If I were to come up with a metaphor that best describes my artistic process, I would refer you to the Greek legend of Orpheus. For those unfamiliar, the basic story goes that Orpheus was quite the musician – he was astute at the lute. It was said that his skills mesmerized all living and immortal things.
So ol’ Orphie is in love with a gal named Eurydice and all is going swimmingly. One day, their wedding day, trouble came a-knockin’. She danced through a meadow to celebrate the nuptials when a slithery black viper bit her, killing her instantly. This, of course, sent Orpheus into a tailspin. In grief and despair, he sang and played the tunes that move the gods. So moved, in fact, that the gates of the Underworld were opened so that he could retrieve her. The god of the afterlife, Hades, agreed to free her, but only if, upon their exit, they walked single file, Orpheus in front, and Orpheus could not look back. For a while, he obliged, but doubt and fear that Hades had deceived him plagued his mind. Sure enough, he turned around… and poof, she was gone. He returned home with a sad face.
Okay, so what does this have to do with my artistic process? For me, working in the studio is never easy. It is always an intimidating venture, no matter how many times I do it, no matter how seemingly simple the task. For me, it feels like I am descending into unknown and hostile territory. Like Orpheus, I feel as if I must charm the guardians of the underworld with my skills and then convince them to give me something precious. The precious thing, in my case, is something artistic, both unique and inspirational. After arduously convincing the Underworld inhabitants (the subconscious) to release my Eurydice, I must bring it back to the physical world. And like Orpheus, who had to navigate the underworld’s bureaucracy to retrieve his love, I often find myself tangled in a web of art supplies, trying to negotiate with my inner demons for a stroke of inspiration. It’s like a cosmic game of ‘Let’s Make a Deal,’ except instead of Monty Hall, it’s me and my muse trying to strike a bargain over a cup of coffee in the studio. As for the turning around… well… for my metaphor, I always equated this with the fact that no matter how many pieces of art I make, I am never content. I feel like I missed something. So I return again and again.