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Tag Archives: two artists tuesday


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hope. not fear. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

this is the last day of national cancer survivor month.

and in the mess of chaos that this country is in, i haven’t seen much press about cancer survivor month.

instead, in the eddy of cruelty and the deplorable diminishing of real people with real stories – the administration has slashed medical and scientific funding, particularly as it has impacted cancer research.

it boggles the mind. truth be told, i don’t hesitate from saying it should boggle your mind as well.

i spent the better part of a decade involved in oncology events, touring with my dear friend and cancer survivor heidi, to lift up survivorship, to honor research, to celebrate pharmaceutical breakthroughs, to buoy non-profit fundraising for efforts related to cancer. it was good work, these events, as they brought us onto stages to speak and sing, to bring the heart-part to events that were more left-brained, to reinforce the heart-part to events that were already immersed in emotion and hope.

i cannot imagine a civilization that does not want to protect its citizens – its adults and its children – from the ravages of disease – any disease – nonetheless cancer.

i cannot imagine a civilization that does not want to do anything it can to provide treatment to its citizens – its adults and its children – in the ravages of disease – any disease – nonetheless cancer.

i cannot imagine a civilization that does not want to dedicate intensive research and profoundly generous funding to prevent its citizens – its adults and its children – from further iterations of ravaging disease – any disease – nonetheless cancer.

national cancer survivor month is about survivorship. it is about celebrating life, prevailing over horrific disease, acknowledging and pushing back on uncertainty and fear, helping others in these circumstances. it is about hope.

we – sharing the land of this nation – from sea to shining sea – are at a crossroads of choice. is it too much to expect the government of this country to invest in taking care of its citizens – ALL of its citizens?

may we – in this choice – be as courageous as the millions of cancer survivors among us.

“may your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” (nelson mandela)

*****

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digging paws. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

according to AI – which is interesting to quote on a somewhat ironic level – “artistic expression is the process by which creators translate internal emotions, thoughts, and personal experiences into tangible visual or conceptual forms.” (ironic because, well, AI is doing so much creating-creating-creating, yet the question – is it even a question? -remains of the existence of any internal emotions, thoughts and personal experiences as they relate to AI, void of all of that. but i am digressing. we are talking about “artistic”” expression and the truth of emotions, thoughts and experiences.)

aussies (australian shepherds) love to dig. they not only love to dig, but they are damn good at it. dogga is not an exception. he is a next-level digger.

and so, because he is simply expressing himself – particularly at this senior point in his life – we have decided not to put boundaries on this expression. we fill in the holes so he and no one else trip and he digs them again. it is a small price to pay to see our sweet old dog in his bliss. and someday – which, no matter what, will be too soon – we can again have closer-to-perfect grass in our backyard. it’s really not important. in the meanwhile, we applaud his translation of “internal emotions, thoughts and personal experiences into tangible visual and conceptual form“.

it’s like that with all of us artists. to have others applaud our translations, rich in emotion, thoughts and experiences – whether in dirt, clay, canvas and paint, dance, words of verse or story, notes of music you can hear and feel though not touch as they float by – is to acknowledge not just our bliss, but our imperative to speak, in whatever medium fits.

it’s not applause-applauding we seek. it is freedom-to-express-applauding, the granting of the air on this earth to us – the artists – just like it is granted to all other ways of living, ways of being, all other imperatives. it simply can’t be helped or stopped. it is the way of the earth, of thinking minds, of questioning hearts, of the visceral and the emotive, of making something from nothing.

and, i guess, of digging paws.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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such goodness. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and the icefall went on and on, a looming presence as far as the eye could see, the night inky, the serac-umbrellas like mushroom caps over smooth slopes in shades of white and grey, the spectrum peeking out with the changing light. snow had fallen, stacking up in dune-piles created, urged by the wind, not yet sharpened by the coldest of temperatures. the telephoto lens captured it up close, though we were far away, many, many steps from the dangers of traversing the icefall, its chasms and crevasses.

the peony giggled, thinking it had fooled me for a moment, delighted with its fictitious story, its little tale of shape-shifting. knowing that it was just joshing me – steady in the real and good impact it has in this world – its merriment was because it was solidly based in its goodness. it had nothing to prove, no reason to make us believe it was goodness, because it just was.

and so it could play with us a bit, help us visualize, let us fly over the arctic or the himalayas in our minds. it could encourage imagination and fantasy. there was no fear of losing its way – for it would still fulfill its peony life, its peony self-actualization.

things that are good – that do no harm – do not concern themselves with convincing others that they are good. they just are. there is no reason to pretend to be something else, to permanently twist reality, to alter that which is truth.

the soft petals of the peony layered over each other, gorgeous bits of the bloom, exquisite.

we are fortunate to see such goodness, to witness it, to breathe it, to hold it.

for surely we need this in these times.

