On the edge of the ocean: the wisdom of two visual artists and a pheasant

I thought I was there to be alone with my novel. I thought nourishment would come from solitude.

At an artist residency in Nova Scotia recently, I watched a pheasant strut by my window, often stopping to pose. When he allowed me these moments of reprieve from my work, I couldn't help but laugh. Chest out, he allowed me to appreciate him.

We entertained each other for a moment. Then, for seemingly no reason, he turned his tall, skinny legs and ran off, disappearing behind the tall grass and into the blurry space beyond my view.

Brier Island Pheasant, name unknown

My morning routine at residency involved walking to a small studio to write for a few hours before meeting my writing partner and friend for breakfast or a chat. I wasn’t on my cellphone much, so I balanced solitary time with the privilege of meeting those who lived on the island and learning more about other artists’ work and what inspires them.

We met an artist who lived on the island. He said the ocean was medicinal and had called to him. The wonder of nature seemed to bring him peace and perspective. “But I’m alone a lot,” he said.

I wondered if he meant lonely or just alone, but I didn’t ask.

Another artist, who was part of the residency, told me she found inspiration in being at the westernmost or easternmost places. I couldn’t relate to this as much, but I was in awe of her work.

I often find inspiration in transit. On the bus, in the car, on a plane … even while getting dressed. Always when I have somewhere else to be or something else to do.

The residency went by quickly, and as proof of my claim, the muse tackled me to the ground just before I returned home. I wrote at the airport and on the plane. I might have even written more during my travels than I did those mornings in solitude at the residency.

Before I left, numerous islanders had told me how beloved the artist who felt alone was. I wondered if he knew. I didn’t see him again.

After two weeks away, I was eager to see my husband and pups. I felt my heart lift when the plane landed, and I placed a piece of chocolate on my tongue. A kid next to me watched, envious but polite.

I shifted on my feet at the baggage claim, breathing slowly. A steady onslaught of texts arrived.

As I unpacked and settled back into the Midwest, I wondered about the artist who feels connected to edges. There was nothing quite like our fire on the edge of the ocean, at the westernmost tip of Nova Scotia; there’s nothing quite like knowing you are at a precipice.

We can’t all be in residency often, or at all, but I think we can all explore the aspects of what inspires us in new ways, simply by paying attention to others’ words.

I realized that in my quest to be alone, I found instead reconnection and perspective.

This might be the most valuable thing we have in our lives, and it seems an offering that is always there, just waiting for us to remember.

It’s how we find creative resilience.

Subscribers: Join me here today. We’ll discuss how to carve out a similar experience by shifting our attention to the words of one poet seeking advice from another.

Creative prompt: Reconnect with the world for a short time by spending an entire day asking others what inspires them.

: Writing is how I synthesize life. It’s how I learned to process my thoughts, my feelings, my interactions with the world around me, and everything I’ve known and will ever know. I could never let an artificial intelligence do that for me. I also tend to bring some… unorthodox ideas to the table, and AI could never articulate those ideas the way I know I can — not egotistical, just factual.

: I write to create a new reality. One where my self-doubt has been replaced by confidence and where my promise to myself that “one day, I’ll be writer” is finally true. I write to prove to myself that I can 😊

Why do you create ?