While riding my bike one early autumn morning, an unusual thing happened. I distinctly heard a title of my next painting — The Messenger. I was so relieved. Both the title and the image were ready for me, all at my fingertips.

I could not wait until the next morning, when I could play with whites in order to form a snow owl in flight. But the more details were highlighted on the canvas, the fewer details stayed in my vision. Then I noticed a nest — and by the time I filled it up with eggs, the owl vanished. Not a feather was left in my sight.

“It flew away from me as fast as it had arrived — as if telling me it was enough.”

The next morning I heard the grunt of a moose. Was he the messenger? No — he himself was looking for safety and guidance. I was about to put in realistic details when he disappeared from my vision, and two bald eagles started circling. Another week passed, and the howl of a wolf was bouncing off the cave walls. By the time the echoes dissipated, I couldn't spot him anymore.

I decided to be guided just by the sounds, and to figure out the story through purely spontaneous strokes of paint. The spirit reveals to me the final painting only if I paint what is given to me at that particular time.

Then it hit me. I needed to freeze the lake, and freeze it fast. It was getting more and more frigid here — I really felt it. My hands started to shake from the bitter cold so much that I forgot to turn on the camera to film a huge change in the story.

I had been absolutely positive that no human being would be on this canvas. I was wrong. Against all my expectations, here was the man and his loyal horse. They had lost their way and taken refuge in the cave. Now I understood why I had to freeze the lake: the travelers had to escape, and the ice was too thin in most areas for crossing.

Then a loud call from above echoed. The same bald eagle who had been circling my canvas for quite a while was flying over the lone strangers, encouraging them to follow. Step by step, they were carefully guided across the frozen patches, out of the dark cave.

The messenger was finally found. It was the eagle — the spirit. The only way I could be led to the end of the story was by listening to the spirit's call from the very beginning to the end. To every move of a flight, every drip from the cave lime icicles, every crackling sound of the freezing lake.

— Akiane