Moving the Muse
Elizabeth Gilbert gave a TED Talk in 2009 about your creative genius. NOT you’re genius, but your GENIUS. The creative partner we all have, the entity that links you to the grand creativity of the cosmos. I won’t explain it in full here, you should see it for yourself; I have a link at the end. Suffice to say, the main idea she stated is simply that WE are not geniuses, but rather, we HAVE geniuses. Some people call it the “muse” or a “creative daemon”; a force separate from us that uses us as a conduit to bring creative ideas to life. It is a fascinating concept, and the preferred way for me to now think about my own creativity. According to Gilbert, “a genius was this, sort of magical divine entity, who was believed to literally live in the walls of an artist’s studio, kind of like Dobby the house elf, and who would come out and sort of invisibly assist the artist with their work and would shape the outcome of that work.”
Now, I’m usually late to parties, and this was no exception. It wasn’t until an afternoon in mid-2015 sitting in my freshly renovated office when I first saw Gilbert’s TED Talk on my laptop. It blew my mind, and it all made perfect sense. She spoke the truth, and with tears in my eyes I wondered who/what/where MY muse was? I hadn’t felt anything close to an artistic spark in such a long time I thought maybe it had abandoned me completely. Sitting in my newly constructed, well-decorated office, the panic set in. Something was horribly wrong. At that moment I could almost hear a tiny sob from the corner. A small invisible force was curled up in a fetal position, barely alive and in desperate need of my attention.
The first studio in the Thorp building, 2007
My first studio was in 2007 in the Thorp Building in NE Minneapolis. I really loved that studio, despite being a garden level it was bright and had plenty of room for me to stretch out. And I had my own sink! That is solid gold in the studio world, most buildings have a communal sink in the hallway that everyone shares. It was thrilling to have a place of my own, and my Muse was very happy there. But it was very hard to get the public down to my space during Art-A-Whirl, the annual studio tour. Throngs of people would be at Northrup King Building across the tracks from me, but our building was a bit more “off the map” to most of the casual art enthusiasts. It was also very dirty and dusty due to the garden level windows facing the parking lot and an old wooden ceiling than rained grit on my works every time the neighbors upstairs crossed their floor. So after three years in my first studio I made the leap and moved to epicenter building in the NE arts scene, The Northrup King Building
Now this building was popular. Tons of artists, lots of visibility. It was so popular, that the only way I could get in was to take a space waaaay too big for me. It was fun at first, but eventually I felt really small and sometimes lost in the space. Not to mention the ghost. (Yes, there was a legit ghost on the floor, but that’s another story.) Open studio weekends were so packed it felt like the entirety of the State Fair crowd was shuffling through my workspace. Sales were OK, but the rent was a bit rich and ate up more of my income than I was willing to part with. When a smaller space down the hall opened up I took it. Studio number three felt really good, much like my first studio had, and I was able to create some awesome pieces there. It was cozy and welcoming and just plain felt “right”. But now instead of dust from above, it was water. A leaky roof created a multitude of problems. Smelly brown puddles damaged much of my equipment and more than a few art pieces. I was going through an insane amount of scented candles and incense to combat the moldy aromas that were ever-present. Unfortunately it got so bad that I had to move again.
This fourth studio was on the first floor of NKB, as far away from the leaky roof as I could get. I should have loved this space. It was a Goldilocks space, bigger but not too big. It had good light and stayed fairly constant in temperature. No dust. No drips. Close to the bathrooms and communal cleaning sink. But I didn’t. The feel was “off” somehow. It was a long hallway of a space that never felt “right”, no matter how I arranged it. By this time Art-A-Whirl had morphed into a neighborhood-wide beer and music fest, with the actual art studios falling off in importance to the crowds. Sure, they showed up like a cattle call, but the herds stampeded through the building and left tons of beer cups and hoof prints in their wake. And despite the exhaustive crowds, I was lassoing less sales and making fewer connections to interested art buyers.
The fourth studio at NKB. The “ghost” here is just an over-excited Jason hopping through Art-A-Whirl.
