At 6:30AM on Monday, November 21, I started writing a book. It had been with me for a long time, even before I started working as a visual artist. It lay just below my consciousness as I was fighting my way out of the corporate world and moving towards a more creative life.
As I began my search for how this creativity should emerge, synchronicities and symbolism started appearing, offering subtle hints as I made tentative steps towards this new path. I became close friends with a writer named Élise whom I met during a weekend workshop retreat in Quebec’s Eastern Townships. I stayed in a room that was named, “Myosotis” and felt compelled to jot the name in my journal, thinking it might have some meaning for me at some point in my journey.
Élise inspired me to start writing, and after the workshop, I started filling notebooks with stories, fairy tales, and anything that passed through my head. We spent many hours talking about writing and creativity, which was a breath of fresh air to me after so many years working long hours in an corporate office environment.
We attended more workshops, and the push towards writing came up in almost every one. During a guided meditation, I had a vision of climbing to the top of a mountain to meet with a wise elder who gave me a very special “gift” in the form of a beautiful red book. When I opened the book, however, the pages were pristine white and completely empty. I was baffled, expecting the book to contain some wisdom as to what path I needed to follow next, but upon sharing the vision with others, I realized that perhaps it was up to me to fill those pages. I needed to write.
That winter, as Élise and I were soaking up the creativity at Montreal’s Salon des métiers d’art, we came across an artisan who crafted exquisite ink pens entirely out of glass. Of course, we each bought one and as I perused the color choices for the accompanying inkwell, I immediately recognized the one I needed: Myosotis Blue.
Despite the urges towards writing, there were also conflicting messages that arose, making me realize that, yes, my creative ventures would include writing some day,…..but not right now. At the same time, I was being drawn back into creating artwork, which I had been doing since I was a child, but I’d be taking my work to the professional level.
Fifteen years and many successful art exhibitions later, the call to write returned. So I began on that Monday in November, convinced that now was the time, but wondering how this was all going to fit together with my art career. I knew it was right, but I needed a sign.
From my lips to God’s ear……. I paid a visit to the studio of a fellow artist and good friend Leslie Parke just yesterday. We hadn’t seen each other since the summer and were looking forward to getting caught up on what was going on in our artistic lives. As soon as I arrived, she handed me a package. “It’s an early Christmas present,” she announced. I looked inside and found a red, leather-bound book. Opening the book, I discovered pristine white pages just waiting to be filled and my mind flashed back fifteen years to that meditation where I received an enigmatic red book from a wise old man on a mountain.
Now I understand…….