We sat down for Sunday morning coffee with one of Nebraska’s most talented artists, happens to be Linda’s sister in law. The talk turned to muses.
Muses. Very few people possess, or are possessed by them. Most truly creative people however will claim some relationship with their own.
Standing in front of her canvas of greens and yellows and an unbidden splash of pink appears. “What’s this?” And the creative process ground to a halt. Questioning her own muse ceasing its presence in the process. The canvas sat for months before hand and brush were called hurriedly back to the task.
The muse fickle as it is necessary.
I tried to explain the delicate relationship with mine. How I sometimes sit at the keyboard with nothing in the can, knowing she’ll bring it, much like this morning. How I feel a very real love and respect, even trust in my muse, that is the best part.
And how I’ve sometime tried to lead the dance- arrogant mistake to feel that I know better than her. When I pound furiously on these keys, certain that my message Must Be Told. And hit “publish” with not even so much as a cursory proof read or edit. That is when she smacks me down. Those are the columns I regret. Works best abandoned or deleted all together. All artists have regrets, we’re only human after all.
The deep discussion pulling back veils for me, providing better understanding and clarity of my own creative process (needs). Bringing another depth of appreciation for my inspiration.
Writing and painting only two examples of creativity. Of art. Of muses.
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