Pythian Games

put on your track shoes and write the miles

Drawing Out The Muse

with 6 comments

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I find myself in the uncanny position of not only attempting to contact a Muse—but of trying to entice said Muse to my side.  I find myself seeking the Muse, begging for inspiration and freedom from my fears.  I am not all together certain how to go about doing this.  Usually, my Muses come to me.  Usually, they are angry, agitated, roaring, ready to thump my backside in order to get me motivated and moving and to keep me steady on my path.

Not this one.  Not the one I seek this day.  My Muses of Writing are always there for me.  Always steady.  Always threatening to give me another good whack should I fail to show up at the page.  They truly do not ask for much.  I must simply show up—and allow my pen to move across the paper.  Even if only for the allotted time.  Even if I write the purest drivel imaginable.  My job is to show up.  So, that’s what I do.  Most of the time.

Not this Muse.  This Muse is different.  Maybe it’s my attitude towards my art.  I need more assistance here, more subtle persuasion, more gentle pressure and loving grace when it comes time for me to pick up colored pencil and draw something—even something as simple as a blade of grass.  I fret so here—whereas with my writing I just do it.  With this, once upon a time when I was young I threw caution to the wind and never minded how silly my scribbles and scrawls would appear to any other.  I drew for me.  For the pure pleasure of it.  I drew horses.  Wild horses.  Tame horses.  Mythical horses of rainbow colors.  Endless horses, bounding all across my pages, my books.  These horses always had such amazing adventures—while I stayed trapped inside and all alone, drawing and imagining.

I never worried about my writing this way.  I never cared what people thought.  I write for me.  I still do.  Stubborn in my surety about my writing.  Some will always scoff, yet, I’ve always blown them off.  I have an innate knowledge and faith in my talent as a writer—no matter how much room I need to grow in my craft yet.  But as an artist?  One slight insignificant gaze cast wrongly or hesitating word, even a bit of over-enthusiasm, I am all aquiver and pained.  Unsure all over again.  I become unable to decide if I should begin anew, continue as I am or just give up and let it all go.  I set myself up, loving great art and studying it as much as I have, as much as I do.  So many talented people, so many amazingly great gods of art, for me to compare my own meager lines to and show where I lack the most.  I seem doomed from the start in this way.  And yet…

And yet—I know.  I know better here.  I know I have to start somewhere.  So, I know I am able.  I know I am capable.  I know I need to work at it.  I know I need to practice.  Where is my Helper then?  Where is my Guide?  Where is my Muse to assist me with this?  Where is the one who can help me navigate this tide?

How do I draw her out?  Is she even a her?  What if it’s a him?  Will he be crass?  Too demanding?  A sexist pig?  She could be too, just as much as he.  What then?  What if we clash?  What if he makes me feel bad?  What if I turn away. put down my pencils, and turn away to hide, forever more, this side of my inner artist, the one crying now, begging to be let out, set free….Would a Muse really do that?  Would a Muse really do that to me?

Some days, I wonder.  After all my other Muses have done to me.

Muse of Art.  Muse of pencil and pen and dart.  Muse of paint and brush and glue.  Muse of glitter and sparkle and haze.  Muse of vision and clarity and expression.  I beg of you.  Please come to me.  Heed my cries, my pleas.  My vision has gone grey and muted.  I am far too much alone, cowering and afraid of taking even one step by myself.  Lend me your hand.  Lend me your knee.  Whatever it takes to set me free.  Dearest Muse, please, I beseech thee.  Come and inspire me.

prompt from: the House of Muse

written by Tabitha K

http://knittingjourneymanredux.blogspot.com/
http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/
http://thesilkenthread.wordpress.com/

Written by Tabitha Low

July 30, 2009 at 2:41 pm

6 Responses

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  1. I like this piece of writing Tabitha. The paragraph that starts – I never worried about writing etc. and then goes on to discuss how you feel about art making really resonates with me. I feel exactly the same about art making. That inner critic is a fierce beast isn’t he/she. Mine often takes the form of various lecturers I had at art school.

    SFC is one place where I feel free to experiment with art these days. That and visual journalling. I hope you find you similar places to be free to make art.

    almurta

    July 30, 2009 at 11:35 pm

  2. The last paragraph is sacred and could become the creed of many. I still haven’t conquered the fear to be me in my writing and my art.

    Sally

    July 31, 2009 at 12:35 am

  3. the muse takes on so many forms …i love your blue rose (:

    pearlz

    July 31, 2009 at 9:43 am

  4. I used to have a friend who said something like, “O God, o Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves, be gracious to me.” (Them being muses.)

    But my favorite was when he signed his letters with something like, “May God/the Muse always grant you the rhythm that moves your soul.”

    kvwordsmith

    July 31, 2009 at 4:08 pm

  5. ps – LOVE LOVE LOVE THAT BLUE ROSE!

    kvwordsmith

    July 31, 2009 at 4:09 pm

  6. This is really great. I am struggling with writing right now – even knowing what to write about. It all just seems so blank, so void. Hopefully I will connect with my muse as I have tried to do it all by myself and shut him/her out completely.

    Sarah Joyce Bryant

    August 8, 2009 at 3:05 pm


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