If you have been following along in the evolutionary story of mymouse and read my last blog post, you will know that a mouse has been popping up in my watercolour art for about 6 months now. To be honest I’m not sure where he came from and I wasn’t sure how long he would be around. That’s what our creative muse is all about.
I’ve been posting some of his pictures on Instagram and on my art facebook page , but I haven’t made mention of him here until I shared how he was pieced together in my last blog entry titled ” The Making of a Mouse “.. I get the feeling he’s here to stay and I’m giving him the time and energy he deserves with great delight. Until now he has gone nameless.
I think I realized at some point I needed to lift him off the pages of my watercolour world and create a companion to travel with with when I went to my sketching and painting retreat in France. But of course I hadn’t yet named him when he and I packed our bags and started our travels . No surprise that along the way when he was introduced to people, they would ask about his name ? ” What , no name ?”.
And so started the quest to establish who or what he could or should be called. I was only able to refer to him as ‘mymouse’ for so long.
Because he came to life around the experience of my French trip, there seemed to be an inclination to want to attach a French name to him by everyone who was meeting him for the first time. But it just didn’t seem right to me somehow. I wanted a unique name that spoke of JOURNEY, and STORY TELLING, and ADVENTURE . Something mythical, or had Greek God like status. Or maybe Latin?
Nothing was sitting with me that would answer WHO he was.
We arrived home, unpacked and nothing was coming to me . Nothing .
Waiting and waiting.
After all that searching and thinking and thinking, I began to wonder if just the right name would ever appear.
And then it arrived in a flash of inspiration. Nothing GRAND , simple but true . He is me. He has come from me and through me and all I needed to do was go back to my roots and there it was .
South of Glasgow, East of Ayr.
The small village of Wiston in South Lanarkshire , Scotland where my paternal grandfather was born and whose name I was given at birth. Sandy Mair. That’s what he would be called. ‘ Wiston ‘.
So welcome home Wiston. Your life is just beginning . Let the adventures commence.
Now we can start telling the stories of your trip and share some of the photos of your first official journey.