****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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stunning evening. stunning evening. stunning evening. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

a couple weeks ago, on friday night’s date-night, we had no plan – as is often the case. we so enjoy the sanctuary of our backyard that it, more than not, wins over going out anywhere. it was quiet and the sun was waning, a little cool. we added a layer and talked about watching a movie outside or taking a walk.

we hadn’t yet been – this season – to the marina in a town down the road where they sponsor live music at a biergarten on the harbor. and so we decided to jaunt down there for just a bit, walk on the boardwalk along the lake, listen to the band.

it was a stunning evening – between 7:30 and 8:30 the star of the show. the sun was setting on the western swale horizon of sand prairie grasses and fen. little to no wind, perfect temperatures, boats lining the docks, guitar strains in the air, a paramotorist sailing across the sky.

this past friday night, on friday night’s date-night, we left for milwaukee in humidity that made my hair into unkempt-fuzzy-curly-big-1980s. our third time to see our son perform at milwaukee pride, we were excited as ever. it was also a stunning evening – between 7:30 and 8:30 the star of the show – for us.

leading with the joy of doing what you really love, they took the stage and transformed the house. what had been a meager audience, with a complete lack of dance juju – with a lead-in karaoke non-dance-non-EDM-music performer inappropriately booked into a dance pavilion slot by someone who clearly did not understand how to shape the evening – well, they turned it around. in short order, there were hundreds and then thousands of people under the pavilion, dancing, raising their arms in the air, celebrating. i’m sure the next performers were grateful; our boys were one heck of a lead-in for that next slot.

we took photographs over by the water, the sky turning inkier as time went on. they went on to play a big nightclub gig and we drove home with lightning in the sky to our west, glad that the storm hadn’t arrived any earlier.

it’s saturday as i write this. tonight, i imagine, we’ll make some homemade pizza and a salad, maybe pour a glass of wine, turn on some music, and sit at the bistro table on our deck. our old dogga – who is worrying us a lot these days – will lay nearby and we three will watch the sky change as day moves to night.

another stunning evening.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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waiting there. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it is with great anticipation that i wait for the peonies. it’s a long process, from the ground up. from the tiniest maroon sprouts to buds just waiting to burst furth into the world – it’s glorious and wonder-full, and each year now i am thrilled to see the arc of these beautiful blooms.

my son said something in a social media post the other day that really stopped me. i went back and listened again. and again. he said that music waits for you…it waits for you to “come to it on your timeline”…it waits for you to come back…”it waits to accept you, ready to understand you.” it’s “never gonna go away and it’s always going to be there for you.”

and in those words, he brought tears to my eyes. not only because what he was sharing in that post about himself was vulnerable, not only because part of what he was sharing made me very sad to hear. but because his joy in the journey back to music – his music – was so clearly buoying, so very triumphant, a mighty trajectory of his creating.

i’ve been turning on the salt lamp in my studio lately. it’s like i want it to stoke up good energy in there.

standing next to my piano, i held the crystal divinatory pendulum in my hand, thinking about what questions to ask it…understanding that my subconscious would likely dictate what the answers would be. there are times that one is not really sure of one’s own subconscious thoughts or biases, the ability to translate from desire or idea into reality, into do-ing. times when pain pushes aside artistry.

i purchased this pendulum in a cool hippie store in northport, my hometown. on purpose. i thought it was striking – even in its simplicity – but i also wanted to bring home a bit of the internal-intuitive-wisdom and lighthearted belief-in-the-universe i had lost in that place decades ago. in these days of falling back in love with that harbor town, i wanted ways to surround myself with what i remembered about myself from the olden days of being in love with that water, that sand, that place. twelve dollars wasn’t too much.

and so, the other day i took it out of the small suede bag and held it first in my hand, reminding it who i was. and then i held it up and asked it to show me yes – it circled around. i asked it to show me no – it moved in a straight line back and forth.

and in the following minutes i asked it – words to the effect because sharing my exact words is just a bit too much right now – whether i would return to the music that was waiting for me.

it was still and then – i suppose after accessing my heart, the wistful tendrils of hope, the very tentative wisps of maybe-it-can-be-so, it circled wildly.

i thanked it and quietly put it away, not wishing to go any further right then. it was enough. we’ll see. the arc is not closed. the peony is going to bloom.

