An open letter to my Muse

Henri Matisse. Dance (I). (1909) Oil on canvas, 12' x 8'. Image from MoMA.

Oh, my elusive friend, where have you been? There is so much I want to say to you, or rather, to myself through you.

Painting feels difficult today. I've spent too many hours in this small space with little ventilation. This might be a metaphor, but it's also literal. I've reworked a canvas in a new direction but it feels far from complete. It is getting there ... but I still see many problems. I need a break so I can approach it fairly, not just by the legacy frustration I feel now. Some paintings come so easily. Others take weeks of toiling, repainting, scraping down, covering, reworking, refocusing.

I want you. Here. Now. I've had a taste of what you bring and I want more. I want to talk and share and laugh and disagree. I want to understand how you came to be, where you've been, and where you want to go. I want to understand where I fit in, what you think of our interaction.

I'm painting a lot, so I know you are here somehow. I have a lot of good days but also many bad hours of struggling. Some days, like today, I cannot get the colors mixed. I made seafoam when instead I wanted pale, pale cerulean, almost the color of a translucent sky behind dissipating fog.

I understand your reluctance to be here completely. Are you looking from afar? What do you see? Would it match what you already know?

The idea of you sustains me, pushes me forward to express and create. For that alone, I am grateful.