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Tag Archives: yamaha artist


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all the angles. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i grew up loving protractors and mechanical pencils, slide rules and really good erasers. it’s a wonder i didn’t pursue a career where these were valued or necessary. digging through bins recently, i came across a pencil case with yet-another protractor, yet-another slide rule, a very sturdy compass, some fine-point drafting pencils. a treasure! from long ago i can feel the slide rule in my hand and the circly swirl of the compass. even without a specific purpose for these (save for the pencils) i am planning on keeping them. and the pencil case as well. because who doesn’t love pencil cases?

and so, it was without hesitation i immediately eye-measured the angles in this photograph. the north side of our house, rooflines as they meet the sky. this old house is filled with angles – crown molding meeting crown molding, wood floors as they run an expanse of a room to partner with another room, ceilings over a reversing stairwell, ceilings in bedrooms that long ago housed matchbox cars and barbies.

there are photographs in the bins-in-the-basement as well. i study them for a bit. it’s obvious i was always looking for a different angle – a different way to view what everyone else was looking at, to compose my image. closer-up, upside-down, the horizon on a deliberate tilt. but, most always, tighter-in, to feature some subject matter.

it was when i was in the canyonlands sharing precious time with my daughter that i learned a lesson. we were both snapping pictures – the expanse, the red rock, the sky, the immensity, the 90 degree angles to the canyon floor – it was all overwhelmingly take-your-breath-away. we took photographs of each other in this incredible terrain. her images were a teaching.

there, taking up barely any space in the middle third of the left side of the photo, i stood on the top of the cliffside. the sun was almost down, the deep chasm below dark, the red rock upon which i stood still lit orange. i am the smallest percentage of this photograph and, yet, it is one of my favorite photos of myself – ever.

it was that day i learned little bit more about perspective – through my daughter’s brilliant creative instinct to give the visceral gift of seeing tiny in vast. to back up, to wide-angle the view. i remind myself of these amazing moments with her often.

i hold my camera ready – to consider all the angles of what i’m seeing. and, most especially, what i might see, what i might be aware of, from a distance. the bigger picture.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

from a distance. acrylic 53″ x 29″

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sans filters. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the colors intensified as the day drew to a close from our little spot on the deck. i didn’t take any more pictures. instead, i watched it. sometimes, in the taking of photographs, it is possible to miss it, the moment. usually i take my chances with this, but not this particular evening. i just needed to hold tightly to the summer night’s glory, the east bounceback of the setting sun, the quiet.

though i appreciate all the filters out there – on my iphone, on photoshop, on snapseed, really on anything that edits images – i never use them. i come from a practice of manual 35mm cameras, sans filters – though they were available and you could screw them onto the end of the lens. i was always more of a purist in my photography. no filters.

and i’m from new york.

the other day we were talking with friends about people asking other people questions. we live in the midwest so that’s not a simple matter. there’s a silence, a reticence to question here. even in some pretty disconcerting circumstances, confusing circumstances, circumstances that beg investigation, people hesitate to ask questions. they are even question-averse.

i’m from new york, so i don’t get it. different rules apply.

six days a week now, d and i blog. i’m quite certain that there is no one on earth who wishes to read every single word we write – sometimes a mountainous plethora of words-words. we have completely different styles of writing and, once you’ve read a few blogposts, you can recognize our individual voices. david’s posts tend to be informative, filled with teachings and learnings from writers, scholars, philosophers, artists. mine tend to be a bit smushy – thready – experience-based stories, like i’m tawwwking to you, my leading heart wide open. but both of us are sans filters. he spent years on the west coast and, remember, i’m from new york. so, yeah, no filters.

i would imagine that there are some readers reading who think, “whoa! that’s too much information! waaaay too much information!” and yes, i would say we can be pretty transparent. perhaps people would prefer filters (or less words or even opaqueness).

but this is art and the work of an artist is to be open, to communicate, to elicit emotion, to provoke thought. it’s to be vulnerable.

without filters.

otherwise, you will wonder every time you look at a photo of a sunset: is this real?

