'sStillWet

Part the Second


Searching for Inspiration

Emily sat at her worktable - a freshly made coffee already going cold beside her - staring at the blank sketchbook in front of her. She had spent hours in attempts to sketch something – anything – that might ignite that old excitement that she remembered having with a new idea alive in her mind. Her hand simply hovered over the page, seemingly paralysed as if the pencil had lost the ability to move. Several days had passed since she had decided that she could no longer pursue her current path, that something had to change, but what came next was as elusive as ever. She had made attempts to force the inspiration – revisiting old notes, studying the masters she admired, leafing through catalogues of contemporary artists seeking something, anything. However, every time she picked up a pencil or a brush there was still that same hollow sensation assailing her. Now her studio felt more like a cage than the sanctuary it had always been. She closed the sketchbook and threw it aside in frustration. Standing up she felt the stiffness reminding here of how long she had been sitting there in fruitless anticipation. Looking out she noted that the recent Atlantic storm was still indulging in its fury. The rain had stopped, but the wind continued to drive the waves against the cliffs sending clouds of spray high into the air. Suddenly it seemed to be telling her that she needed air, space, a break from the relentlessness of this self-doubt.

Suddenly David Lanyon, her old mentor from art school, sprang into her mind. It was years since she had seen him, and many months since speaking to him, she knew that he had moved to St. Ives just a few miles distant. He had been the first person to encourage her in her shift to abstraction, and to guide her through all of the uncertainties about her early works. He had been a widely renowned painter, but had since retired from the art scene. These days he was rarely seen at gallery openings or exhibitions having retreated into a quiet life. Watching the fury outside that almost matched the turmoil in her mind Emily decided to visit him, knowing that he wouldn’t mind in the least. It was only a ten minute drive, had it been good weather she would probably have walked. David had a small cottage with an attached studio on the outskirts of town with space to park. The door opened and he greeted her with that usual warm smile. He was well in his sixties, but still had sharp, clear eyes, even though his hair had lost its famous lustrous black of former years. They exchanged the usual pleasantries
‘So, what brings you here?’
Emily hesitated, unsure if she fully understood it herself, finding herself not sure how to explain her dilemma.
‘I’m stuck. My work seems not to be me anymore. It’s as if I’m going through the motions but the passion has gone. It’s as if my work could be turned out by an automaton, I don’t have a clue what I am doing wrong.’
He nodded listening carefully, as he always did. He didn’t interrupt or offer advice right away, and let her pour out her frustrations.

He stayed silent, stood and walked to the corner of his studio and pulled out a small framed drawing – something raw, simple, and sketched in charcoal. It was very different from the works that Emily associated with him and seemed more immediate, less polished.
‘Can you remember why you started painting in the first place?’ he asked, ‘Before the shows, the galleries, the sales – what made you pick up a brush?’
As she studied the sketch the memories of her early years came flooding back – those first days of art school when everything seemed wide open. Those days when she had just painted for herself because she somehow needed to.
‘I loved the feeling of creating something’ she said quietly ‘before I was worried about what others thought. It was just so liberating.’
David nodded
‘That’s where you need to go again. You’ve built a career, a reputation. I am not saying that’s a bad thing, but along the way you have come to let that define you. You need to break out of the box you have built around yourself. Explore. Experiment. Don’t be afraid to make a mess.’
Horrified at the thought of unravelling the careful structure of creativity she had constructed over the years Emily finally asked
‘But where do I even start?’
David’s eyes softened
‘Maybe It’s time to step back from all of that familiar stuff. Perhaps your world has become too small and it’s time for you to find a bigger one.’
Emily knew that it made sense, and that was why she came here. The next morning found her booking a one way ticket to a small coastal village in southern France. It was a place she had last visited after her graduation many years ago, and, as far as she knew, still off the well beaten tourist routes. She closed her eyes and, although the memories were faint, she could smell the sea, see the light that seemed different there, softer, more golden. She remembered it as a place of possibilities, long before her life had become cluttered with expectations.