RANDOM NOTES ON THE MUSES DIALOGUE
©2012 Antero Alli
I don't call myself an artist. Best to let others, the world, decide what to call you. I see myself more as a kind of interrupter. I like to interrupt whatever assumptions, expectations, and beliefs inhibit my freedom to discover new ways of seeing and staying open to the fertile void, source of all creation, and its hilarious offspring, the singing womb of the Poetic Imagination.
The idea (and the experience) of “the Muse” and “the Muses” has vexed, haunted, and inspired the lives and works of artists, poets, musicians, book authors, painters, sculptors, and creatives for eons. Though many myths and concepts swirl around the enigmatic Muses archetype, nothing seems to accurately describe or explain the ineffable phenomena beyond its impact on the human vessels giving expression to its manifest creations.
An initial observation: the Muse works through us and then, discards its vessels when they cease to be useful or appealing. Whatever the Muse might be, the numinous archetype runs an autonomous agenda beyond the control and the comprehension of anyone caught courting his, hers, or its favor. Note to self: the Muse can be a fussy, fickle entity; do not expect consistency. In fact, bag all expectations. Go naked for a sign.
Writing about Muse dialogues feels ridiculous. To better endure my embarrassment, I will simply report on what I have experienced so far while sharing with you a series of “notes to myself”. Though there seems to be certain attributes the Muses find more appealing than others, the nature of these qualities can differ for each vessel chosen. People don’t choose Muses; Muses choose their own vessels. I also know that what I do and how I do it may not work for anyone else and so, I encourage your own experiments in this endless field of numen.
I see three basic types of Muse vessels: Creatives (those who live creative lives but don’t produce art; almost all children are natural creatives), artists (those who produce art and/or call themselves "artists") and creative artists (those whose art is produced out of living creatively, whether they call themselves artists or not). All three vessels commonly assign and project Muse status onto certain types of people -- those inspirational men, women, and children in accidental and intentional confluence with the Muse archetype -- and sometimes with disastrous results. Who can truly live up to the Muse ideal without stirring up resentment and disappointment?
Like moths sputtering around a flame, a divine madness propels any vessel towards the Unattainable. Yet this has never stopped any artist worth their salt from attempting the Impossible. The same fever dream that enflames the obsessive love of l' amour fou finds a mirror image in the spiritual longing for soul’s return to Source -- their inner mounting holy flames consuming everything and everyone in their wake. Witness the history of sorrow in the hearts of discarded men, women, and children charred by the creative firestorms of their Muse-inspired lovers, friends, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers. Note to self: the Muses are not always kind, wonderful, and loving.
When we are falling madly deeply in love or taking too personally the misguided worship of our own persons, our souls catapult and are tossed about by the furies of impersonal archetypal forces. Like rag dolls tilt-a-twirling in gale-force winds, we can lose ourselves in the flotsam and jetsam and become as food for those Angels and Demons clamoring for lost souls. In the wings of this astral theatre, the Muses watch and show high indifference to the human fates onstage. They don't care about what happens to us; they care more about how well their Presence has found expression through us. Note to self: don’t romance or worship the Muses -- treat them with the same indifference, the nonchalance, they treat me. A more workmanlike approach may do well enough.
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How I got this way...
Between 1974 and 1992, I wrote, directed, and performed in a series of experimental theatre works. This early romantic era was defined mostly by unconscious creative processes of falling in love with too many women and then, somehow transforming these passions into stories of wild and broken hearts ensnared within metaphysical escapist dramas. This era lasted twenty years, all throughout my twenties and thirties.
Around my fortieth birthday, in November 1992, the Muses struck me blind with a different kind of vision forcing a shift from theatre to cinema (writing and directing feature-length, underground art films), a process that continues to this day. This turning point followed the unexpected death of my second daughter -- an unfathomable, devastating loss by any standards. As with many great losses, there sometimes come unexpected gifts. Through the grief and horror of losing my child came an unusual gift that kept on giving. A strange vision, a way of seeing The Tragic in life as the long sunset shadow cast by The Magic in life. Note to self: real magic finds roots in tragedy...turning tragic into magic...
I did not understand this vision but I saw it anyway. I saw Tragic and Magic in bed together conceiving a bastard child called Art. Of course, these glib conclusions never came to mind until much later. It’s only now that I can trace back the origins of the many otherworldly themes, tragic insights, and surrealistic imagery making their home in all my films ever since. This prolific cinematic output has been nursed by a more conscious process of discovering (and maintaining) certain conditions the Muses seem to find most appealing.
