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Tag Archives: two artists tuesday


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

“first, my child, remember that there are truths all around us and within us. they twinkle in the night sky and bloom upon the earth. they fall upon us every day, silent as the snow and gentle as the rain. the people, clutching their own truth, forget that it is part of all the small and lonely truths of life. they no longer see these truths, no longer hear them.” (old turtle and the broken truth – douglass wood)

the turtle waited on the side of the trail. in no hurry and seemingly unafraid, it stayed put during my photoshoot; i was carefully moving around it so as not to frighten it. in one moment, it would peek its head out; in the next, it would retreat and just patiently wait. we stood with it for some time. it was there in the perfect moment. i wondered at the wonder of that.

on our next loop through the forest there was no sign of the turtle. it had done its work, appearing at just the right time. it must be the nature of turtles.

in the story of old turtle and the broken truth, truth fell from the sky and broke into two pieces. the people held onto the piece they found – despite that it was incomplete. “you are loved,” it read. clutching their truth, these same people became angry toward those who did not have this piece-that-had-fallen-from-the-sky and they became arrogant – righteous, even – and began fighting with the others.

a little girl who yearned for change, yearned for peace and transparency between people, set out to find old turtle, to seek wisdom. old turtle told her that the truth-piece that the people held had been broken off and that the other piece of truth needed to be found to make the world whole again, to complete the truth.

together they sought the other piece of the truth, the other half of the incomplete “you are loved” message, the piece that had vanished, to which the people paid no heed.

old turtle led the girl to the other part of the incomplete truth. the other piece read, “and so are they.”

“half-truths are not the same as whole truths,” a reader writes.

it is a day for the whole truth.

*****

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undressed inchworms. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

embrace of life – by mimi webster, the john denver sanctuary, aspen, colorado

THIS is how i feel in the mountains.

all worries, concerns, things we are suffering or things too complex – shed – as clothing falling off, a nakedness of joy, exulting in the sky, the purity of air, the scent of early spring in high elevation.

THIS is how i feel there.

it is not unlike how i feel at the side of the ocean, with waves lapping my feet, infinite blue meeting aqua on a horizon too far away to particularly discern, salt air sticking to my hair, sun beating down, uninhibited.

it is recent discovery that we realize it is a new time. though we both are – and have been – aware of the tenuousness, aware of how nebulous it all is – and one of us distinctly more thready than the other – we are beginning to see life in smaller morsels. we are not sprinting past on our way to somewhere which will ultimately be on the way to somewhere else. instead, we are slower and more deliberate. we are undressed inchworms – exposed – in miles and miles of life. intentionally.

at the entrance to the john denver sanctuary, embrace of life stands, gloriously. i needed no reminder. i walked in – throwing my head back to the sky – throwing my arms out to collect it all, to wrap in it, to bring it all home. my heart is open. wide open. air rushes in as we walk among boulders chiseled with lyrics and prose. each moment is shimmering.

THIS is how i feel.

*****

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the spirit with us. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

you can feel it.

there is a spirit in this place – the john denver sanctuary in aspen. it is palpable.

we go there – specifically – to feel it.

because it feels like the past, the present and the future all at once and – here – it all wraps around your heart.

we are both john denver fans. not the ridiculous push-to-the-front-of-the-crowd-for-a-signature type. just the quiet, eternally-grateful type. he has inspired us. he has inspired me. he made the simple melodic gesture a visceral thing. he elevated folksy messaging and storytelling; he reinforced the beauty of a lack of adornment. simplicity.

and when we stand in this beautiful place – designed to honor him, his composing and songwriting, his vision of the world – we are standing in and with his spirit. and you can feel it.

we slowly walkabout, arm in arm. we hum the songs chiseled into granite boulders. we stand immersed, pondering, in front of quotes of john muir and leonardo da vinci and helen keller and rachel carson and jacques cousteau.

we seek out annie’s song.

and we can feel it. the spirit in this place.

we feel at home here.

we stroll away and take it with us, carrying it in-between the times we stand there.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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in the same way. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

in the same way this peony bud waits – tightly budded – absorbing the sunshine and the rain, glomming onto every gift nature offers her – i write this ahead, in great anticipation of being in the mountains.

i am a peony bud – wrapped up and waiting to unwind. ready to stand in the sun, soak it in, my breathing a little off as i adjust to altitude, weeping at the first sight of the range in front of us.

and in the same way this peony will soon glimmer in blossoming, i can feel it in anticipation. i can feel standing on a crest or tucked into the aspen forest along the trail or sitting in the brook on a rock. i can feel the petals relax, unwind. i can feel the air brush past me. i can feel my heart beating.

