Snowdrop Quotation to Inspire You

I love this quotation by 20th century American author, Anais Nin!

It fits so well with my belief that flowers, plants and anything that grows make the clearest metaphors for life and ‘what it’s all about’. 

I’ve never read any of Nin’s work so I don't know what sort of ‘blossoming’ she may be referring to. But that doesn't matter; there are innumerable ways in which we can all blossom – or alternatively, remain, painfully, tight in the bud!

Buskers take a very public risk!

So often fear prevents us taking the plunge, raising our heads above the parapet or however you choose to describe that moment when we show the world what we, uniquely, have to offer. 

For some of us it may be our upbringing that has held us back from being all that we know, deep down inside, that we are capable of being; or maybe it was something in our experiences at school. Or maybe we tried once before but met with failure or even ridicule.



But there comes a tipping point, when, as the quotation says, it becomes more painful to hold back than to take the risk. It has happened to me and I’m sure it will have happened to many others. Some will have been lucky enough to receive all the encouragement they needed. But even then, there were probably moments of self-doubt to overcome – few of us are totally self-confident.

Young busker in Abergavenny

Some will take the risk at an early age and live lives that are comfortably aligned with their true selves and their talents. Others, like me, take longer to be convinced that it’s worth the risk. We try all sorts of other things first, trying to avoid that fateful step from which there’s no going back, that blossoming, that ‘unfolding of our petals’. 

But it's never too late, as George Eliot wrote, to be what you might have been!

Are you one of those ‘on the brink’? Or do you know someone in that position, a friend or a relative you wish would just embrace their talents and, like the plucky little snowdrop, start to show the world what and who they truly are? 

The snowdrop doesn’t hold back from bringing beauty into our world and hope into our hearts, in spite of the worst that the winter weather can muster. 

So why do we?

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Inspiration -

Where does it come from – and where does it go to?

I often hear or read of artists saying that they are, at the moment, lacking in inspiration. But ‘inspiration’ is a word that I’m very hesitant to use because I’m not sure how to use it correctly. In fact when, some years ago, a friend drafted an Artist’s Statement for me, I particularly asked him to avoid using the phrases ‘inspired by’ or ‘ gets her inspiration from’ because I felt that wouldn’t be an accurate description of what needed to be said.

One dictionary definition of ‘inspiration’ is: the act of drawing in, especially the act of inhalation of  air into the lungs and I think this literal, physical definition is a good one because it describes taking something from outside of us (the air) and pulling it inside us (into our lungs). And probably this is the way that ‘inspiration’ is  generally used – ‘she is inspired by the wonderful scenery’, or ‘he was inspired by the characters of the people he met’. Something from without sparking off a reaction within us.

My difficulty with using the word is that I’m pretty sure that for me it’s not quite as simple as that. It’s more of a two-way process, although I don’t entirely understand it.

I live in Abergavenny, a little old market town on the edge of the Brecon Beacons National Park, nestling between three mountains, Sugarloaf, Skirrid and The Blorenge. Inspiring scenery indeed and I love it! And yet, I have hardly ever painted the  mountains. I’d be a lot richer if I had as I’m told that’s what the tourist want. It’s not that I don’t like the mountain scenery. It’s wonderful to be able to walk to the top of Sugarloaf or Skirrid for all sorts of reasons – the splendid views, the fresher air and the feeling of being ‘on top of the world’.

The photo above is of Sugarloaf, seen from the top of Skirrid, 

or The Holy Mountain, as it is known locally.

And yet, I rarely  feel ‘inspired’ to paint the mountains! 

This pastel painting of the Brecon Beacons, from a photo that I risked life and limb to take from the middle of the Brecon by-pass, is hardly the sort of the thing the tourists are looking for!

It's more of a 'design' really - it might look quite good on a tote bag or some kind of holiday souvenir but as a painting it doesn't fit the bill!

I can look out of my top windows at the majestic Blorenge Mountain and observe the changing colours, the play of the light (in this case on a dusting of snow) and feel a sense of wonder and yet...

 ....it’s The Meadows at the foot of the Blorenge that I keep painting! (Also not particularly popular with the tourists who have come to a little town that advertises itself as 'Markets, Mountains and More'!)

On another day I may turn round from the glorious view of the mountains from my windows and find that a corner of my bedroom is begging to be painted! There is nothing special about the corner of the room but somehow, it ‘speaks to me’, if that doesn’t sound too pretentious!

So I think there must be something inside me that responds to some ‘views’ and not to others, and that can vary from day to day, from month to month and even from year to year! One day the path to my garage seems to insist on being painted, on another day it is just the path to my garage, even though nothing has changed about the path or the garage, or even the light that falls on them. Both the external and the internal have to be in line with one another for a painting to occur. A kind of ‘receptive seeing’ has to be in place that I don’t think comes with trying to 'see'. It either comes or it doesn’t!

More than forty years ago, when I was teaching in a big school on a huge council estate, sometimes I would go out with my paints and sketch book in the lunch break and paint the back-alleys and the backs of sheds and garages in the drab built-up area around the school.

What was that all about! 

Inspiration, – ie the right external conditions – is, I think, only half the story; the other half depends on something else, something internal. I’m not sure if there is a word for it but it’s why I’m so reluctant to use the word 'inspiration'. Maybe the internal part is what we mean by the word Muse ( ‘guiding spirit’ is one dictionary definition).

When the Muse is in residence, who knows what outer ‘views’ will inspire us? But when the Muse has left us – and that can happen for all sorts of reasons – we are completely closed off, unreceptive, to the most ‘inspiring’ of our surroundings. It can be rather like looking at the world through the murky, mud-spattered window of a fast-moving train! And that can have implications for how we can recover our ‘inspiration’.

Pablo Picasso said: Inspiration exists but it has to find you working.

Does this point to the answer?

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