The Muse wasn’t thriving like it used to. My day job was taking up more of my time and creative energy, and it was hard to “make time” for art. The commute to NE Minneapolis became a burden. I could find more and more excuses to not drive clear across town and it was hard to discipline myself to show up. And the number one rule is, if you don’t show up, neither will the Muse. It’s a well-worn plot device midway through the story when things look dire, they suddenly get worse. In January of 2015 life threw me the ultimate curveball: my mother fell and broke her hip. In an instant, both of our lives changed forever. I had to shut down her decades-old custom lampshade business and move her entire inventory to my studio in the process. The Muse that had been struggling to find balance at NKB just walked out the door.
Yup. This is the point in which the muse said “See ya later..”
Now in all of these studios I talk about my Muse being there, even though at the time I had no idea what my Muse was. I hadn’t yet heard of the idea of a “genius” as an entity, but I did know about feng shui, the philosophy of harnessing energy forces to create harmony between and individual and their environment. I knew certain places had good energy, and some bad. I could just feel it. It’s not that I’m psychic or anything. I’d be willing to bet most of you have experienced it at some point or another. You know, certain rooms that just “feel” right? It’s more than lovely furniture or beautiful decor. Way more. Even a grubby coffee house with tatty second-hand sofas can sometimes feel better than the most expensively decorated shop. That’s the feng shui in action, baby. I honestly believe places have an energy, and now I know we have guiding forces that either mesh with or collide with certain spaces. That’s why they feel the way they do. Bad feng shui for me is a canary in a coal mine. It signals when a place or thing or activity or job or ANYTHING isn’t right. Maybe you know it as a “gut” feeling. However it speaks to you, it is your higher self guiding you to what really matters.
You see, I couldn’t put my finger on it for the longest time.
My studio at NKB had lost all appeal to me, it wasn’t “mine” anymore. It was a warehouse for all my anger and frustration with the current mom situation. And the day job was creaking like Titanic steel in icy waters. The remodeling of the office was supposed to be a positive, but it felt just the opposite. I had my own desk now, isn’t that what I wanted? I had picked out beautiful furnishings that mirrored my aesthetic. I tried multiple furniture arrangements. Artwork. Air-cleansing plants. Table lamps with warm light were added to cancel out the cold vapor light from the large shared room, but nothing was working. It still felt horribly WRONG. No matter how inviting I made my space, it was the rest of the space outside my office that was the problem. Perhaps my Muse was acting out like an ill-treated lover, sacrificing itself to make me so uncomfortable that I would be brought to my senses when it finally committed suicide. The day I met my Muse I could make out its scratchy outline, but just barely. The poison air in the office was tearing at its delicate lungs. Every raggedy breath echoed this is not where you’re supposed to be.
Since then I have been through more than a few changes and have navigated around many icebergs. I left that day job. I did some freelance work. I jumped in full-time with the wine education business that my husband and I own. And for the past several years, my fifth studio was a shared space with that business. It was bright and clean and once again I had my own sink, but other life obligations had to be prioritized. Thankfully the Muse stayed, but respectfully took to riding in a child-approved car seat in the back. I gave it enough attention to let it know I cared about it and wanted it to grow up big and healthy, but guilt-given lollipops will only go so far. When COVID came around it changed many things and my husband and I decided to let go of the wine-classroom-office-art shared space. I found myself on the studio hunt again.
Which brings us to studio number six. I am now in the Dow, an old warehouse in St. Paul that has been converted into studios. It feels good to be back in a true artist’s building, and it’s much closer to home than the NE Minneapolis studios were. But the most important thing is that this studio felt right right from the beginning. I looked at quite a few potential studio buildings before taking this one, and once again I let that energy guide me. All had the potential to be OK, but this one just made my Muse dance! Sure, it was dirty and unfinished and it took me all summer to mud and tape the sheetrock and paint the walls (all 12 feet high of them) but now I have the perfect amount of space, great light from large windows, no drips, no dust, and a place for my Muse to call home again.
My Muse has been more than patient with me throughout this journey. It led me to the first studio where I could spread my wings as a young artist and begin my career. It led me to a bigger building at a time when I needed more exposure and better working conditions. It guided me away from a too-expensive studio to one that was just right. And when I landed in a studio and a job that were not right for me, it stopped showing up. Not because it was truly abandoning me, but because that was the only way it could get my attention. The last few months have been very productive for me and I feel myself getting back into the swing of things, picking back up where I left off from a moment that seems both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. Just me and my Muse. And let me tell you, SHE IS HAPPY. Because even on the bad days, once again I am showing up. I am showing up ready to work with her. I am doing my part, and she can do hers.