A trial-by-error-by-success process constitutes the ‘self-work’ of this shameless love slave to the Muses. This amounts to working on whatever daily routines, thought adjustments, and outlooks keep me receptive to the Muses’ signals, timings, whispers, and screams. This process is not so much about me. The Muses could care less about “Antero Alli”, a fact made obvious by my feeling like an impostor every time I assume full credit for my art. Note to self: the payoff for making Art, for making films, is not fame or money or love or power; the payoff is realizing my purpose.
How do other people fit into all this?
Socially, it has been a real mixed bag. I show low tolerance for any kind of self-preoccupation, in myself and in others, that overwhelms and crushes receptivity to other people’s stories, lives, and values. Absence of this kind of social receptivity or empathy feels toxic to me. I believe that this neurosis is not entirely personal, not entirely our fault. We live in a predominantly narcissistic society that exalts greed and ambition as virtues. This alone can make it difficult to bear other people’s manifestations -- their presence, their values and successes, their happiness. I do not like society for this very reason; its cultural standards feel like a toxic soul suck. However, I tend to get along swimmingly with anyone who can still truly listen, pay close attention and possess a sense of humor about themselves -- qualities I know the Muses find appealing, qualities that have also become indispensable for bearing the Muses' impact.
One of the more challenging of the Muses’ demands involves the exposure and elimination of “creative buffers” -- those habits, events, and people that impede, diminish, or ignore the quality of receptivity critical to Muse dialogues. This is also why the Muses can never really be fixated into a person or a thing. Muse action exists in the dialogue. These dialogues are rarely verbal for me but intuitive interactions of ineffable impressions passing between transpersonal Muse realms and my uneventful daily life.
I am not talking to myself or hearing that internal monologue of nagging literalist commentaries. After years of Zazen practice, I now only think when I have to -- such as, when a problem needs solving. With no immediate problems to solve, I give monkey mind an imaginary banana and return to empty. Note to self: the only art created by conscious mind is dead art. Conscious mind is a liar and a whore -- subvert the tyranny of over-literalism!
What the Muses demand most from me is respect. I never call them “my Muses”; if they can be be owned, they are not Muses but ego trips. I call them the Muses for good reason. They come and go on their own accord and schedule. They are not on my watch;
I am on their watch. When the Muses unexpectedly disappear, I take it as a sign to earn more patience by walking the fallow fields of doing nothing for many months at a time. Note to self: my value to the Muses does not depend on productivity but receptivity. Only when I am empty can the Muses take notice.
Whenever I become too full of myself -- gloating on past successes, achievements, accolades -- the Muses grow bored with me. And, like any bored and fickle lover, they start eyeballing other vessels. I remember times when I had some brilliant idea that would unexpectedly appear one day in somebody else’s project. W.T.F. ?! Did I wait too long? Was I tripping? Why did I not follow through? Sometimes my faith is tested. Like when I start fretting about where all the resources will come from to produce my next film -- resources like talent, technology, love, time, money! As it turns out, the Muses trade exclusively in the currency of Wealth -- true wealth -- where all talent, technology, time, love, and money already exist as subcategories. Fretting about what I don't have only fattens my delusions of entitlement while boring the Muses to tears. Note to self: without gratitude, I am fucked.
Since 1977, I have been developing and actively participating in a group paratheatre medium that applies techniques of theatre, dance and Zazen to access and express the internal landscape. Throughout 2010 and 2011, the Muse dialogues took on a far more kinetic and somatic turn in their physical engagement and expresson (also see 'Muses Lab' reports below). These paratheatrical muse labs inspired the scripting and production of my two most recent movies: "To Dream of Falling Upwards" (2011; 2 hrs) and "Flamingos" (2012; 90 min). The past two years of paratheatrical muse work has also left me with deeper, indelible impressions that the Muses, as I now know them, are as real as the day is long -- what I believe William Blake meant when he wrote, "Eternity is in love with the productions of time."
Postscript: Everything written in this article presupposes a certain depth of development in whatever skill sets, techniques, talents, and work ethics might be necessary to stay useful to whatever Muses find me appealing and worthy of selection. At 59 years, I am well beyond the fantasy of creating Art out of inspiration alone. I know firsthand the sweat and the toil, the commitment to craft, and the dogwork of self-discipline that lays the groundwork for inspiration to take root, blossom, and bear fruit. I also feel blessed to have remained in touch with my sources of inspiration, sources that light up the neural grooves of brain pleasure and eternal delight, neural pathways that seek their own kind of care and nourishment which, for me, arrives through paratheatre work.
2010 - 'MUSES LAB' REPORT #1
RITUAL JOURNAL ENTRIES
2011 - 'MUSES LAB' REPORT #2
RITUAL JOURNAL ENTRIES
~ TO BE CONTINUED ~
vON GENIUS AND CREATIVITY
TED Lecture on the Muses by Elizabeth Gilbert
THE NUMEN OF ARCHETYPES
How these terms are used in this work
ParaTheatrical ReSearch Site Map