I’d lie if I didn’t plead guilty to having hankered for both roles- the artist and the muse’s. I’d be divulging, as a certain theory of mine sustains, even more than what was initially intended to get covered, exhibit a self distorted by omissions and ultimately gloss over the trait I savour most in humanity – our immanent dichotomy.
So, modest to no end, I’d rather avow my sort of voracious desire to experience artistic creation through every playable part, which fortuitously reverts to the two above mentioned. And justify the modesty bit by asserting I’ve actually managed to fulfill that intellectual lust in a long juggle with inspiration as alternately subject and object. Well, at least allegedly I did.
I’ve transitioned from drawing to helping others clot ideas subsequently given pictorial or written form, sketched out my own illusions and provided material for those weaved around people who later attached to my character epithets I’d laugh about for weeks. There were times when I’d even merge the roles and use personal works to get someone stimulated. Not because I thought much of altruism, of course. I just genuinely relished the position it put me in, reasons unambiguous.
But it was not until I broke with a friend who also happened to be the only paradigmatic muse I’ve met that syncretism took over and carved me a whole new dimension of art.
So, prompted by a gaping need for a catalyst of the creativity mandatory to all professed artists, I began exploiting my duality in a yet unfinished series of self-portraits. To find a novel muse, I now turned to the mirror and when gazing back at me from the confinement of a glass frame proved unsatisfactory, I resorted to filming yours truly, a solution I still secretly surmise Dürer would’ve absolutely enjoyed.
Thus, for days on end I’d watch videos of me strolling about naked just to capture the exact fluidity of a motion I envisioned would perfectly conjure up some concept that had inflamed my imagination. Then drew it relentlessly, obsessively, to the brim of utter depersonalization.
But I was ultimately the only subject I wanted.
And, you see, I’ve previously written about narcissism and artists becoming their greatest masterpiece with immense interest, yet nothing I’ve discovered came quite close enough to the self sufficiency attained after that epiphany.
Have you ever been through a similar phase?
Patricia Beykrat – the Roving Aesthete