Muse

Dear No Oneinparticular,

I imagine you are struggling with writing that letter you promised to me. Knowing your habits and other foibles, you are sitting up in bed, with the laptop warming your lap and the screen lighting up your face in a spectaclarly spooky fashion, not that you need help in being spooky.

You are waiting for Inspiration.

Judging by the number of ancient gods supporting arts, the word inspiration is describing a gift from outside of the artist. Inspiration is not reliable, not in the sense that it arrives on a schedule. Honestly, I am not sure if artists actually rely on inspiration.

Yet, when I even lightly read accounts of master artists, most didn’t wait on inspiration. Renaissance master studios remind me of modern day factories, except there were more chances to move up the ladder - no real division between management and labor. Picasso produced an incredible amount of painting, sculptures, and other stuff. Warhol was, as far as I can tell, running a factory or possibly a reality show without televising it. It is hard to imagine any of these artists waiting on something out of their control.

So, I sit here and type and put off drawing. And, inspiration becomes a tool of my procrastination. I sincerely believe: The gods had one message for their people: “Grow up. You already know what you have to do.”

The gods got tired of our whining prayers. Make me rich. Inspire me. Take out my enemies: Seriously, what made me think any diety would listen to that crap all day. Money is gathered. Inspiration is found. Taking out my enemies, actually I would rather keep the one’s I have - they’re not very competent.

Sincerly,

BLP

Just write the letter. And, don’t ask me for money.