Wind chimes and Incense: An Artist's Longing

When Travis was a young man, he loved art, in all forms.  Whether it be traditional, modern, music, sculpture, painting, so on and so forth.  He loved it all.  Actually, if asked, he'd most likely say that loved the rawness of it.  The pure, natural wonder that was the human soul, brought to life by creativity and ingenuity.  He was genuinely and truly in love with the human spirit.

That being the case, it came as no surprise that when he graduated high school, he immediately shipped himself off to an art school.  And it was there, that he met someone who would alter the flow of his life for many years to come.

“Hi.” the girl said, grabbing hold of the seat next to Travis, “Is this seat taken?”

When Travis looked up at her, his heart nearly stopped.  With all the magnificent works he'd seen in his life, both natural and man made, she was a true thing of beauty.  “Uh...yeah, I mean, no.  Go ahead.”  His words fumbled out of his mouth like an eel slipping from a fisherman's hands.  And naturally, having embarrassed himself so unbelievably upon their meeting, he could barely bring himself to look at her for the rest of the class.  By its end, he would have never even gotten her name, had it not been for the notebook she left behind.

Sprawled across the inside cover, decorated with the exact amount of childishness Travis expected from an artist, was her name.

“Cat Carter.”  He mumbled under his breath.  “Cool...”

Tucking the notebook in with his own, he continued on to his next class with the full intent of handing it over the next time he saw her.  But even though it was still just the beginning of the semester, he didn't see her for a while after that.  And after fighting the urge to look inside for what felt like months—but, let's face it, it was probably more like a week—he started flipping through the notebook.

When his eyes set upon the first sketch, his jaw dropped.  It was unlike anything he'd seen before, and guaranteed to be different from anything he'd see again.  Upon seeing all the following drawings, scraps, and miscellaneous scribblings, the image that was Cat Carter quickly became clearer and clearer.  And when he came to the final sketch, just before the seemingly endless swamp of blank pages, he knew he had to meet this girl again.

At the sound of the monotone bell, Travis stood with all the other students to leave the room, but made a short pit stop at his teacher's desk.  “Professor Gale, you wouldn't happen to know anything about Cat Carter, would you?”

“Hmm...” Professor Gale scratched his chin hair while looking through some paperwork, “Why do you ask?”

Travis held up the notebook, “She left this on the first day.  I've been meaning to give it back, but I haven't seen her since.”

“The name does sound familiar, but schedules get changed around all the time.  She might have switched out of my class.  Have you tried one of those social media sites you kids are always on?”

“Yeah...” Travis responded with his head hung low.  “Nothing.  It's like she doesn't exist.”

“Alright then.”  Professor Gale held out his hand, “I can hold on to that.  Maybe I can find one of her other teachers, and they'll give it to her.  How about that?”

When Professor Gale reached for the notebook, Travis's hand unconsciously shot back towards his body.  “Uh...that's okay.  I'm sure I'll find her.”

Professor Gale narrowed his eyes at him, “Hmm...”

Travis couldn't help but feel a bit awkward as the teacher looked him over.  By the time he was done, the level of discomfort had really started to take its toll on Travis's over all mood.

“Good luck then.”  The teacher said with a smile.

“Uh...thanks.”

And with that, Travis continued his search for the mysterious Cat Carter.


Now, most people would have given up shortly after beginning such a pointless task as returning a lost notebook, but not Travis.  For some reason, he felt that he had to do it.  He had to meet her again, if for no other reason than to introduce himself, hand the notebook over, and walk away.  And after four long years, and a myriad of fruitless inquiries, Travis was no closer to finding Cat than the moment he found the book.  But also in that time, he'd begun to make a name for himself in the art world.

Just because he was hard at work trying to find Cat, didn't mean he forgot about his love for the arts.  In fact, he found himself searching through her sketches on a number of occasions while looking for inspiration.  Whether it be in a painting, drawing, song, or musical score, there was almost always a piece of her work, hidden deep inside his own.

With the circulation beginning at his school, Travis's work soon spread around the country with the help of dedicated fans—and the internet.  And by the time he graduated, his name was known all around the world.

