Giant Rabbits and Home Style Visits....

Thank the sweet divine mother of Jesus for this giant rabbit!

It, among countless other marvels of Canadian artwork, managed to realign this slowly de-railing train I called my enthusiasm for being here.

Nuit Blanche took place this weekend in Toronto and, might I say, it was astounding.

As I power walked down Queen West (Making up for miserably backed up TTC) I was greeted by barmy, living pieces of artwork at every corner. Locally filmed or animated shorts were being projected on building walls, tales of time travel were being told by dancers, in the streets were violinists, painters, sculptors, jugglers, street meat venders....... artists.

I stopped for a moment to watch a young girl craft daisies on the sidewalk with chalk. Her face glowed with joy and creation. She would start the stem of one flower, then hand the chalk off to a stranger in the street. The stranger would finish their etch and slowly the concrete jungle of cement and chewed gum became a collective garden of individuality and honest moments of creative release. Flowers grew into exotic plants, which then grew into beings of vegetation, which then grew into beings only conjecturable by imagination. Whether a bona-fide, self proclaimed artist, or simply a fellow walking home from a day in the office, this single spot on earth allowed one to close their eyes, open their heart and just let go. A practice to often overlooked, and under appreciated in the bustle of everyday life.

A deep, cool breathe helped me appreciate the moment that much more.

I couldn't help but laugh as an entourage of college riffraff began doodling their penis flowers peeing on other creations. As long as their creativity was being expressed, the begetter of this installation didn't seem to mind much.

As I stood, suspiring at the joy this girl found in aiding everyones spiritual prerogative , I realized where I was. Not at Nuit Blanche, nor in Toronto, or even in Canada, but where I was in life.

This week had been a hard one. Late nights, long days, empty homes, straining heart and worst of all, lack of creativity. I began to see that this full time job was putting a serious cap on the amount of music I was playing. My nights were taken, my days were taken, and I was too tired to play. My worst nightmare was coming true as I was beginning a life in Toronto based no longer around music. I had a perfectly good, free home in Thunder Bay where I could work all the time and never play or write!

My stomach was churning with the thought of starting routines that eliminated my passion.

My heart was parched of the vehemence I started this journey with. I was scared. Terrified.

But something about this girl, this moment in time, this mass collection of hundreds of thousands of people...artists, sparked a fire in me. A fire that was on the verge of extinguish.

I continued my jaunt down Queen West only to be inspired by every living being I saw. Each breath, each heart, each mind, teeming with endless, abundantly accumulated imagination just craving the opportunity to erupt into something... anything... everything.

I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by love for my gift and my life.

I have an incredible, free opportunity to express myself in a beautiful, appreciated manner and it is an honor I am entitled to never cede.

It took an entire night of enveloping myself in a sea of artistry for me to again realize this.

And so, as I reflect, guitar on lap, pen in hand, I imagine a future filled with stage lights and screaming crowds. Back stages, signing tables, fan mail, and tour busses. I see huge stadiums, and intimate lounges.

I see many tiny flowers, sketched, esoterically in each individual. I see an overgrown garden allowed to flourish wildly and beautifully. I see a world covered in chalk flowers. A mass of spontaneous, momentous, wondrous, blueprints of our minds. For all the world to admire and conjoin.

I see a future easily attainable by a driven man, in a forgiving, beautiful world.

Cheers,

IM