|A little of my work (on the left) with some|
copyrighted work from Tangie Baxter and
Effy Wild (on the right) ~ a journal page.
Hello. It's me. Everyday I seek communion with you. It is said all I need do is show up, literally and figuratively, and you do the voodoo you do. I suspect there are other places you opt to make yourself known ~ waiting for the train, traffic jams, certain boring conventions that shall remain nameless. I like when, Dear Genius, you come on padded feet as I walk in the woods, silent and alone. There's a romance to that. More so than if you joined me unawares in the shower handing me my errant soap. And Muse, O Muse, I adore when you sneak an inspiration into my mind as dishes are being done, my hands deep in soapy water, prisoners in a sudsy pool.
The problem with either of these visitations, Dear Genius, O Muse, is I rarely have the tools with which to capture those golden filaments of inspiration in the instant they arrive. The human mind, with its foibles, its limitations, must be relied upon to re-member the flash, the insight, before it's lost in the day-to-day. Washed down the kitchen drain, mired in the muck of a chicken coop, folded neatly with the clean clothes. Yes, these things are done, but the work of my Soul sits upon a shelf, undone, incomplete, half remembered.
And so I ask you, Dear Genius, O Muse, please meet me in the studio where all my stuff is so we can play there together. I'll bring tea, I'll bring scones. This is my Invitation to you, Dear Genius, O Muse. And if you can't make it to the studio, then the shower is fine.