It’s Sunday morning and I’m writing this sitting up in bed in Folly Cottage with a mug of tea on the bedside table and Ted lying across my feet. Above my head, the Murano glass chandelier glints softly and, downstairs, Stephen Kovacevich’s brilliant recording of Beethoven’s ‘Emperor’ Piano Concerto echoes through the house.
The chandelier and the Beethoven both took on a particular significance for me more than 20 years ago when I did my Gestalt training with Petruska Clarkson at Metanoia. I stayed behind for half an hour at the end of a workshop during which she had talked about living creatively, to continue the conversation we’d been having.
The high-ceilinged room in which we were talking had a Murano glass chandelier which always struck me as somehow representing the creative abundance and generosity of Petruska’s hospitality and teaching. As I left, she put the Emperor on the hifi and turned back to her desk to continue her writing (she was a prolific author).
I don’t remember the content of our conversation now, just that moment when something shifted in me. I decided that I would try to live into my own creativity with as much gusto as Petruska. It was a deep and lifelong commitment to honour my own creative potential. I’m neither as talented nor as troubled as Petruska (she was probably bi-polar and took her own life in 2006) but I’ll always be grateful for that soul-stirring glimpse of a creative life.
Chris bought the chandelier as a reminder to both of us to live artfully. When we made our wedding vows, her first vow to me was: I will encourage, support and dare you in your creativity so that you grow fully and magnificently into yourself. She was my greatest cheerleader and champion. Now it’s up to me, alone.
Murano glass and Beethoven.
A good start to the day.