“i am here now,” i will remind myself, “stay here in each moment. don’t go anywhere else but here right now.”

and all that will come – all that will happen – whether ants or good weather or bad – i am nevertheless a bud that will open, unfurling petal by petal. nature and time will have its way. no matter. unconditionally. like goodness and love.

and i will stand today in the mountains – grateful – for peony lessons, for patience and fortitude, for all things unconditional.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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for all time. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we co-wrote an absolutely brilliant song when we were on washington island in the summer of 2019.

[i’m thinking i already posted about this. 1900 + blogs and redundancy is a thing, i guess. my apologies – i know some people really detest redundancy. i, on the other hand, don’t really mind it at all. you can tell me the same delicious story over and over and i will still be a happy listener. (these rules don’t apply to david, of course)]

anyway…now, every-single-time i see a butterfly (and even yes-yes, technically, a moth as well, yup-yup) i cannot help myself. i immediately think of this song and sometimes – ok, most times – i start singing it. “butterfly, butterfly, spread your wings. butterfly, butterfly, fly. butterfly, butterfly, flutter by, to the big blue sky.” (see audio file waaaay below if you are dying to hear this brilliance!)

we cannot help laughing.

really laughing.

like the kind of laughing when your cheeks hurt and your ribs begin to ache, tears start streaming from your eyes and you might even snort. THAT kind of laughing.

we were so inspired back then by our butterfly song, we decided – while still on island – to write another song – fun in the sun – and we tried to record it (see below)…ridiculously harsh sunlight, anything-but-flattering-up-angle, very-very-insanely-close-up…but the moments are recorded no less. for all time.

the red admiral butterfly – that fluttered by and landed right next to us on the adirondack chair on our patio – according to the great google – symbolizes spiritual awakening, transformation, and renewal. all beautifully restorative. truly a gift.

but there is nothing like a good laugh to put things in perspective. for all time.

*****

the butterfly song – by kerri & david

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we are all tiny ferns. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

looking like a new year’s eve party noisemaker waiting to unfurl in celebration, the fern steadily grows. in-between last year’s clipped stalks and in and among dried leaves and the last vestiges of winter’s effect on mulch, it peeks out, pushing up toward the sun. it chooses to thrive, even covered by sandy soil and bits of the past. one day soon i will walk out to the back – where the fern garden is – and this tiny fern will have stretched and straightened and fanned out into a lanky beautiful feather.

it makes me think about blowout noisemakers. all furled up they look relatively innocuous and not particularly capable of being noisy. a little gumption and air blown into them and they can be pretty doggone loud.

the little fern breathes deep and reaches down into where gumption is stored. against the odds, this seemingly fragile, willowy plant rises up, centimeter by centimeter. suddenly it is a powerhouse, standing tall in the rain and a part of the wind in storms.

though it may be all trembly inside as it makes its journey upward and outward, its gumption, air and the sun give it courage and strength. it is tough and resilient and – it is said – has an incredibly strong survival instinct.

how often we are all tiny ferns – over and over – through fallow and rejuvenation, covered in the patina of the past and growing it off. innocuous and silent.

and then, we rise up and unfurl.

*****

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and poppo was smiling. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

my sweet poppo used to say, “put it in the barn out back!” only we didn’t have a barn out back.

he thought it would be wise to simply save everything – old stuff would all come around again. and, judging by the seventies clothing we are seeing in the boutiques ‘out there’ he was right. bold colors, big pattern, crocheted-granny-square sweaters and vests….i should’ve saved everything. i’d be right in fashion.

now, it goes without saying that in my closet are plenty of items that date back. no…not like six months or a year. they date back to the 2010s, the 2000s, the 90s and beyond. i always think, “save this. it’ll fit again one day/it’ll be in style again one day/i love it too much to give it away so keep it to wear again some day” etc etc. and, to my credit, some things are just classic pieces and they work no matter when you wear them. well, at least in my estimation they do. i’m guessing that’s up for grabs.

as you already know, we love antiquing. it flings us to and fro through the decades we have been on planet earth and is quite entertaining. we laugh as we see the corningware and tupperware we currently own. we stand in front of record albums reliving our teens. we roll our eyes at the inundation of tchotchkes, miscellany and bric-à-brac galore. and then we pass something that just cuts to the chase, goes right to our hearts.

these ice cube trays did it for me.

we had these ice cube trays growing up. i distinctly remember them. steadying the cold tray with one hand, i can feel the crunching thwap of pulling back the aluminum handle, releasing the ice cubes, ice shards flying out of the tray. it totally brings me back to my childhood home.

we stood in front of the ice cube trays for a bit, reminiscing aloud to each other, the only audience who wants to listen to an ice cube tray story.

when we moved on it was to discover that there were three – 3!! – viewmasters also in the booth. because you must – the visceral tugs mercilessly at you – i pulled down on the lever, looking around for the round slide thingies that go inside them. i still own a viewmaster (with a few slide thingies) and i was trying to decide who we should gift with one of these.

alas, we moved on sans purchase. we didn’t even purchase the ice cube trays, even though our kitchenaid icemaker no longer works and we either have to make ice cubes or purchase ice. we have other ice cube trays – ones that work better than the metal ones – and we still hold out hope that one day the icemaker might work again.

but, if those trays had been out in the barn it would have helped us, at least temporarily – until the icemaker revives.

and then outside – on a table in the weather – sat the birdhouse. rusted metal roof, old peeling painted barnwood, a tiny backdoor, and a nest inside, we were smitten.