“music…it’ll be waiting there, ya know,” my wise son said.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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next will come. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“we might think we are nurturing our garden, but of course it’s our garden that is really nurturing us.” (jenny uglow)

we have had a journey with breck. as a baby aspen, we brought it home in 2017 – a tiny sapling in a black plastic pot, bouncing along with us across the country in littlebabyscion.

there were more than a few times – in the first years – we thought we would lose breck – to the weather, the conditions, the displacement. we wrapped breck’s roots in its then-clay pot in blankets and black plastic. we planted breck and discovered it was the wrong place. we transplanted breck. and we always talked to breck, affirming its importance to us, its place in our lives, the meaning it had for us, cheering it on.

and now – breck is as tall as the garage roof and full of gorgeous quaking leaves. sparrows and cardinals regularly land on its branches and we can see it smile and sigh from our place on the deck, watching like proud parents, quietly grateful for its happiness – just like with our grown children.

to have breck in our backyard is to have a little piece of breckenridge in our backyard – a little piece of the high rocky mountains from where it came. it feeds us to look out back and see our aspen, standing taller and taller. it makes us dream and ponder, reminisce and just gaze at it in wonder – that what was a tiny aspen in a plastic pot has turned into a real tree.

it is not unlike artistry and artists – also real trees in a real world. even during the periods of fallow, when creativity is merely a pilot light, there is what comes next. there is the tiny spark that makes ideas come alive – the first stitch on a new quilt, the first note in a melodic gesture, the first paint in the underpainting, triggers of nurture.

and the ideas begin to quake – with or without wind – as they take hold of us.

“to plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” (audrey hepburn)

time goes on. and on.

and breck grows taller and fuller.

it is a constant source of both contentment and awe to watch.

soon now, we will plant our basil, parsley, mint, chives, jalapeños, tomatoes.

and next will come.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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pause for thought. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

white flowers in the forest. with delicate petals – like the wood anemone – or the three sweeping waxy petals of the great white trillium – these white flowers dotting the underbrush of the woods are stunning, really beautiful. these seemingly fragile white blooms in and amongst a landscape not quite green, a landscape still rummaging around, waiting for spring’s full chorus.

we stop sometimes – just to take it all in – past ourselves, our thoughts, our conversation, our footsteps on the dirt. it gives us pause and slows our breathing.

the landscape design is immaculate – perfection. downed trees, leaves naturally composting, the canopy towns of mayapples bursting up through the ground, enchanting purple phlox, flowering pear trees. it is a slice of heaven.

in these days – when mosteverysinglething we read in the news makes us despondent, it seems that we must balance out our equilibrium a bit. for us, as you already know, that is the trail. the dirt paths in our area help us thrive as we all live in the shade of the current political chaos and the wreckage of our democracy. tiny bits of dappled light get through, but the challenge is to still keep going, despite the vast amount of dark.

white trillium prefers shade. these exquisite blooms find their home to be best in part or full shade. they are slow-growing, but long-lived – a combination that seems to push back against threatening negative influences, that rises out of deep winter, that sustains despite the odds, that shines in beauty. trillium live in colonies, interdependent on all the shrubs, trees, composting soil, insects, bacteria and fungi around it. its brilliant star shines alongside those it shares space with, symbiotically life-sharing companions.

pause for thought. yes. it gives us pause for thought.

maybe we all need to be like white trillium.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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oh, mourning dove. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we don’t have a tv antenna anymore. this is our westneighbors’. we have the good fortune of being able to see the birds who choose it as a place to land, a place to rest, a place to view all that which is below them. though i understand that the tv antenna is “coming back” (much like paisley bell bottoms – which i, clearly, should have kept through the years…though the idea of those still fitting makes me grimace and roll my eyes and woops…i am off-trail, bushwhacking my way through my brain back to topic…..)

so…my point…tv antennas are coming back – though it is not necessarily in this form but more in the form of a powerful window leaf or indoor device or lower-profile rooftop doohickey, no longer a towering metal structure, more horizontal now than vertical.

nevertheless, there are many tall tv antennas in our neighborhood – simply because they were already there.

when ours fell down we were fortunate it did no harm and we had a tree guy come and clean it all up. at the time we were subscribed to the smallest cable package and, since then, we have considered cutting that as well. it is, after all, a wifi world these days.

