reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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windsong of the flags. [two artists tuesday]

windblown flags

“So welcome the wind and the wisdom she offers
Follow her summons when she calls again
In your heart and your spirit let the breezes surround you
Lift up your voice then and sing with the wind” (john denver – windsong)

the ferry raised up on the crest of the wave, angry sea all around us, the wind howling.  then, just as smoothly as it rode the way up, it trounced down into the trough between the waves.  the water rose over the ferry, splashing all the cars and running down the deck toward the stern.  the wind kept howling.

it was a day like that.  flags at 90 degrees, parallel to the ground.  our prayer flags have seen many like that; the wind has tattered them.  prayers have been released into the universe with gentle breezes; prayers have been thrust into the universe with forceful winds.

i tend to prefer the days without tempestuous winds.  the lake has an uneven surf on those turbulent days, the rhythm as they hit shore not intuitive or familiar and one that i find unsettling.

yet i am reminded that this same wind i face down at the shoreline is also the wind at my back.  it is the wind of wisdom and movement.  the wind that carries me away, the wind that surrounds me with those who have gone before me, the wind of growth and courage.

and so, i welcome the wind.  i watch as so.many.prayers. are freed to fly.  i give thanks for the gusts, unfettered dreams and wishes, each step aided by the wind.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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crazy. [merely-a-thought monday]

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we were walking in the middle of the street and the sun was going down.  it was two days before we were to move off island.  i was suddenly struck by the comparison between two days after we arrived on island and two days before we were to leave.  three months have passed.  the whole summer.  it felt like way longer.  looking back, it went by fast.  it felt like way longer.  looking back, it went by slow.  crazy.

i wondered aloud about three months from now.  i did the math on my fingers and said aloud, “what will two days before the end of december be like?  what will have happened?  what will we have accomplished?  where will we be that day?  how will we feel?”

this period of time has been pretty fraught.  with more than i can, or wish to, list in this post.  in the multiple simultaneously ever-spinning plates of life, there has been more than one wobble, more than one plate off-balance.  it has made me wonder, “what, pray tell, is going on?”  it all has seemed a bit crazy.

as a person who just wants to bring idea, passion, joy to jobs, i’ve been diving to avoid spinning plates as they seemingly veer off course, as they spin outside the gravity of what actually feels important, as they go haywire, as they head to strike the floor.

“you don’t have to be crazy to work here.  we’ll train you.”  a familiar hyperbole or idiom of sorts.  maybe that means this:  we’ll try to waylay you so you never get to the real work.  we’ll ask you to make change but will rail against it.  we’ll try to undermine or undervalue you.  we’ll try to withhold information and still expect you to function.  we’ll try to put boxy definition and constraints on the art you are attempting to create.  we’ll try to grab the stick under the spinning plate and wreak crazy.

or

maybe it means that you will endure all these things.  you will encounter havoc-wreaking and you will encounter messes.  you will find others in the ‘here’ who will stand by you and spot you as you plate-spin.  you will find your sisu and you will stand in the integrity of the work you are doing.  you will survive, outlasting the crazy.   and, you will, in the end, do some good work. crazy good.

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

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looking in. [d.r. thursday]

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the fresh simplicity of this painting makes it feel scandinavian to me, clean lines, blues, yellows.  i recognize it.  its warmth.  its less-is-more-ness.

i also recognize the image.  the moments we stop, head down, turning inside.  pondering, wondering, musing.  the palette of our hearts, our lives,  a mixture of emotions, we try to wrangle a few minutes of quiet to sort it all out.

this painting – INNER LIFE – is a breath of fresh air for me.  a reminder of what a few silent minutes can offer.

view/purchase INNER LIFE on david’s gallery

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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SACRED SERIES:  INNER LIFE ©️ 2017 david robinson


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best-laid plans. [two artists tuesday]

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what is it they say about the best-laid plans?

we loved the old dock on this property.  the old dock and the canoewith the exception of the spider webs that formed in-between the metal tying posts and the snakes that took to sunning on the warm old boards of the walkway,  it was charming.  the old bench at the end of the dock invited us to sit.  it stood stubbornly during rougher waters, its weathered patina and rusting pipes.

