I think the concept of The Muse is misunderstood. Even the Romans and Greeks disagreed on the names of the daughters of the gods and goddesses meant to inspire creative expression. But maybe it only matters that we each find our own source of inspiration, no matter how unlikely. And maybe sometimes, our Muse may not be instantly recognizable.
My muse, if that’s what she is, came to me in a cardboard box from New Mexico, sent from an astrologer friend who had a vision that I should be the owner of a particular painting. When it – she – arrived a few weeks later, the larger than life-sized visage of a woman wearing tribal dress and braids, encased in an ornate, gold frame, seemed out of place in my tiny, concrete block beach cottage. Where, as it happened, I was also feeling out of place.
Perplexed, I moved the painting from room to room and even though I felt that somehow the painting had something to teach me, I placed it in an outside studio where I saw it on the rare occasions when I wrote.
The truth was: the subject’s expression made me nervous. Was she looking down on the world? On me? And why the hot pink dress, the bright, red lipstick on a too-sensual mouth and the purple hair-tie? I saw some scribbling in the corner. With a magnifying glass I could make out the title, New Beginnings. But the artist’s name was/is indecipherable. Was this tarted-up version of the super-sexy Holy Woman meant to be an improvement over centuries of native dress? A sort of What Not To Wear mentality on the reservation?
Finally, I took her to an artist friend and asked if it was against any kind of artistic code to change someone else’s art. She mumbled something about “Hell no” and “Pepto-bismal pink”. After a make-over, or make-under, the subject emerged, a more subdued version of herself, outlined in a rustic wooden frame.
A few weeks later, I moved to a new house. Once again, I carried the painting from room to room. This time, however, I knew exactly where she belonged: on the wall, right above my desk. Ms. New Beginnings seemed more at ease in my new home and so did I. Blue, the cat who runs the place, immediately adopted her. The two of them seemed to be in cahoots, both wearing the same enigmatic expression which seemed to say: “We’ve shown up. Now, it’s the least you could do to sit down and start writing.” How could I say no? (see photo)
In the end, I wonder if our muses are simply energetic forces with something to teach us. Tarted-up or toned-down, the point may be that we must find our place of balance – even if it requires change – in order to be our best creative selves. I hope it’s not too late to say: Happy Year of New Beginnings to you. Be sure and stay with me in 2015 as I bring, to your screen/door the wondrous interviews/ramblings from some of the best contemporary, southern writers. And, please write back: I’d love to hear about your own muse/s. – Mary Ann
STAY TUNED! NEXT WEEK:NY TIMES BEST-SELLING AUTHOR PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY (no relation) WELCOMES YOU TO HER BEAUTIFUL ATLANTA-BASED WRITING STUDIO.