... But the Universe has other Plans.
... But the Universe has other Plans.
Insider #87 with a page interrupted, and a busy day at the mall.
Dear Insider,
A friend asked me how I started drawing tiny people. And why. But the answer to those questions lies in the answer to a larger question - why did I begin to draw? I do not want to get into the whole story in this post. Let’s attack it from another angle.
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I was drawing at Coal Harbour in downtown Vancouver, facing the mountains to the north. The day was warm. A smell of gasoline hung in the still air. On the water, at the seaplane dock, the last plane had just taken off. It was a thing to see. A single seaplane could carry only five or six people including the pilot. After they got in, and their bags too, the rotor engines started loudly, and the plane pulled away from the dock and ambled along the water, not unlike a boat. After getting a good distance into the water, it turned eastward and began to gather speed.
No matter how many times you have seen it before, it always draws your eyes when it happens - a little thing like that, hopping, skipping, then lifting into the sky. You feel happy for everyone onboard. You follow it as it rises, turning north to face the mountains. You watch it get smaller and smaller, a speck of white against the dark grey beasts. You watch until it rises high into the sky, a smaller speck of white now against a sky of limitless blue. Smaller and further away, every moment, until it is out of earshot too, until there is nothing more to see.
I sat on a bench, under the shade of a generous tree, watching people walk along the sea wall. On my lap lay my sketchbook of tiny people, the latest page half-completed. I looked at the people I had drawn, thought about completing the other half of the spread, and considered again that question - How did you start drawing tiny people?
I needed to understand people, I thought to myself. This is the best way I could come up with to do it. It did not answer why the people needed to be tiny. But I did not set out to draw tiny people because the people needed to be tiny. I did not know if it would be cool or popular or a style. I did not have deep answers or big plans. I only had the need. And one half-decent way to fulfill it.
We ascribe big reasons to big achievements. Big reasons backed by big thoughts and big answers to the big questions. But I am not sure if anything I have achieved worked out that way. Everything came from small needs, and little ideas. There were no answers either - just some clues to the next step. And then the next problem. And another step. And another problem. And another … But you cannot just tell people that.
They want drama. They want the story. And sometimes I do not want to tell my story. All I want to do is finish my page and go home. So I picked up the pen, turned to the page, and - SPLAT!
I looked upwards at the offending crow. It sat on the branch, unperturbed. Nonchalant, you could say. Oblivious to its acts, unmindful of their repercussions. If only I had sat a few inches to the right, it would have spoiled the drawing. It could have soiled my shirt. It could have splattered on my hands. Or my bag. But instead of doing any of those things, it took my blank page and nothing else.
I took the signal to go home. You have to take the signals sent your way by the universe, no matter how its messengers deliver them. This is another answer to the question - How did you start drawing tiny people?
I was just following instructions. They came one by one, not revealing any grand design. My only choice was to play along or ignore them. I played, so here we are. I still listen for instructions and follow them when they arrive. They still arrive only one at a time. So I have no big answers. Just clues.