$5.28 later and my poppo was smiling from the other side.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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add9 winky moon. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the sliver of moon was suspended in the sky like an add9 chord. hanging out there, being all gorgeous.

add9s are my thing. extending the chord, a little bit of tension, unresolved.

though i am often astounded by a full moon and i love all the phases tugging at those of us here on earth, it’s the sliver that always charms me. just this wink of a moon out there, inviting me, luring me to stop and stare, making me notice the stars gathered, like a moon fan club, all vying for my attention. like an add9.

we spent most of the weekend at home, save for a bit of celebration time friday evening and an impromptu sun-urged lakefront sunday afternoon. with home our rock, we reveled in it. we worked in and out around the house on this glorious weekend, alternating chores with the adirondack chairs placed strategically on the deck or the patio, depending. it’s only april, so this weekend was unexpected, its weather a winky-moon-add9 gift.

and walking down the driveway under the night sky – a clear night in the ‘hood – heading into the backyard, right by the ghetto fence, right before we turned, i looked up. the moon glanced down, tapping me on the shoulder, saying, “it’s all good,” and then it danced back into the galaxy.

and – like a shooting star – the add9 lingered, fading eventually into black.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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swiss cheese games. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and adults play it too. the telephone game.

you remember…when we were kids, we played it in a circle. sitting cross-legged. on the floor. like right after duck-duck-goose.

it started with one little girl or boy leaning over to the next and whispering something in that child’s ear. that child whispered in the next ear and that next ear whispered in the next ear and the next and so on…until it came around to the end of the circle.

the child at the end of the circle would then state what he or she heard – whispered to them.

and it was inevitably always completely different from how it started. and everyone would giggle and giggle about how funny it was that this tiny message would be so misconstrued – so distorted – by the end of the circle game. it became a tiny beehive of misinformation.

i recently learned that adults play this too. only it is not with the innocence of children in a cross-legged circle. it is not a game of giggles. it is, however, played in a beehive.

and instead of lighthearted buzzy laughter, it is an effort with meanness and agenda at its core. it takes information that hasn’t been fact-checked or questioned or even properly considered and passes it on. and one person passes it to thirteen people who pass it to thirteen people who pass it to thirteen people and voila! the real-real has been warped beyond repair and the telephone “game” has taken on an air of righteous targeting, the spirit of nasty, baseless and malicious. this now-swiss-cheese-story is punctuated with lies and innuendo and is passed on and on and on – with no thought or respect to truth, no thought or respect for the target.

it’s a far cry from cross-legged giggling children on the floor.

but it’s still a game.

an ugly game.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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lake cleavage. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

if you are averse to talking about cleavage, you should stop here.

because this lens…standing near the east windows of the milwaukee art museum…granted the lake cleavage…something i am – thanks to inheriting more genes from my dad than from my mom – unfamiliar with.

in a cleavage world it is tough to be a non-cleavage girl. not being endowed cuts in so many ways.

i clung onto the cleavage i had – for like five minutes – when i had my babies and was nursing, though i doubt it even counts as a nursing mom. still…i thought, “cleavage! wowza!” but it didn’t stick around. as soon as they were weaned, my cleavage was snatched from me. voila! back to none.

i’m not sure if the universe has a sense of humor about these things. i mean, who doles out the cleavage? and, here’s another important and relevant point: i must say, our society has a thing about it – cleavage, that is…not so much the universe – and bra companies like victoria’s secret grant the world’s best bras – with names and adjectives like “wicked” and “bombshell”, “miracle” and “fantasy” and “sexy illusions” – to people who “have it”. causing things like the day i cried in v’s secret. (read that glorious tale here.) it’s not a fair world out there.

so, it was a given i would walk up to the round lens on the east side of the museum, gaze out at lake michigan and see cleavage. for heaven’s sake!

i looked at david and told him, “look, even the lake has cleavage!!!”

he gazed back, weighing his response carefully. very carefully.

“ahhh, but it’s not a cutie-patootie like you!” he suavely replied.

uh-huh.

a cutie-patootie.

in this american society bent on what-we-are-shaped-like, i don’t think that’ll get me far.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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