******

they decided it was time to refurbish the dock and two strappy island guys came in to do the job.  they took a few days over the period of a couple weeks to re-construct, to lay new boards over the old, to eliminate the spider-web-gatherers and to build a new bench. then they were done and the new dock was open for business.

less than a week, only one brief sit-on-the-bench moment and probably-before-the-bill-arrived later, the storm blew in.  the waves crashed on our shoreline, eroding away a good two to three feet, throwing debris onto the grass.

the dock tried.  it stood firm against the waves, larger than they said they had ever seen them in twenty years.  but it didn’t last.  the bench blew apart into the water, the new boarded walkway listed, listed.  and finally, gave way.  pieces of the new dock were angrily tossed to shore; even still, wood floats in the bay, riding the waves ever-closer to our little beach.

the best-laid plans, carefully schemed and financed.  much thought and choosing, each angle pondered.  solid weather-proofed wood purchased, big wood screws that could withstand stress chosen.  yet, the storms come.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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the old dock and the canoe © 2019 kerri sherwood, david robinson


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earth interrupted’s brown bags. [d.r. thursday]

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there are moments when everything seems like a big deal.  our own planet earth is up close and personal, every concern a meteor about to threaten our very existence.  the sum of the individual pieces too much to bear.  we wonder, wonder, “what is going on?!”

and then there are moments when perspective reigns.  when we can step back, see the bigger picture and realize that everyone has their brown paper bags full of baggage, of difficulties, of things to sort, to keep, to ruthlessly throw away.  the moments when you stare up at the night sky into the milky way and feel ever-so-small, knowing that you are alive and this very moment will not pass again.

EARTH INTERRUPTED.  pieces of everyone’s brown bags, torn, scattered and intermingled.  no longer baggage-holding.  an earth close-up and glowing.  full of the hope of it all fitting together:  people, issues, problems, loves, wishes, peace.

view/purchase EARTH INTERRUPTED III on david’s gallery site

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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road shadows. together. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

road shadows

watching as the ferry arrived, we were practically jumping up and down with glee.  our up-north-gang was arriving and the ferry was taking a few minutes too long to dock.  we had been anticipating them for weeks, our company log on island too few.

it’s not like there is a ton of stuff to show them here or, really, to do.  but there are friend groups who don’t need stuff to see or do; instead they are just there to simply be together.

they are there to laugh at funny hair in the morning, sip coffee and wait in line for the one bathroom.  they are there to pile in and out of the truck, dodge raindrops, play short-list tourist.  they are there, wishing for sun but not minding the bad weather that moves in, content to just be together. they are there to make mimosas and old-fashioneds, pour wine and have more snacks than you can imagine.  they are there to take turns cooking, cleaning up, always gabbing, always laughing.  they are there in the tough moments, profound and honest conversation, balancing, disarming the sting of the sword.  they are there walking side by side, talking and being quiet.  they are there playing games in evening dark, heads drooping with sleep, wishes of sweet dreams.  they are there, together.

we watched as the ferry left, both of us feeling instantly wistful.  our up-north gang leaving for the mainland.  as always, we were ever-so-grateful to have been together.

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

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ladders. [two artists tuesday]

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gay pointed to the ladders in the backstage of tpac and said, “see those ladders?  the front silver one on the right is where you are.”

this is true.  we are clumsily perched on that front silver ladder.  there are people scattered about on the other ladders, many of whom are on the top of the tallest orange ladder up against the wall.  our view, on the shortest ladder, affords us the opportunity to look out, to look up and still to be able to easily see the ground.  the view from the highest ladder, extended well up the wall, is a view of vast height, a view without a cluster of other ladders, a view more singular.

it has been our experience as artists that we must explain our livelihood, we must fight for acknowledgement of experience, we must advocate for our own fiscal equality.  our work is not easily measurable, our effort not easily defined.  we bring to every experience all we have learned about what touches the hearts of others, what resonates, what we can do to lift a message, how we can craft a concept, how we can build a program and forge a community, how we can help others see what is inside each of them.  from our rung, we can still see the ground so we know that there are others less fortunate than us and we remember pretty clearly the route up this ladder, each rung a step, each rung a gratitude.

it has also been our experience that, in a world defined by financial success, there are many on those tall extension ladders, firmly grasping the tippy-top, who have lost the story of getting there.  it is my belief that, too often, there are those who, each rung they clamber up, have forgotten what it is like to be on the rung below.  the climb to success foregoes memory, it exempts empathy, it elicits a sense of superiority; it is not kind.  the naysayers poke at those who are on rungs below, prodding them but, alas, with no reality for where those below-climbers are.  assumptions are unfairly made about ability, intelligence, budgetary decisions, effort.

in this world of bills and responsibilities, work and play, absolute joys and deep sorrows, brilliant hopeful sunrises and exhausted sunsets, i wonder about the tippy-top.  i wonder if it is possible to be clinging to that tippy-top and still remember.

as much as that tippy-top sounds like a world without worry, i don’t mind being on the silver ladder in the front.  and every step we step, i want to remember the silver ladder in the front.

i know that each day there might be someone who just may need me to understand, without feigning it, where they are.  to be able to really grasp how they feel, despite not being in their very shoes.  i don’t want to be the person who looks back at them, fear filling their eyes with tears as they tell me they don’t have enough to make it, and condescendingly ask them if they want me to point them to a budget counselor.  instead i want to understand their frustration in poverty, be complicit in their growth – real growth, empathetic in their fear.  i want to hold their hand on the rung they are on and remember what it felt like on that rung.

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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