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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on a wire. the universe of all. [ kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it was by itself. high on the wire that’s included in the squirrel highway system, it perched, alone.

mourning doves are usually together, in pairs. cooing in our backyard, pondside, they are cleaning up under the birdfeeder, welcoming the day or bringing an enchanting beginning to the evening. we have a particular fondness for them.

but it has been rare to see one by itself.

if i had to imagine what it was doing, i would say it was talking to the universe. way high like that, it would seem to be a little bit closer to infinity, to whatever it perceives as divine. it sat there, quiet.

i don’t require an intermediary either. my prayers are whispered on the trail, on the pillow, blowdrying my hair, chopping onions. in my own life, i have now found – after repeated learnings – that grace is all around and the divine is not in some building somewhere.

on the contrary, i wonder about those buildings now. for i, personally, have experienced the worst hypocrisy there – in communities that are waxing poetic in mission statements and disappearing in actually participating in those sentiments.

and so, i sit on the wire with the mourning dove. we both find this universe beautiful. we both find it challenging. we both lift longings up and we both ask for mercy in our living. we both live in the mystery and immensity of faith. i would imagine that sole bird does not wrestle with religious underpinnings, historical narrative stories or philosophical questions. that bird-on-the-wire is not concerned with the begats nor the maps of supposeds. i’m guessing we are kind of in alignment with the basic tenets – goodness, kindness, love, peace, generosity, fairness, grace. just like me, like, well, all of us, it has a direct-connect with its deity and the universe.

it is not likely – though i have learned never to say “never” – that i will ever be in a church again. i gave my entire heart to working at one at 19. they did not warn me of any danger, protect me or aid me. i gave my entire heart to working at one in latest life. they did not warn me of any danger, protect me or aid me.

i don’t blame god. for my god isn’t stuffed into nooks and crannies of the church. my god isn’t clinging to any specific denomination. and my god isn’t justifying any wrongful behavior because of some building.

to be in a sanctuary, one must feel in a place of refuge or safety. stone walls, brick, wooden altars, pews, organ pipes, artifacts, relics with touted significance – these are not naturally-occurring as safe or as refuge. the leadership and the community must bring that. and, in bookended experiences – on either end of my three-plus-decades of such work – though i brought every ounce of heart in, i walked out with my heart destroyed.

and so, the mourning dove and i sit on the high wire sanctuary together. we gaze at the sky and the divine tethers us in gently-held gossamer threads, tied to all the rest. i’m not sure what my dove friend is thinking, but i know that i am in prayer. that the universe yearns to hear each of us. that, even though i may feel alone on the wire, i am now more in the community of truth than in those fraught buildings.

i and the mourning dove are in the “church of nones” and the universe of all.

*****

ALWAYS WITH US from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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under the i. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in downtown chicago, it is not uncommon to walk under highways or tracks carrying heavy railroad cars, the metra, the el, freight carriers.

but out on a trail, meandering alongside a river, through meadows and forests, passing fishermen and being passed by marathon-aspiring bikers, with turtles and baby snakes, heron and mosquitoes punctuating our hike, it seems really odd – and slightly unnerving – to walk under the “i”.

you can’t help but look up at the cars and trucks going 70 or 80 mph just above you. i shudder to think of the infrastructure problems that might abound. 86% of bridges in the state of illinois are considered acceptable. i just want to be sure this particular bridge is not part of the other 14%.

as i have some trepidation under vehicle and railroad bridges, my imagination is working a little overtime as i slither underneath the overpass, my eyes on the light coming from the other side. it’s much cooler under the bridge – and surprisingly quieter than before we entered – and there is a pigeon who is touting his wisdom for hanging out where it is sheltered. but most pigeons are not civil engineers nor do they really worry themselves about that sort of thing. i speak softly to it as we pass; it’s not frightened, even of us.

of all the trails we have taken in our general area – i have to say this section hike of the river trail was the least satisfying. we were in a triangular map-section of three large highways, including the interstate. so we weren’t ever far from the noise. and noise – and general hubbub – is what we are trying to escape on a trail. nevertheless, i’m glad we section-hiked that part. it surely makes us appreciate the rest of the trail, in quieter areas, removed a bit from the ruckus of daily life.

