This brilliant artwork adorns my walls; it's been hidden in storage for years but I recently pulled all of it out and hung it somewhat haphazardly. If there's any singular thing about me it's that I love art. I fail to understand those who don't share my propensity for it. I cannot comprehend those with bare walls; I feel as though those walls if they could speak would say to me 'there is no substance here'.
Once upon a time, about six months ago I took all of my artwork down from my walls at work and had a day off - someone asked in my absence if I had quit. Why would she take down the art? And I laughed to myself because I realized how telling this moment was. I have lots of art, children's art, professional art, drawings by street artists, my own work, it is everywhere. It's not something I can hide away, it is a part of me and who I am.
Now while I am preoccupied with art I am not always focused on my own. I say this almost as haphazardly as I hung these pieces on my walls and yet as I walked through a friends home I had stated:
'You have all of these rooms, all of these things and yet you hang your art crooked?' As I used a single finger to correct the painting. We chuckle and I realize again that this moment is telling. I am not impressed by the stuff; however, I am concerned with lopsided paintings.
And so I would retract my original statement about not being concerned about my own art. The truth is I rarely speak about it, it's this hidden side of myself that I rarely share unless I know I am speaking with a fellow creative. I have spent years thinking of it, a millennial pondering the waves of it as it crashed against my being; haunted by the profound words of my beloved illustrator. I once told someone,
'No other writer would give their illustrator the license that I give mine.'
Yet, I would not have it any other way. For three years her words had haunted me until one day I came face to face with them. They were a mirror to me, always there subconsciously tugging at me. I couldn't embrace them out of fear, out of all of the things and reasons why we are not brave but simply cannot deal with. Until this one day came. It was an ordinary day as far as days go, I plodded along quietly as you do until the moment fell into my lap and in that moment I could hear my illustrators voice resonating so loudly that I could no longer push it aside, I could not dissuade that voice away from the moment.
And right then in that moment of significance I understood perfectly. I understood my character and my novel and the ensuing battle. I had tasted it firsthand; and the fear. I had gotten it.
What was it that my illustrator challenged me with so long ago on a very profound road trip to Loblaws house?
She had said, 'You need to live the words you write.'
Which holds little meaning when you don't know what those words are. I do though. And I had sat quietly thinking about it every day, mulling over it until a fateful day where I was faced with my own words.
It is with this that I am pleased to announce that in 2017 Unleashed; the novel which contains all of these words will be released. It may or may not be hung haphazardly but it will achieve its purpose.