Travis never knew the meaning of the term “Starving Artist”.  Whether it was pure talent, dumb luck, or just playing the hand life dealt him, he was on the fast track to stardom.  And seven years after finding that notebook, he launched his first solo exhibition.

His works, while having been featured alongside numerous pieces from other talented artists, had never actually had their own place in the spotlight until now.  In Travis's mind, it was his first real step to recognition for all his hard work.  But in reality, it was the first step towards something much simpler than that.  And much more grand.


“Travis!  Travis!”  The reporters yelled, all vying for his attention.

“You, there.” he pointed.

The woman held up the microphone, “Can you tell us what it feels like to finally have an entire show of your own?”

Travis scratched at the back of his head, “Well, to tell the truth, it's a little overwhelming.  I'm really excited, and I'd like to think I couldn't have done this without the constant love and support of my fans.”

He pointed another reporter, who asked, “Do you have any comments on the rumors that your work is plagiarized from the works of other artists?”

Travis sighed, “Each of my pieces is original.  They all have very deep and personal meanings to me, and I do not appreciate these claims.”

“Is it true you haven't so much as picked up a pencil in months?” a voice from the back asked.

“Who said that?” he snapped, “Where did you hear that?”

With that, his mood quickly soured, and he waved off the crowd of vultures.  In order to collect his thoughts—and unruffle his feathers—Travis grabbed a glass of champagne and went for a stroll through his gallery.  He was telling the truth before, each of his works were important to him.  Every line drawn, every stroke of the brush, and every note played was special.  Not because they were good, or because the general public found them pleasing, but because he knew how much of himself he put into them.  As well as how much of Cat was in them.  In a way, they were as much hers as they were his.

When Travis came to one of his earliest works, still brimming with influence from the notebook, he realized just how much of his life he'd based around the girl he only met once.  And how he'd never been able to find her.  Then, as nostalgic thoughts came rushing back, a scarier thought presented itself.  One that had been brought on by the last reporter's question.

It was true, he hadn't even touched a pen, pencil, brush, or instrument in months.  His inspiration, much like the remaining pages of the notebook, was dwindling.  Even staring holes in Cat's sketches wasn't going to undo this block, and for the first time in a long time, Travis found himself in a very troubling situation.  Without inspiration, he couldn't work, and without work, the bills would pile up soon enough.

As he traded out his empty glass for a full one, he came upon a group of young college students, reminding him of the old days.  Among them was a girl.  A very familiar looking girl.

“Cat?”  Travis asked.

The whole group turned, but no one acknowledged the name.

“Cat.”  He said again, this time looking the girl dead in the eyes.

“Me?”  She pointed to herself.  “My name's Ashlyn.”

In the blink of an eye, it dawned on Travis that this girl looked nothing like Cat.  She had long, silky, black hair, and he'd failed to even notice her thick framed, black glasses.  Cat had short, brown hair—or maybe she was blonde?—and didn't even wear glasses.  Not to mention, she should have been at least Travis's age, not still stuck looking like a teenager.

“My mistake.” he said, “I thought you were someone else.”

Though the show was considered a hit, and Travis ended the night with more than a couple checks in his pocket, he couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.  Something other than the god awful finger foods left a bad taste in his mouth.  Only after hours of staring at the blank canvas of his ceiling did he finally figure it out—and at three o'clock in the morning, no less.

His inspiration was fading, and his work was suffering for it.  He had to find a way to make everything feel new again.  A way to bring back his muse.  And that way, he decided, was to take a much needed vacation down to his old hometown.  Back to his roots, as the expression goes.


A few days after the art show, Travis arrived at his childhood home, eager to find something—anything really—to inspire a new generation of masterpieces.  And after a week, nothing.  Not even coming all the way home, back to the place where he was once mystified by every little thing, could bring back his creative spark.  Of course, why should he have been surprised?  He'd been out to see the world and all its wonders.  He witnessed some of the most fantastic experiences the modern world could offer, and had grown tired of them.  Why on earth would he have expected to find something new here, in this dusty old town.

One day, while he was walking around some of his old stomping grounds, he happened across a small graveyard.

“Hmm...” he hummed, “I don't remember that being there.”

