio. from the big old black window frame that sits on the chifferobe i use for supplies to over by the djembe in front of the turned-off radiator by the window. bundles of lavender.

i used to have a lavender garden out back, started with cuttings divided out from the same bed these bundles were from. then the snow-on-the-mountain snuck under the fence from my neighbor’s yard and, despite my best efforts, took over the lavender (and anything else in its path). snow-on-the-mountain is like that. it barrels down anything in its way and takes much effort to eradicate. it’s aggressive and a tad bit bullying, not unlike some people i have known. i didn’t invite it into my yard, but there it was, anyway. i’ve tried to – now – incorporate it while still somewhat controlling it – the new normal. sounds a lot like the stuff of life.

each year we plant a big pot of lavender. each year, it is a slightly different strain of lavender. last year, our daughter chose the plant, as she was here at the time and we visited a nursery. it exploded into a gigantic plant – the bees seemed to love it as much as we did. this year, we chose one that seemed unique, it’s purple petals growing out the top of the stalk – french lavender, with butterfly-like narrow petals.

lavender is known for bringing serenity, for its calming soft scent. for me, it’s a balance plant. it is – without any real effort – growing in its giant pot.

i walk over and, with the slightest of touches, am caught in a whirl of its beautiful aroma. i think about tying some branches and hanging them to dry at the end of the summer season. or maybe making small lavender sachets. anything to keep it going.

i can add some to the gifted lavender in my studio. bring serenity in. and push out the ghosts of invasive snow-on-the-mountain.

*****

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i need more socks. [merely-a-thought monday]

the socks came packaged with soup mix and a ladle we use every single time we serve soup. “keep your head up ⬆⬆” was good advice. it still is. and every time i wear these – mostly as sleepynightnight socks to avoid dreaded leg and foot cramps – i think of margaret and ruth, who sent them to me.

we are going to need to stop reading our news app each morning. instead, i should sip coffee against my pillows and stare at my socked feet. it’s the only way to avoid having the day start in angst. headlines of corrupt politicians, the unconscionable politicization of the supreme court, compassionate human and equal rights being stripped right and left, the undermining and diminishment of LGBTQ, gun-toting individuals mowing down people at block parties and funerals and places inside and places outside. the smoke from the canadian wildfires wafts through our open windows and storms are predicted throughout the country as “severe” and “dangerous” with hail and wind and tornadoes and driving torrential rain, yet there are those who deny climate change. conspiracy theories rise like bile and individuals who bark the loudest are lauded, clowns representing constituents in this country. geeeeez.

like many, we were hopeful – though not expectant – of the supreme court siding with president biden about student loans and forgiveness. we have been dramatically affected by this crisis, by the predatory lending that took place/takes place: principalizing interest, forbearance steering, no transparency about income-based repayment plans. now, don’t get me started on transparency – for the lack thereof – opaque opacity, if you will – exists in organizations and communities where you would least expect it.

these student loans – deceptively pushing lendees further into debt – had no oversight; people are still struggling from these unfair practices, including us. nonetheless, the land of student loans is a misunderstood monster and many form rapid opinions about “free lunches” before understanding the perils of this skewed ogre. in striking down this forgiveness, the supreme court – once again – ignored the plight of real people. president biden’s words, “the hypocrisy of republican elected officials is stunning. they had no problem with billions in pandemic-related loans to businesses – including hundreds of thousands and in some cases millions of dollars for their own businesses. and those loans were forgiven. but when it came to providing relief to millions of hard-working americans, they did everything in their power to stop it.” and what about all those tax loopholes for the wealthy?

no, this is not people expecting something for “free”. this is the populace expecting the government to do something about profoundly unethical and predatory actions that have overwhelmed millions of people in this country for decades, that will continue to affect their lives and decisions and their way forward. including us.

once again, as with anything, i would suggest asking questions prior to forming highandmighty opinions. “the power to question is the basis of all human progress.” (indira gandhi)

i only have one pair of socks with words on them. d has a pair too. his say, “if you can read this, get me wine”.

maybe i need another pair – just to get through life…or at least the morning news.

*****

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cuppajava. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

i’m not sure if you’ve noticed this too.

it UsedToBe that i could drink coffee any time of day or night, as many times as i wanted, as much as i wanted.

NotSoMuchAnymore.

now, i am careful to drink coffee in the morning. not afternoon. not even a minute after noon. and definitely not evening.

and – we have started cutting back even on the morning java. we drink sips out of our hydroflasks from our girl, which don’t allow for glugs because – if you didn’t already know this, hydroflasks keep coffee incredibly hot and you would burn your mouth off if you glugged. so, our sips last through waking-up-pillow-time, through breakfast, and a bit beyond – into writing our blogposts. and then…that’s it. no more. despite how amazing the scent of coffee wafting through, well, anywhere, is, we cannot have any.

there have been few exceptions. a cuppa after a dinner out. an espresso on the road.

but – on a day-to-day basis – we are no longer the javamasters we once were.

for two people whose entire written narrative at the inception of our relationship was titled “cuppajava”, this is profound.

there is this moment – and we have experienced it sans glee – when you go from happily sipping, enjoying caffeine to its fullest – to feeling slightly OutOfIt and a little bit headachey and buzzy.

so, no java superhero capes for us.

i guess we’re growing up.

*****

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true rainbows. [d.r. thursday]

chicago is aware. wide-awake LGBTQ aware.

to be there is not to be in a nod-to-diversity. instead, the city embraces diversity. it is true to its intention. the rainbow flags and “proud” banners and painted buildings are emblems of this good intention.

but one must be wary of emblems, of symbols, of misspoken intents. to live in today’s world is to bring a bit of doubt to the table, to ask questions, to do your homework, to be informed. for not every mission statement will stand up to scrutiny, not every symbol of goodness will survive real review. it is surprising – at best – to realize that agenda has superseded goodness and has taken your trust for a ride. beware of generalizing virtue simply because it falls under the umbrella of a symbol.

i have been immersed in places in which i placed all my faith, sans skepticism or dubiety. i have been in communities that touted their transparency, their compassion, their participation in good mission. all the while, the flags of opacity, of hidden agenda, of untruths spoken and truths unspoken, flew quietly and deliberately in, usurping any good intention that remained, driving out the hard work of community-building, of the joy of the embrace. out of alignment, were the symbols capable, the symbols would shudder.

and so, i walk into the thick of the city, sensors on. i know there are issues, problems, but i know there is attempt to address these, to ask hard questions, to communicate, to resolve any perceived conflict.

i know that the rainbows are true.

*****

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anytime you want. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

there is a scene in “sweet home alabama” when – as a little girl and a little boy on a beach – he tells her he wants to marry her so he can kiss her any time he wants. later – after the whole circle of the story plays out, the camera returns to the two of them, grown, on the beach in a pouring-rain-lightning-storm. he asks her why she would want to be married to him and she responds, “so i can kiss you anytime i want.”

it is a classic moment.

were we all able to stay in that simplicity, relationships between two people – any two people – who love each other might have a better chance in this complex world. so much work goes into our love relationships, and sometimes we all forget they are about just that – love.

yesterday a friend told us that – during covid – after her husband had a heart attack – along with many other serious difficulties – she was unable to see him for weeks. and then. now, she is grateful to be able to touch his skin. simply that. touch his skin. it doesn’t take away the tough moments or the potential arguments or slights or angsts, but she tells us – eyes glistening – that, for her, it is about touching his skin.

sometimes it is simply a kiss. sometimes it is touching skin. sometimes it is a dance.

anytime you want.

*****

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