The Artist and The Muse- Pt. 3

How strange that in my continued reading, I have formed some sort of odd bond with Ted Hughes.
In the literary sense of course, meaning I feel a connection of personality, in certain fractions with this man whom I considered slightly wicked.

However, only a few chapters in (although NOT my first book in which he is mentioned), I find that he has been re-invented in my eyes. I am beginning to realize that their union and demise are both at once products of their education, personality and some underlying belief in something greater than themselves. Destiny. Fame. Fate. They, particualrly he, believed in things being laid out before you in a path of stars and planets and circumstance.

They had been taught great myths and great epic poems and therefore translated their lives into the art forms that were their familiar havens. Following Robert Graves' White Goddess and the ever elusive Muse that descended upon them for the duration of their marriage, they lived their lives accordingly.

The thing that struck me today in particular was Diane Middlebrook's (the author of Her Husband, that is my mind candy at the moment), is that as she is describing Ted Hughes' personality, she goes into great detail about what he is trying to reveal or not reveal in his poetry. He is a contradiction in personality and as an artist. He wants to be like the poets and writers that have inspired him, that have come before him, but he rather hates the pressures and duties of fame.

Also, in his poems there are  numerous references to personal secrets & thoughts & themes & images. Things he put into plain view, but things most likely only he could decipher. As I was reading this, I got goosebumps. This is EXACTLY my way of writing and expressing. Every little things has 2 or 3 or 4 separate meanings. Each theme and phrase and word is generally a reference to something specific. But only I, or the person that is mentioned in said work, would know its meaning.

I beginning to think there is more to these people and this relationship than I ever imagined.

The Artist and The Muse... Pt. 2

Something else I have been considering lately in reference to these relationships is the balance of power. It seems that often the Muse begins in power, but the power is later shifted to the Artist to the point that the Muse is left almost totally weak.

Is it more important to be loved more than you love? Or to love more than you are loved? One is certainly safer, but perhaps less fulfilling. Whoever loves less holds the power, but does it lead to happiness?

From observations from real life, I like to think that with most relationships, the power and the love ratio shifts back and forth between the two continually, depending upon needs, current circumstances etc. It is when the balance ceases to move back and forth, that the relationship unravels or reaches an unhealthy point.(By the way, for clarification, when I say love, I do not mean the foundation of the relationship or unconditional love. By that I mean emotional dependency and general immediate feelings, urgent passion etc.)

I feel as though I have been on both sides with my counterpart (explaining the back and forth, up and down consistency of a 2 1/2 yr. period in which a legitimate connection was formed and maintained) and most definitely have been on the power side with others, though little shifting ever occurred, thus a relationship never forming.

Perhaps I am thinking of this from too technical a standpoint. But I think the only way that I can delve into this subject and dissect my mind is to grasp it from a rational standpoint rather than an emotional one. I don't want my thoughts to be muddled by sentimentality or nostalgia. Everything always looks sepia toned in retrospect.

However, I belong to one and will not change it. Cannot change it.
"I once had a love, now lost at sea... so now one love must be enough for me."

The Artist and The Muse... Pt. 1

As a Muse, my body belongs to the artist. As an Artist, my mind belongs to art. As a lover of art, my heart belongs to beauty and creativity. And as living art, my soul belongs to God.

That being said, I recently became aware of another artistic couple that is starting to interest me- that of Auguste Rodin and Camille Claudel. As the Plath-Hughes relationship is so very close to my heart (and I have been studying it for a few years now), I am going to put it aside for now to dip my toes into other stormy waters.

This tumultuous relationship is as fine an example as any to portray the complications of romance and art, or rather, romance and artists.

As I have said before, artists are generally inherently selfish and narcissistic. I say this only because I have found this in myself as well as most other artists I know, regardless of the medium or the result. This kind of personality does not lend itself well to an instiution that requires sacrifice and long term commitment. Not to say that artists do not sacrifice, but the sacrifice is for their art & the commitment is a general one (to their art), not usually a specific thing. Though it may always be sculpting or painting that moves, the ideas and emotion behind it are always changing.

So as a muse and artist, does the art belong to the creator? Or to the inspiration? And is it possible, considering that to create it is required to be in some sort of passion, to maintain a working and stable relationship with someone of a similar disposition? Because, passion easily turns to anger & grief and vice versa. So is it just a matter of course to have a blazing fire between two people burn both to the ground eventually? Or at least leave one or both singed? Where is the line between temporary grief and permanent madness?

It seems that as an artist you cannot love any but another artist, for no other understands the slavery to the craft that is required. But on the other end of that, it seems as though you cannot love an artist and an artist cannot love you because their is always art separating you. And art shared between you. Art severs. Art binds. Art is always first and there cannot be three in a relationship. It somehow becomes a love triangle that will never be solved. You, me and art. The artist, the muse and the creation.

The Artist and The Muse- the foundation

I have continued my reading on the relationship between Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. I feel myself, or my former relationship rather, reflected in it. I am planning on taking notes to further my study on the complexity of relationships between artists, particularly of the romantic variety, including the vast rewards and the ultimate demise.
Rather pretentious perhaps, but it is something that has intrigued me for a long while and I have been planning on writing up my findings.
So this will probably be the repeated topic of upcoming posts.