perspective is a funny thing. there are times we get sort of lax in appreciation. we take for granted the everyday luxuries of contemporary life, the ease of movement, our connections to family and friends. we see same-same through the same eyes. it’s a theme with variations.

and then, there was the pigeon. it found its safe place under the underpass – a place where it was cool, where the river ran and it could sip, where the insects and worms might be plentiful, where passersby might toss it a morsel or two. it didn’t seem to mind that the interstate was directly above, that this spot was not nirvana for most.

idyllic is in the eye of the beholder. so is wonder. in a busy world, they are easy to miss, easy to same-old-same-old-put-aside.

so, instead of dissing the trail that went under the interstate, i’ve decided to be in amazement that we walked under a road that hosts a daily average of 1.5 million cars of people driving to their destinations. and that on the way back on our eight or so mile hike, we could stop and linger with the pigeon, out of the hot sun.

sharpening the dulled, putting new eyes on the ordinary.

*****

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

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the E.T. from earth. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

and i ponder the reverse. what if E.T. was from earth and was somehow left behind on some other planet with living and breathing beings? would the earth-alien be as wistful about leaving earth behind? would the earth-alien be anxious to go back, to return to earth? what special powers would the earth-alien reveal on the new planet? how would the earth-alien respond to this different place, these different beings?

the thing about the movie E.T. is that it left us with a heartened view of what an extra-terrestrial might bring, the connections an extra-terrestrial might find, might form. it was a feel-good, cry-at-the-end movie and there is probably not one of us who viewed the movie who cannot hear E.T. saying, “E.T. phone home” or his parting words, “i’ll be right here” in our memory bank.

but what about the reverse?

what would a contemporary earth-being bring to another planet? would it be a sense of camaraderie or a dedication to division? would it be a symbiotic working-together or over-indulged competition, lines drawn in other-planet-dust? would it be open-hearted empathy or apathetic closed-mindedness? would it be an attitude of every-one-for-themselves? would there be any tenderness, any gentleness, healing mindfulness or would the attitude be haughty and mean-spirited?

if we didn’t get to cherry-pick the person who was sent to this other planet, how likely is it that the other-planet-beings would be glad that person showed up, to welcome them with warm hospitality, to sit and try to communicate, try to understand each other?

the spaceship flower on the side of the trail sent my imagination off and running.

but it made me also wonder this: if we would – indeed – want to carefully-as-possible pick an earth-being that might represent humankind to another planet’s beings – making sure that this earth-being would bring all the best qualities of humanness, the most nurturing, cooperative, collaborative, forthright, most loving, and all-embracing traits and behaviors, wouldn’t we want the same as the leader of our own country?

E.T. was hiding in the bushes under the spaceship flower. he glanced up at me and whispered, “scared here. wanna go home.”

i handed him the flower and off he disappeared, leaving us all behind to think carefully about what we wish for in humankind on this good planet earth.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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another get-the-lead-out chapter. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

and ever so quietly the cones arrived. and then the “no parking” signs. we didn’t hear the trucks until a couple days later. and, though i’ve lost track of what chapter this is, another chapter begins.

they dug up the street. in front of our house and our neighbors to the east and the west. i instantly started to get nervous. it’s been kind of a long haul, this get-the-lead-out thing. i mean, yes, i want to get the lead out, but seriously, this has been a really long process. our first water pipe lead eradication chapter was in november 2021. we are rapidly approaching two years. i’m frankly not sure if the lead is out – i believe it is – we have shiny new copper pipes and shiny new sidewalks and – at long last – a level front yard with green-green grass – but what about the water utility company being back…again?

whatever the reason, we have determined (read: succumbed to) it is part of the process and are trying to trust that.

for many, many years, we participated in the water utility company’s lead-test. they’d drop off a plastic container which we had to fill first thing in the morning after not using the water lines overnight. each time i’d wait anxiously for the results and any recommendations. with children growing up in the house, i didn’t want either of them to have to seek long-term therapy to deal with their emotional i-drank-leadwater-my-whole-life issues. life is hard enough without leadwater.

