Art and Soul

Grandpa passed when I was just five years old.

I never knew him well, but Nana always used to tell me stories about his life and the places they would travel around the world. As an artist, grandpa got to live an eccentric life. He indulged frequently in the finer things, like fine wine or the $2 million dollar estate he bought in his 30s.

I only have one fond memory of him, it was just a simple memory of him showing me some sketches in a little black notebook that he kept on the desk in his study. I only recall one standing out, it remains etched in my brain like a carving in a stone. It was of a sunset, the colours were untraditional for a sky, but hypnotic. The purples and oranges and reds all together, it was unlike any sky you’d ever seen and yet, it looked so real. My grandpa showed me that sketch and said, “Be unconventional, don’t color in the lines and never paint the sky blue”.

When he passed, he left all his published works and the estate to Nana. Having never worked a day in her life, Nana used grandpa’s modest life savings and the residual revenue from his prints to keep the estate and hire a few hands to help around the house. Nana once said that grandpa’s greatest works were kept secret from the world, and it was his wish that they remain secret until such a time where his true heart and soul could shine through.

My sister, Elise and I would spend our summers at Nana’s estate while mom and dad did their annual “no kids getaway”. We would help with things like gardening and do general house chores. It was a lot of work, but rewarding, nonetheless. We got to learn a lot of interesting things about plants and flowers from the gardener, Katie, and we got to spend time with Nana, whom we loved dearly. All summer she would take us to fun places, like the wharf or the arcade or the waterpark. Summers with Nana on the estate were some of the happiest times of my life.

However, it was grandpa’s artistic soul that led me to become a graphic designer. I was determined, so I worked a part-time job and put myself through one of the most prestigious art-schools in the country, only to find myself struggling at an entry-level position in the city. It’s tough starting out and the competition is fierce. I try my best meet deadlines and stay true to my teachings, but it seems stagnant and dull in a firm environment. At times, I wonder how grandpa could have succeeded in such a superficial social circle. If I didn’t need the money, I would leave the stuffy city life for a cabin in the woods. Somewhere where I could paint purple skies and color without lines. Somewhere free.

“Hey Colin, are you doing okay, buddy?”

I snapped out of my thought coma and was now staring at a half-finished sketch on the canvas in front of me, my co-worker Dennis just peering at me with a puzzled look.

“Oh yeah! I was just finishing up this piece before I go home. I don’t want to miss my deadline again,” I replied, still a bit dazed.

“Alright,” Dennis said, with a smile. “Just don’t stay at the office all night or we’ll find you asleep at your desk tomorrow morning. Twice in one month and you’ll start to worry people.”

“I won’t Dennis, you have my word. Have a good night,” I chuckled, and with that Dennis took his leave.

It wasn’t unlike me to work a little overtime to meet a deadline, but Dennis was right, I had been putting in a lot of extra time lately. Was it to distract myself from these thoughts I’ve been having? Maybe. I stayed at the office that night until I could barely keep my eyes open, then I decided it was time to catch the subway home. I had to keep my promise to Dennis after all. I opened the door to my apartment and plugged in my cellphone to get ready for bed. When I turned it on however, I was astounded to see 17 unread messages from my sister. The first one I read made my heart plunge.

“Nana is dead.”

We don’t really know how it happened, but the gardener, Katie said she just found her in grandpa’s study motionless on the chair by the fireplace. If nothing else, I suppose it was peaceful. Nana deserved nothing less.

The rest happened so fast. The two-hour drive to the estate was a blur. We all gathered there for the wake. With the entire extended family present, it was decided that Nana’s will would also be read for convenience sake. We all agreed that it was for the best to just get everything over with at once. With Nana having many possessions left to her, there were several questions as to who would be left grandpa’s work, his small fortune and of course, his estate. My parent’s grieving could not be outdone by my uncle Jimmy’s eagerness to obtain as much as possible. He seemed less distraught and more excited than anyone. He spent most his adult life kissing up to Nana and doing chores around the house for money. I suppose he did keep her company, but the excitement bellowing on his face today is proof of his ill-intent.

Nana’s lawyer, Mr. Goodrow, entered the room full of conviction. His posture was what exactly what you expect a weasel to look like, hunched over and slimy as the oil in his hair. He set his briefcase down on the dining room table with an audience of well over 50 people. He cleared his throat and began to speak:

“I’ll cut right to the chase,” he began. “As per the last will and testament, Madam Beatrice Willows, of sane body and mind, does hereby leave this manor plus of it’s properties, excluding it’s books and it’s heart and soul to my son, James Willows,” the slimy Mr. Goodrow said.