when we take walks in our ‘hood we pass a few houses with solar panels. not as many as might be in a neighborhood with newer houses, but i suspect, as people choose to install a new roof, they might also install solar. in these days of high energy cost, it only makes sense. solar power, wind power, hydropower, geothermal power…all amazing, clean, responsible options for a planet struggling to support so many more people,

which clearly brings me – in this dot-to-dot brain of mine – once again – to the abhorrent devastation this administration is making of renewable energy in this country. the unparalleled gluttony of those in power now is absolutely decimating what is good for our planet earth. but they totally don’t care. and neither do those who continue to support this pathetic and backward set of so-called policies. there is no culpability for the environment; there is only money to be made. it’s disgusting. more on that tomorrow.

and so, the mourning dove sits on our westneighbor’s tv antenna, looking around, resting. the dove has no idea of what flies through my brain as i appreciate its perch on the roof. it has no idea of how admiring i am of its ability to be zen-like and coo in all circumstances. it has no idea how much peace it brings me – to just simply watch it sit on an old tv antenna.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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bowing to time. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

“the white trout lily humbly bows on the forest floor. much like people, though on a different scale, their presence is ephemeral, fleeting. on sunny days, their petals will curl back, up, towards the sun; on shady days these small flowers may not even open. their simple beauty a mystery to the passerby, their faces shyly downward, they fill the underbrush on the side of the trail, dotting the landscape with fragile white blooms. i trust they are not concerned with the impact they make on the world nor do they wonder about their footprints once they are gone. they are simply there – love – dressed in white floral.” (from a post on august 26, 2021)

the tiny trout lily forest – as seen from the ground – stretching on and on, dotting through dry underbrush, the accumulation of fall and winter now giving it up to spring.

the day was stunning…warm, sunny, blue skies. a gift of a day, indeed. it was our first time back on our loop since we arrived home. it was time to process it all and that trail is one of our touchstones for processing. we wandered along the dirt path, talking, being silent, noting how this new season was transforming our woods.

when you travel to or through places where you are not known – where you are a stranger – there is a sense of humility. we immerse in little towns on back roads when we can, finding our way through someone else’s place, through a community of ‘others’ – those in the know about local customs, local gems, local folklore. we are just passersby – soon to be on our way somewhere else.

but we have discovered some of our favorite spots this way. we’ve found places to which we must return some day, places with which we have connected, places that seem magically aligned with us.

discovery is like that. our steps take us past the familiar, into the unknown, the mysterious.

as i got down on my knees to photograph the trout lily forest, i imagined being tiny and walking amongst the lilies. like walking in a city of towering buildings, anonymous to most.

this trail – so familiar – each twist and turn, the spots where we know there will be standing water, the spots where the sun bathes the path, the places where the scent of pine is strong. we are lucky to know this place.

it is not likely that hikers after us will wonder about our footprints. they will be intent on the awakening forest and the swollen river, on their own silence, on their own talk–talk.

but we were there.

and – again – i realize we are each just one of the trout lilies in the woods, just as fragile, just as ephemeral, bowing to time.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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shimmering too. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

this place. these shimmers of light. these sounds. this air. this salt. this place. this magic.

in the days we are there, taking it all in. i am reminded – once again – of owning it all – in the days of my growing – in the days when anything felt possible and nothing was necessary.

in the days we are there, reconnecting to plank under my feet, waterfront air in my hair, soft ink falling on the dock, clanking masts.

in the days we are there, the pride of where-i’m-from returning, the tethers of heart, sand in my shoes, salty waves at my horizon.

in the days we are there, revisiting, reclaiming, restoring, recognizing the waters of before and after and – then – in the same way the waves of the inlet and the sound meet, allowing it all to mesh into one.

in the days we are there, standing in the sun, standing in the dark. it is night and it is day. and this is my town and i am wrapped in it.

in the days we are there, i become the wake – following all that has come before, choosing to ride the triangle of waves behind the rest of life. and i discover – it’s all one.

and then.

i am shimmering too.

***

night dock (jan 12, 1977)

clanking of metal-rigged sails / politely interrupt the still evening. /

the water below is soft, shadowed chasms away, yet close and quiet.

orange and pink hues fade from the night / and are enraptured by the hushed harbor.

faint strums of a guitar revolve in the mind / and in the silence of dark.

white starry sky fills the air.

men ready a boat and set sail.

the waters part to let them go.

the wake follows, alone.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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