Photo by Bill Armstrong
SHE’S NOT THERE: The Myth of the Muse
This group show of 21 photographers images of a single model,
Marlene Tupy, photographed at my Vision Quest workshops in the Badlands of
South Dakota and at the Trade River Retreat Center in Wisconsin are joined by
several studio photographers from the Minneapolis Photo Center to provide an
intriguing kaleidoscope of different vision, approaches and execution, all
using the same subject.
What artist wouldn’t like a muse - something- or better yet
someone - outside of them selves to provide creative inspiration. At best, it’s
a romantic notion that we are not responsible for our own creativity and at
worst it is giving power over your creativity to unseen or uncontrollable
forces, again absolving ourselves of responsibility to our own creative forces.
The myth of the muse persists throughout the ages. Marlene
embodies this classic notion of muse: beautiful, remote yet approachable,
off-beat personality, fiercely intelligent, engaging yet emotionally
unavailable. The perfect artist’s gift: totally present and at the same
time inaccessible. Unlike most
models, she does not use the gaze of others to reaffirm her self-worth, her ego
remains healthily detached from our results. Marlene deeply cares to
collaborate and inspire the art of others and unlike most objects of beauty,
she knows that it’s not really about her but you.
As photographers we think we’re ‘capturing her essence’ (a
phrase I think should be banished from our vocabulary) or at best feel we are
conveying something about who Marlene is, but really we are revealing more
about ourselves. We are using the external, her physical form, as a catalyst
for our own internal artistic exploration.
At age 52 Marlene continues to captivate the attention of
photographers, who are often criticized for only portraying youth. It is both a
tribute to her and way of showing that art is not what you see but how you see.
Douglas Beasley
•
Muse (noun) goddess of art n
Greek mythology, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, goddess of
memory. The Muses inspired and presided over the creative arts. They were
Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, and
Urania, responsible for epic poetry, history, love poetry, lyric poetry,
tragedy, sacred song, dance, comedy, and astronomy, respectively.
•
(muse) a woman, or a force personified as a woman, who is the source of
inspiration for a creative artist.
"Muse: A person who awakens something in you
that you didn’t know was there.”
–Musician Hk Christie
A Muse is A Muse is A Muse
She
was born in the still swollen heat of the month of the Lion, stunned by her own
ferocity, humbled by her gift of silence.
A guiding visual voice creating sense & nonsense, a mirror reflecting
harmony and contrast from which comes beauty & sorrow, balance &
imbalance.
Her
presence reveals the secret without involving herself in what is before
her. Recording, in image, what the
artist must remember. She reminds
them of what they need before they find it or, before they lose it.
She
is a thought, a look, a gesture arranging sensibility or, unleashing reckless
abandon. The muse and the artist
become one. They are one, they
always have been one? She is a
guiding genius, an illusion.
Her
anonymity intensifies a sensual, sometimes erotic effect. Her body sculpts gradual deliberate
unfolding of ideas. Alone in her
strength and the ever shifting movement of the lines that form her, she engages
the viewer. A concrete, yet
abstract sculpture suggesting structure & limits, igniting spontaneity
& experience. Each event is a
unique detector of truth.
Is
the muse, with her gift of meaning and fascination the seducer or, the seduced?
She holds a secret. The secret is in her presence; the
secret is in her eyes.
Marlene Tupy
The concept of the Muse is a dangerous one. It is steeped in the notion of the
chosen artist, that only those worthy of the Gift will have it breathed upon
them. It carries with it certain
advantages though. For when we
cannot touch pen to paper, or brush to canvas, because the well we draw from
feels dry as bone, we can blame her.
We can channel our frustration at her, shaking our fists in anger at the
sky, proclaiming, “if only!”
But for every artist who has professed to have tasted the
sweet kiss bestowed upon them by the Muse, there are countless other, silent
voices who wander in obscurity feeling abandoned, yet blameless. For like a young lover who feels they
have been slighted by their partner, it is easier to contest that there is no
spark, no chemistry, no magic.
When what is really at the heart of it all is an unwillingness to put in
the labor. While it may be that
the most magical of artistic expressions come in the form of effortless bliss,
these fleeting moments are, in fact, the sum of countless others filled with
toil, sweat, tears and intense personal sacrifice.
So, while the obvious danger in waiting for the Muse to
speak to you is never moving forward, there also lies the danger of losing
awareness of the role that one’s self plays in the euphoric moments of success
and release. So, perhaps, it is
best if we discard the notion of waiting for a mythical spirit to fill us to
the point of bursting, and instead infuse ourselves into our work, our labor,
our love, our world.
Rod Vesper
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