Confused, but relieved, Uncle Jimmy let out a massive, “HOO-HAW”. Of course, it would come to no surprise that the wife-less scoundrel would be left the mansion. He spent his entire life living off grandpa’s name and wealth. He then stood up to cheer before he was interrupted by Mr. Goodrow.

“Provided,” he said sternly, clearing his throat once more. “Provided that he keeps the property in the family. Should he ever try to sell it, this estate will fall back to the rightful owner of this properties’ heart and soul.”

Mr. Goodrow continued sternly throughout the proceedings. My parents got the rights to grandpa’s work. Aunt Marie was their vacation house as she lied nearby and was already it’s caretaker in the off season. Grandpa’s modest fortune was dispersed evenly between everyone in a lump sum of roughly $8,000. There really wasn’t much saved, Nana always used to say if it weren’t for the royalties, the well would dry up. Still, very generous. Considering the trade-off, I would much rather have Nana instead…

“Finally,” the weasel-man said, “I leave all the books in the study to my grandson, Colin. May you read them and allow them help you on your journey as an artist.”

That one got to me. I began to sob hysterically as I couldn’t help but think that Nana always cherished my artistic soul. She always used to say how she saw so much of my grandfather in me. She will truly be missed…

While everyone was communing in the mess hall, I couldn’t help but overhear Uncle Jimmy was pestering the Mr. Goodrow about the nature of the heart and soul of the estate. Unfortunately, no further details were provided and Mr. Goodrow assured Uncle Jimmy that his inheritance would likely not be affected by that clause. I got sick of listening to such slime and looked to find my sister.

“Hey Elise, will you help me pack up some of these books tonight?” I asked. “I’m going to have to make a few trips, there’s thousands!”

She agreed and we made our way up to grandpa’s study, where he kept all the books packed alphabetically in their shelves, of which there were dozens that reached the 12-foot ceiling.

“How are you going to get all of these out of here Colin, where will you put them?” Elise asked.

“You know, I’m not sure,” I replied. “Maybe we could just pick out a few interesting ones for now and I’ll arrange storage for the rest later.”

If you’ve never had to sort through roughly 10,000 books before, you might think it was easy. But let me assure you, you probably don’t know where to start. We were seldom allowed in grandpa’s study as kids and I couldn’t distinguish one book from another. Nothing seemed familiar or even the least bit relevant to art. They were all tattered and covered in dust from years of neglect.

“Wow! He has a signed copy of The Old Man and the Sea. Colin, some of these could be worth thousands,” Elise exclaimed.

I was just lost, marvelling at the stories behind each one of these books. Just then, one caught my eye. It was the little black notebook, just like the one I remembered from long ago, nestled in between a couple of heavy anthologies.

“Hey, Elise! Check this one out,” I said, pulling the book from its spot on the shelf.

As a did, I heard a heavy crack. The whole bookcase shook off the decades-old dust it had accumulated, and it began to slide open to reveal a concrete staircase. I stood, dumbfounded in front of the doorway, when Elise grabbed my shoulder from behind.

“It’s a secret passage,” she shrieked in my ear, knocking me off balance. “Let’s go explore it,” she said, making her way up the stairs and around the corner out of sight.

“Oh, my goodness! Colin, get up here,” she shrieked again from the top of the stairs.

I began to make my way up the stairs. When I turned the corner, I could hardly believe my eyes. I fell to my knees and began to weep. It was my grandpa’s art studio. He HAD kept his best art from the world. It was portraits of all his children and grandchildren as he saw them. But what made me break down was the mural on the wall. It was the sunset grandpa had sketched all those years ago, the same vibrant purples, subtle oranges and vigorous reds I remembered. It was titled ‘Colin’.

I opened the sketch book still clutched in my hand to compare the mural to the sketch from my memory only to find the book had been hollowed out, spilling nearly $20,000 cash onto the floor. Written inside the book’s cover was a message penned by my grandfather’s hand. It read:

Colin,

If you’re reading this, I imagine you’ve grown quite a bit by now. I hope to be able to see you as the man I know you will become. You’ve got my spirit and you will do great things if you allow your mind to wander and be free from the shackles of the world. These books and my studio are the heart and soul of this manor. Should you ever need them they will be here. If you ever feel stuck or need to escape, use this money and this space to inspire your artistic mind the way I know you can. Always remember to be unconventional, don’t color in the lines and never paint the sky blue.

I’ll love you for always,

Jack Willows… grandpa.