The Artist's Muse

So what does an artist do when feeling void of all inspiration?  Like, for example, what can I do to update a blog on art, when all I can think of is nothing?
Take a day off, eat some ice cream, take up smoking cigarettes, quit smoking cigarettes...?     Or, 

Just do.  

Write, write, write. 
Then write something else.


How about...
the concept of the artist's MUSE?  


I have some first-hand experience with this.


First of all, most people know that this idea goes back to classical Greece and earlier.  Goddesses of the arts and literature.   Nowadays, we use it to refer to just about any source of inspiration. Some artists and writers have been inspired by another person - someone perhaps that he/she is in love with, who fuels his/her creative drive.


But often, the term is used to refer to a more ethereal source of inspiration.  One's muse might be that quiet (or roaring) inner voice that seems to come from nowhere, or perhaps from the subconscious.  At any rate, the sense is that the person of the artist is not necessarily at the wheel, but rather is a passenger being carried through the act of creation.

I"ll describe my own personal experience with this notion of artistic inspiration as a way illustrating it.  But how richer this would be, if, YOU, the reader, contributed your own ideas or experiences with your Muse in the "Comments" area below!



A few years ago I began writing music for children.   I remember the day it began.  A day like any other.  I was doodling on my guitar, trying to fit in a little practice time, when my daughters began competing with the guitar for my attention.  All musicians with children will recognize this phenomenon -  my beloved girls were behaving like mosquitoes or blackflies, buzzing around me and insisting on either strumming to contribute to my music or damping the strings to silence my guitar.  

Desperate to discover some sort of repellent, I abruptly hit upon a progression of three chords (Am,  G,  F,  G  repeated endlessly) and, without premeditation, began to growl out a fearful melody/chant: "Big, bad wolf, big bad wolf, everybody 'fraid of the big, bad wolf!"   The girls were instantly dancing a circle around my chair, howling at the moon, and I was able to play my guitar.   

So this came from nowhere, but I didn't think much about it, other than feeling thrilled that the pests were occupied for awhile.  But I did think it was catchy and wondered if it could be developed into  a song.   The wolf led me to a fairy tale, which could have been one of many, though I finally settled on Little Red Riding Hood.  "Once upon a time" seemed an apt opening line, and from that point on, the songwriting became, to my pleasant surprise, a process of what seemed like taking dictation from the air, followed by some conscious artistic effort at polishing the results.    If you want, you can hear the recorded version of "Big Bad Wolf" by clicking here....

To expand upon the "dictation from the air" thing, I could rephrase it to say it was as if I were receiving radio signals consisting of fully-formed lines, one after the other and frantically writing them down before they dissipated.  I was in a receptive state of mind, somehow.   I had to keep running over to the piece of scrap paper to jot down the next line.  Eventually, I had the entire story, and most important, a way to bring it to a close.   Here is what the Muse fed me for the wrap up:


"Well, that's about it, we've come to the end,
'though Grandma's party went-on 'til 4 am,
I really want to end this story with a rhyme, 
So I'll ask you all to sing with me one last time:
Big Bad Wolf, Big Bad Wolf......"

This continued to happen over the next months until I had written 8 songs.   Sometimes, I would choose a folktale, start humming a melody and spit out an opening line.   Then, again, it would happen.
The structure of the song would appear (I might write some rudimentary note symbols to remind me what happens in the melody), and lines would come spilling out.  Sometimes I thought them, and then worked them a little to fit better or not repeat words, or to make a rhyme, but so often, they thought themselves, and I simply recorded them with the pen on paper.   As the song assembled itself, I would eventually have to call on my education, my exposure to literature/writing techniques, the artist in me, to fine-tune the lines.  Stepping back, I could see places for improvement or see how the structure made sense in one part and not another, and go in and fix it up right.   So, I can take credit for helping write these songs.   But I must give some to my anonymous ghost-writer.


That has been my surprising experience with my Muse.   We can call it anything we like.   The subconscious creative self, free from inhibition and thought distraction breaking through the surface into the conscious mind.   We could call it an invisible naked Greek woman whispering into my ear.   We could call it a dip into the universal mind ocean, we could call it, "you are hallucinating, Dave."


Anyway, it's been a pleasure, and after putting these first eight songs on a CD (See myspace.com/davidgoodrichstories for other samples from the CD),  I have written a few more, yet to be recorded.


As for my artwork, the notion of the Muse behind it all isn't quite as tangible or present-feeling as it has been with the music.   Although, there is that sense of  Zen-ness that comes when I am so focused and lost in drawing - time disappears, the drawing takes shape.   I have skills that I employ, but I don't know exactly what the end product will be.  I have certain ideas, but the long process determines the final result.
I think the Muse takes the form of a deep confidence I have that I will get there, though I don't exactly know how.   A faith beyond any ability or control I may feel that I have.

On the other hand, maybe the Muse behind the art I am currently doing is simply the source of inspiration.   The beauty I see around me, the endless subject matter that the Vermont landscape presents.
Because I have decided that I am an artist (see my first post, On Being An Artist), I can use my abilities to practice a true appreciation of it all.

That is one of the great benefits of practicing art: you honor your subject with the greatest attention.   And not unlike a Buddha, you are attending the moment, not trying to dwell in the past or worry over the future.

Muse over that one for a while.