i’m guessing we were getting perilously close to the leadwater danger-edge because, when water started leaking into our front yard, we were offered the chance to replace the service line within the guidelines of the new program, assistance with a cap of several thousand dollars that was granted for the work. we were grateful. in our case it was a pretty intense operation – see many blogposts circa late 2021, 2022, likely several in 2023 as well. without exaggeration, our front yard was a disaster area.

in recent whitehouse press release news: “the biden-harris Get the Lead Out Partnership is a coalition of federal government, states, tribes, local communities, water utilities, labor unions, and nongovernmental organizations that has committed to advance a shared set of principles to accelerate lead service line replacement. the inaugural 123 members of the partnership include”…drumroll, please, the city of kenosha, wisconsin!

and so, as we drive around the city, darting inbetween cones and torn-up roads, i am thankful that our city has decided to care about our water. they are taking steps to help people, offer financial assistance, dedicate worker crews to this effort to remove lead water service lines, to have clean water. bravo!

in the meanwhile, we’ll wonder what’s going on in the street and cross our fingers that we don’t wake up one morning to once again see an excavator in our front yard. but we’ll know that – no matter how little we run the water in the morning or how long – we will pass the lead-test with flying colors.

in other undeniably exciting news – a part of this waterstory – we were heartened by a new award certificate we were given by the grassking: most-improved lawn!!

so…no more leadwater for us AND most improved lawn. it’s a win-win!

*****

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

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still relevant. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

it’s a true story. we’ve had plenty of heat index temperatures higher than normal. everywhere. even in wisconsin. so the other day, anticipating two full heat-dome days of feels-like temps of 110 plus, we looked at our little old a/c unit in the window and figured it was time to turn it on. ahead of time. to get a jump on the oppressive heat.

it’s an old unit – 20 years old, maybe older – and it was going to have a big job to do. the more recent air conditioners clearly are more efficient, energy-wise. they are maybe sleeker looking. perhaps they blend in better and are less noisy. they have different components than ours, different mechanisms.

our old amana window air conditioner is simply a workhorse. it cools. it is dedicated to cooling a room. it gets the job done. we have not devalued it because of the year it was built or the time it has spent as an air conditioner.

we stood in the dining room – by the window where the unit is installed – and proudly looked at our old air conditioner. in a fast and ever-changing world, it might seem beyond its time, beyond working well.

but it is dutifully unfaltering. its old-air-conditioner-wrinkles belie its steadfastness, its expertise at cooling. it has experience, history, tenure doing its work in the world. at this moment in time, to us, the people who wish it – need it – expect it – to do really good work, it is clearly invaluable.

it may not be a younger air conditioner, but – particularly on these 110 degree days – it is mighty relevant. i’m happy we are smart enough to recognize that.

and this, my dear friends, is the fable of two people in their 60s out in the heat-dome of the work world.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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SMACK-DAB. ©️ 2023 kerrianddavid.com


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for right now. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“the sun shines not on us but in us. the rivers flow not past, but through us. thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. the trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.” (john muir)

there have been moments – holy and glorious moments – when i remember that i am, yes, one with nature. i am no more or less a part of the whole than the heart-leaf on the side of the trail, no more or less a part of the whole than the rocks on the beach, no more or less a part of the whole than the cloud as it floats by. and i remember that in my tiny-ness – within the vastness – i could just as easily have been the energy of the leaf or the rock or the cloud.

“how will you spend your time?” asked the thru-hiker at the end of the trail. mary oliver asks the same, “what will you do with your one precious life?”

i realize – in these sacred and suspended moments when i can feel the threads of soul connect me to the trees, to the living plants, to the creatures – that i am, perhaps, spending too much time in worry.

i am alive. and, for right now, that is enough.