His curiosity piqued, Travis hopped the fence and started exploring.  In the distance, a solitary headstone stood out from the rest.  This grave was different from the rest, much newer, and cut in such a way that it completely conflicted with every other.

When Travis came around to see the front, he froze, dropping his sketchpad.  “Oh my God...”

“Who's there?” a man's voice shouted from behind.

Travis quickly whipped around, prepared to fend off an assault, when he realized he recognized the man.

“Professor Gale?”

The old art teacher carefully wiped down his glasses as a gusty wind rattled the giant set of wind chimes hanging from the front porch of his tiny shack.  Now that he could see clearly again, he immediately recognized his former student.  “Travis?”

Travis looked back to the tombstone, “I don't understand.”

Professor Gale sighed, “So, you finally found her, did you?”

Inscribed into the thick piece of granite, was the name of a young woman, and the span of her life.  Caitlin Carter.  1985-2008.  Beloved daughter, sister, and true inspiration to everyone she touched.

“That's not possible.”  Travis said, fervently trying to shake himself out of this dream.  “This can't be her.”

“And why not?” asked the teacher.

“I didn't meet her until my first year of college.  In 2010.  How could I have met her if she was already dead for two years?”

Professor Gale motioned for him to follow, “Come on in, I'll pour you some tea.”

The inside of the shack wasn't the smelly, rundown, rat's nest that Travis was expecting.  In fact, it was surprisingly clean and well kept.  Even the faint scent of burning incense silently wafted through the air, providing a feeling of peace Travis hadn't known in some time.

“What's going on around here, Professor?”  Travis asked as he sank down to the bottom of the most comfortable couch he'd ever sat on.

“The truth is...” Professor Gale stared down into his cup of swirling tea leaves, “Caitlin, or rather, 'Cat' Carter, died in a car accident nine years ago.  That notebook you found was hers.”

“But the girl, and all the sketches inside.  That couldn't have been her.  Could it?”

The professor laughed, “Of course not!  Those were Cat's old sketches, from back when she was still alive.  There's no such thing as ghosts, Travis.  At least none that take college art classes.  The girl who sat next to you was just a normal college student.”

“Then who was she?”

“No idea.  But imagine my surprise when you asked about Cat.  Truth is, when you pulled out that notebook, it was like seeing an actual ghost.”

“So how are you connected to all this?” asked Travis, having just realized that his old professor was much more involved than he first thought.

“Cat was a student of mine a few years before you.  Her father is an old high school buddy of mine.  She was one of the brightest and most talented young artists I ever had the privilege of teaching.  A real future ahead of that one.  Well...not anymore.”

Travis slumped back deeper into the couch, sipping from his hot tea.  “I can't believe this.  The girl I've been looking for all these years, was dead the whole time.  But then, if that's true, where did this come from?”  He pulled the old, tattered, notebook from under his sketchpad.

The teacher shook his head, “I honestly have no clue.  But let me tell you something.  I think you were meant to end up with that.”

“Why?” Travis asked.

Professor Gale smiled, “It was the way you pulled away from me, when I tried to take it from you.  In that split second, you were just like her.”

After another hour or two of visiting and catching up with his favorite college professor, Travis walked back outside to start his journey home.  But before he left, he made sure to pay one last visit to Cat's grave.

Kneeling down, he placed a hand on the cold stone.  “I'm sorry.” he said with a tear in his eye, “I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to live your dream.”

He read the inscription again.  “...true inspiration to all she touched.”

Suddenly, another huge gust of wind knocked the notebook from his hand, scattering the fragile pages to the clanging of the chimes.  Travis quickly chased after the papers, but only ended up salvaging a single page.  The last sketch.

A month later, at Travis's second solo show, he unveiled the largest piece he'd ever created.  A single painting that covered an entire wall of the gallery from floor to ceiling.  Never before had any of the gallery attendees seen something so raw, so pure, so naturally wonderful.  It was, in every sense, a true testament to the human spirit.  A pillar of creativity and ingenuity, all gathered into a single piece.

And, when asked about his thoughts on this masterpiece, Travis simply quoted the description plaque that sat out in front.

“For Cat.”