2010
There had been no further communication from Muse-Less. It seemed that they had fallen off the face of the earth. I had posted plenty more since our last exchange but there had been no comments on any of my posts which was strange as they usually had plenty to say about my work. There was no activity on the Muse-Less blog either. I didn't hold my breath for their return maybe it was one of those accounts that had simply lost touch with the blog world, given up on the idea and moved onto other things. The account didn't seem to have much web traffic since its inception either and I was saddened by the lack of appreciation for such an artist.
My blog had been doing really well. I'd had a few requests from followers in my area wanting me to do a shoot for them and I felt slightly guilty having to let me down gently letting them know I wasn't the kind of photographer that worked like that. I preferred spontaneity, unrehearsed moments and expressions. When photo shoots were directed by me, they had always ended up tense and forced and it showed strongly in the resulting photographs. No amount of editing could rid the subjects of the memory of those feelings. Stolen moments were golden moments in my eyes.
I don't exactly know how it happened and what triggered it but I was going through a phase of lacking inspiration. My camera had been tucked safely away in its case for much too long. There was no new material for me to post so I was having to dig through masses of files trying to find something worth posting. When I eventually did find something to post I didn't seem to be overly enthusiastic about the pictures. I had simply been posting for the sake of keeping active for the followers.
My lack of inspiration and motivation had carried over to other areas of my life too. I was struggling to get out of bed most mornings, dreading facing the world. Work was hectic with a lot of contracts up for renewal causing my workload to increase dramatically. I didn't want to go out with friends. I had missed an engagement party, a yearly catch up with friends from high school and a gig for one of my favourite local bands. There was something not quite right with me and I couldn't put my finger on it. Everyone around me had simply put it down to added stress from work. It was as if my behaviour was normal. I knew it wasn't but I couldn't seem to communicate with them that I wasn't okay. But I had things to do, I had to carry on and push through. I had an overflowing inbox of messages to clear for the blog first.
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Hi Whitney,
Is everything okay? Your blog isn't the same. You seem to have lost your wit and spark.
Muse-Less
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Whitney,
I apologise for my earlier message. I was out of line.
What I meant to say is - Your posts seem to be lacking the same inspiration they previously had.
Muse-Less
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After not hearing from Muse-Less for some time, I was surprised and thankful. I remembered messages we had previously had. Muse-Less was so honest about the woman in the paintings and the emotions she evoked. The message I received about being seen, really seen, had unnerved me and made me feel slightly exposed. I still hadn't deciphered if it was just a figure speech or something deeper than that. I had tried so hard not to let my current state of mind show in any way on my blog. Fears of the way I was feeling being noticed by just anyone were so real. There was something about the way that Muse-Less seemed to know what was going on without even knowing that made me feel worse that no one close to me realised my state of mind. The timing of these honest messages was uncanny and ever so slightly curious. I wanted desperately for someone close to me to be alert to the way I was feeling but they all seemed oblivious. Muse-Less seemed to know so much.
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Muse-Less,
Do you ever lose inspiration? Feel like you aren't sure where your passion has gone?
Whitney
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I'm so happy you are still in contact with me. I was worried I scared you away.
Yes, I feel that way all too often. And in more areas than just art. In life too.
Muse-Less
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I'm not scared by what you wrote. I'm scared that you're able to sense better than anyone else what's really going on. I don't know how you know?
How do I shake this feeling? I want to get back that spark.
Everyone around me seems to be oblivious to the way I'm feeling but it's so clear to you and you don't really know me.
Whitney
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I wish I had the answer Whitney. I sincerely wish I could tell you how to get it back, but I can't tell you what you need to do. Only you can figure that out.
Muse-Less
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It would be so easy to have someone find the answers for me.
Whitney
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Those would never be the answers you really need.
It has to be you.
I've been working on something. It's not finished yet. It's close. I want to know what you think.
I want to know what it makes you feel when you see it. I need your help to understand it.
Would that be okay?
Muse-Less
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The last time I saw Muse-less' work I had been moved. Of course I felt something, how could I forget the woman in the paintings. I don't entirely understand why Muse-Less would need me to help understand what the image means. Didn't they know for themselves.
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I'm honoured that you're going to let me see. Of course that would be okay
Whitney
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*File received*
I opened the image and it took me a moment to decipher what it was. There was no denying that I had seen the smile that appeared on the woman's face. She was front and centre on the paper. Her chin resting on her hand in a similar pose to the Auguste Rodin sculpture The Thinker. Again the woman had no eyes or nose. Her hair was replaced with a mess of things. Cascading down her face, covering what would be her eyes and nose, were wildflowers of various kinds. At the top of her 'hair' there were words, sketches of different symbols and a jumble of random things. There didn't seem to be a theme to any of it, it was all just, stuff. It reminded me of the junk drawer that every house seems to have. The drawer that is filled to the brim with things that have just been dumped there, bits and bobs that don't really have a home. The drawer, over time, accumulating things and becoming an overflowing mess.
Looking at this picture it suddenly dawned on me that the smile that all these women wore was not a coincidence at all. The smile wasn't genuine, it was forced. I had no doubt in my mind, now, that it was fake.
Yet again I had an overwhelming feeling that this woman, is me.
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This woman is beginning to haunt me.
I can't seem to escape her sorrow. She looks so happy but all I feel when I look at her is sadness, fear.
It's the same with all the other images of her. Although she looks slightly different in each piece, to me she is the same woman.
Whitney
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I don't want her to haunt you. What do you know about her?
When she comes to me, in my dreams, I don't know who she is, what she looks like or where she has come from, but I understand her. I can feel her sadness too.
What else do you think?
Muse-Less
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You've told me previously that you don't have a version of her in your real life but I don't know if that is true.
How can you understand her and feel her emotions if she doesn't really exist in some form to you?
Whitney
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Whitney,
I don't understand what you mean...
Muse-Less
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Ever since I saw her and your depiction of her I couldn't shake the feeling that I know this woman too.
It's only after seeing the latest sketch of her that I understand that her enormous smile is a deception. How can she smile, be happy, when everything around her should make her feel anything but.
Her smile is fake. A facade.
Maybe I can only see that now that I feel so lost myself.
When I see her, I understand who she is. For me, I am this woman.
Whitney
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All my life I've wanted someone to understand me the way you paint and sketch this woman.
You can feel her truthfully without knowing everything about her.
You know nothing of who she is but you still connect with her on an emotional level.
Whitney
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Whitney, I've been waiting for you to realise who she is since the first time you saw her.
There is never a right or wrong way to look at or feel about art. It's all up to the viewer.
In this case however, I think you are right.
Muse-Less
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Muse-Less
I can't even begin to fathom how you understand me. Or how you paint a women that represents me in such a personal way.
Where have you been all my life?
Whitney
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I've always been here, we just hadn't been looking for each other until now.
Muse-Less
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