*****

GRACE from RIGHT NOW ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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the magic. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

i stood in the surf to take pictures of it. i could feel the sand sinking beneath my feet and the water pulling me out. the breaking waves were glorious and the cool water was rejuvenating. i stood there a long time, snapping photos. later, my feet – from sandwalking and wavecleansing – felt like i had taken an expensive exfoliation scrub and lavishly basked in its luxury. the magic of these two – elements of the tide, in time, of forces playing together.

we sat – in quiet – on the patio, over adirondack chairs facing the backyard. all summer we have had a hummingbird feeder out back. we have felt fortunate to see a hummer a time or two, maybe at day’s end, sipping and zipping away. but after the deluge of rain, after i refilled the feeder, the word seemed to have spread in hummingbirdland. and suddenly, our yard became a destination. and so we sat, quietly watching, transfixed by these tiniest birds, binoculars at the ready. and they came and went. they ate at the feeder and sat perched on the wires and on the garden fencing. they chased each other, zooming past our chairs and up and over the house. it was the first show and it was enchanting. we relaxed into its magic.

the trail was hot and we were on mile nine. at that point – in the feels-like high nineties – we were talking about getting to littlebabyscion in the parking lot. but then there was this butterfly who captured my attention. on a stand of tall yellow wildflowers, the viceroy butterfly shared the edge of the trail with me. i was close to it and took photographs as it sunned, seeking nectar. it didn’t fly away, instead allowing me to snap pictures as it stayed on the bright blossom. i forgot about how much i wanted to sit down, the weary disappearing into the magic of this creature’s presence.

when we were little, there was little that was not magical. and then we grew – taller, older, supposedly wiser. and some of the magic dissipated into clouds.

but, we are lucky beings. because from time to time, we are reminded. they need not be big moments of grandeur, though they could be. they need not be big moments of contrived entertainment, though they could be. they need not be stunning vistas or neverending horizons, though they could be.

instead, they are tiny bubbles and droplets of water, tiny grains of sand, gathered together in a restoring wave. they are tiny birds sanctuarying the backyard. they are a butterfly on a flower, almost unnoticed.

and we remember. we remember to remember, to not forget that the magic is right there waiting.

and in the wisdom of the littles, we realize – again – there is little that is not magical.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

sunrise. sunset.

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if i was the rain. [two artists tuesday]

it was torrential. for hours. we didn’t know it, but we weren’t the only ones having issues. all over our town, there was flooding. streets, houses, basements, the water was incessant and drainage wasn’t keeping up.

it’s not like we don’t need rain. we do. but the intense downpours aren’t helpful. residents ended up without power, with too much water and without water (ironically).

this is a time of intensity. it seems that every weather system, every environmental concern, brings an amped-up version of itself. it’s not just a little windy. it’s a derecho. it’s not just a bit dry. it’s on fire. it’s not just a soft rain. it’s a deluge. it’s not just a storm. it’s historic. it’s not just endangered. it’s extinction.

and we’re not the only ones.

right after we chose this image for our blogposts, i started humming lowen and navarro’s “if i was the rain“, an utterly debilitatingly beautiful song.

and so i think about how it would be – to be the rain.

“if i was the rain… i’d fall between the fireflies; i’d never dampen any light.”

yes. how i’d be careful not to dim the brilliance of others.

“i’d strike a chord within each heart, wherever they were torn apart. and if that helped them heal themselves, maybe we’d find out where forgiveness starts.”

yes. how i’d be aware of washing away old hurts, bringing a flowing river to all.

“if i was the rain, i’d choose forever to remain. i’d add a sparkle to the night and marvel at the morning bright.”

yes. how ever-present, a single drop of rain. ever-mindful of vast goodness, of perspective, of eternal gratitude.

“if i was the rain i’d bless each blossom to unfold and i’d turn each one of them to gold.”

yes. how to feed every last thing with the best nourishment, water to grow, dreams to flourish. nurturing. giving to. not taking from.

“if i was the rain. if i was the rain.”

but i’m not. and there are changes happening. and the weather is intensifying. and we – as humans on this good earth – have choices to make.

the things we will decide will affect the rain. and the rain will affect us.

and we’re not the only ones.

“when we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.” (john muir)

and then, eric lowen performed it one last time, “if i was the rain, if i was the rain.”

and i can’t help but wonder.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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