Rest and Rejuvenation: Time to Relax
The Merovingian in The Matrix once said, “Ah yes, who has time? But then if we never take time, how can we ever have time?”
This week, I was on vacation—a rare stretch of hours alone, free from the usual demands. While the artist in me itched to fill that time finishing one or two pieces, I chose instead to take a little space for myself. Between family and house-related tasks, I carved out moments to refuel, and let me tell you—I needed it.
I had forgotten what it feels like to truly get lost in time. To just be. The Merovingian in The Matrix once said, “Ah yes, who has time? But then if we never take time, how can we ever have time?” That line has always stuck with me. As artists, as parents, and even just as individuals, we often feel like our time is owned by others. Whether by deadlines, loved ones, or responsibilities, it’s rare to feel that time is truly ours.
Taking a couple of days to myself, I found a kind of heaven. A morning run followed by a long swim, surrounded by the forest, grounded my feet and cleared my mind. I was alone with the sound of the water and the scent of the trees, and it reminded me of something essential: why I create.
Those moments brought me back to what matters most—the core of who we are. Some might call it the original self, the “face we had before we were born.” Others might see it as the facets of identity that shape us, each one contributing to the whole. For me, it’s both. It’s reconnecting with the part of me that exists outside of the noise, outside of the expectations, and simply is.
Life’s pressures can be transformative. They have the power to turn coal into diamonds—if we let the process unfold. But it can be an unbearable weight without the balance of rest and rejuvenation. Taking that time isn’t just about catching our breath; it’s about remembering why we’re here and rediscovering the motivation to create.
And when we create, not for someone else, but for ourselves, we breathe new life into our work. Rest isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity for art, for growth, and for living fully. Let’s take the time to reclaim it.
Honoring the Vision: A Reflection on Creation and Legacy
We must hold onto our visions, however elusive they may seem. They are the bridges between the past, present, and future.
When Disneyland opened its gates for the very first time, a poignant moment unfolded. An interviewer expressed regret to Walt Disney's brother, saying, "I'm really sorry that Walt wasn't here to see this." His brother’s reply was as profound as it was simple: "He did see it; that’s why you’re seeing it today."
This story captures the essence of holding onto a vision—a vision that transcends time and circumstance, even when the originator isn’t physically present. Yet, holding onto such a vision can be one of life’s greatest challenges. Sometimes the idea evolves so far from its original form that we lose sight of what it once was. Other times, we find ourselves trapped in the act of trying too hard, pushing beyond the point of clarity. The most difficult competition is not with others, but with ourselves—with the person we were yesterday, the person we imagined we’d be, or the person we’re striving to become.
In moments of doubt, I remind myself of the deep roots that ground me. I was born on the Canadian Shield, a landscape shaped by glaciers and time. The etched lines of its ancient rock hold stories that have become part of my memory. For most of my life, I didn’t realize the profound influence this rugged terrain had on me. Beneath the dark, rich soil lies a masterpiece of natural sculpture—a testament to the Earth’s resilience and artistry.
This realization has shaped my work. I’ve found solace and purpose in paying homage to the land, in transforming its hardened forms into creations that remind us why life is worth living. Whether through stone, bronze, or other materials, my art seeks to honor the timeless connection between humanity and the Earth. The land’s stories are older than we can comprehend, and its wisdom is something we must carry forward.
As the Indigenous peoples of this land remind us, "Only the rocks stay." This profound truth resonates deeply with me. The rocks, ever-present and enduring, remind us of the permanence of nature amid the impermanence of our lives. Through my work, I hope to capture a fraction of that permanence and share it with others.
We must hold onto our visions, however elusive they may seem. They are the bridges between the past, present, and future. And in the act of creating, we find not only a connection to the world around us but also to the self we were always meant to be.