Lost Inspiration

The canvas, there it sat in front of me, untouched by any sort of imagination and with so much potential. Tubes and tubes of paint in all varieties of colours rest by my elbow at the table however, there is one slight problem, I am drained of all inspiration. Now I sit staring at the blank canvas, with no idea of what to splatter across its surface, I have had so much pressure recently to paint something extraordinary. Extraordinary enough to sell for the highest bidder, extraordinary enough to ensure my reputation is once again lifted up. 

A note that I dread lays on the desk beside me, pushed as far to the edge as I possibly could without it falling to the floor below. It's bad luck I say; ever since I got it all my inspiration and motivation flew right out of my head and lost themselves somewhere never to be found again. How I wish I could just throw the letter away and all its problems with it, but I know that would do more harm than not. I'd have to go and ask for another one. 

I rent an apartment, its the cheapest one I could find in the city, but making a living as an artist is hard. Its not a stable job, not only with fluctuating inspiration but also never knowing when I'll have my next dime.

Ten years ago I was out on the streets, living off the kindness of others. I would make my art there; unable to afford art supplies it was easy to just use what was around me. I collected rocks of all arrangements of colour and sizes to create brilliant artworks of what I saw on the concrete. I was praised for my art, I created it for the people and enjoyed those days. I would sleep with my art sprawled around me and eager to draw again following morning. Those days were filled with inspiration... but they were hard too. Not enough clothes on my body to keep me warm through the winters. One day, someone noticed my potential, they brought me to their own studio filled with supplies I had only ever dreamt of using and gave me free rein to create my art. Once my first artwork was sold I saw a future for myself. A path had opened up that I had never noticed before and I began saving. 

Now, all these years later I remember that decade old promise I made. That I would never end up on the streets again. I would be the one offering kindness to others not asking for it. Rivers fall down my face as I worry I wont be able to keep that promise. 

The canvas is daunting to look at. When there is no inspiration, when there is no love, when there is nothing. Now even with colours of ivory, lavender purples, satin reds, ocean blues, marigold yellows and moss greens simply and inch away, I'm stuck. I stand up and move over to the window of my apartment, the view from here is magnificent, if only I had the time to paint such a landscape. 

As I stare out into the horizon a knocking on my door releases me from my trance. Slowly I move over to it, turn the handle and peak out behind it. No one is there. Opening the door wide I look around, astounded that someone would play a prank on me, knocking and running off.
I am about to shut the door when I notice there is a letter. I pick it up and stare at the encasing, its addressed to me, I wonder as I tear it open trying to remember the last time I received a letter which did not bring bad news. I couldn't. This letter seemed different to the others I had received, it had neat handwriting across the front for the address of the letter and beautiful post stamps in its corner. I did not recognize the writing yet for some reason had faith that it would bring good.

As I unfolded the letter, I noticed it had no sign on nor off, no one's name to say who it was from and that it only held a line. 

'You can do this, let time not limit your ability. Believe in yourself and you can do anything.'

This letter was not much, but it was the inspiration I had been looking for. Waterfalls of inspiration flowed through me, filled with light and colour. This letter was all I needed, and as I walked back over to the windowsill, I noticed a little bluebird sitting there. Not knowing what I was about to do and only following my heart I leant down and thanked the bird, I felt like he was connected to the letter in some mysterious way. After that I turned around and went back to my canvas knowing exactly what to paint next yet as I turned back around for one last glimpse of the little bird, it was gone. 'Magic ' I thought.

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