The muse

“I quit!” Steve’s yell echoed through out his apartment, for years he had been working on his artwork wanting to make the leap from hobby to profession, but the endless stream of rejection had driven him to his limit. His eyes shimmering with tears he looked around the room, the walls were covered in what he believed to be his best work, which he hung up for himself to enjoy after each piece failed to sell. What use to make his heart soar now made it fill with despair, after all his hard work, after having poured his soul into these paintings, and yet he still had not sold a single one. As the sun set outside and the shadows started to spread across the room, he sat, unmoving, letting the darkness envelop him. It felt fitting to watch the last of the light leave the sky outside, just as the hope for his dreams left him. Just when the darkness was so that he could no longer see he popped up to his feet and began ripping his work off the walls, throwing them out the window, in the garbage, across the room. His apartment had become a war zone, he was tearing through it like a tornado, bent on maximum destruction, until all that was left unscathed was his latest and final piece. His hand stretched out, ready to deliver this final piece to hell along with the rest of his disappointments, and then, as if divine intervention, the phone rang.

“Hello?” answered Steve “of course I’ll be there soon” hanging up the phone, Steve took a deep breath, steadying his emotions, he looked at the mess he had made and deciding it was a problem for another day he got himself ready to head out. His boss’s call had reinforced his belief that it was all over, time to give up. Being asked to come into work now, when he was feeling that his dream of being a professional artist was clearly over, felt like the final nail in the coffin. He composed himself, determined to move on with his life. Walking to the door, he glanced back once before leaving his past behind and walking out into the evening.

The warehouse was a fast-paced place, that didn’t allow much time for reflection, which Steve was grateful for tonight more than ever. Whenever he had a moment to think he was plagued with images of his creations, broken and scattered over the floor, an eerie graveyard of his failures. As he worked, lifting boxes and pulling palettes his mind numbed, he sweat out his negativity, feeling lighter as the night progressed. When the buzzer went off signaling the end of shift, he trudged out, tired and sore but detached from his emotions, allowing him a moment of respite. He followed the rising sun home, focusing only on his aching body, the steps between him and his apartment, so that when he got home he was ready to find his bed and slip into much needed unconsciousness.

Steve swung open the door to his apartment, stealing himself for the disaster waiting for him…but wait, what happened. The room was clean, his mess cleared, the surviving art had been hung back on the walls, and his final, latest piece stood in the middle, as if on display. “SURPRISE!” Claire stood there, a tentative smile on her perfect lips, the orange glow of the sunrise caressing her exposed skin. She walked to him, deliberately, taking his hands in hers and gazing into his eyes. “You can do this Steve, I believe in you, I always have. I don’t know what happened yesterday, but it is in the past and I never want you to give up on your dream again.”

As the sun flooded the last corners of the room, he felt emotions flooding back into his heart. Not the hurt and despair he had felt last night, but a renewed hope. His pain ebbed, making room for the faith Claire had in him. Staring into each others’ eyes, Steve felt the purest form of inspiration he had had all week, realizing that what he had been missing was his muse. The one who had stood by him through it all, who had encouraged him and pushed him to continue chasing his dream, and just like that he knew what he needed to do. Holding Claire’s face in his hands he leaned in slowly, his love for her so clearly displayed in his eyes, he kissed her deeply. Sinking into the kiss, all of his pain, his exhaustion his and heartache, evaporated, leaving him feeling light as a feather and ready to keep fighting for his art.

Steve walked over to his canvas, staring at it now, so full of genuine inspiration he could see in his minds eye exactly how he would finish his piece. Looking back at Claire one more time, he picked up his brush and he painted. Never had he been so in touch with his art, as if possessed his hands seemed to reach for the colors, choosing which brush strokes and whereas if of their own accord. All day he painted, when he was done with one piece, he moved onto an another, his mind had been unblocked, so clear was it to him exactly what he was meant to do. A story unfolded in his artwork, his paintings evoked emotion, love and lust, respect and joy, family and friendship. His artwork had always been beautiful but now it spoke to the soul, now he was on another level and he knew in his heart that these paintings would make his dreams come true.

It wasn’t long that he started receiving offers from galleries wanting to display his newest pieces. He was now making business decisions about where he wanted to sell his art and to whom, for how much. Steve felt on top of the world, he had done it, he had made his dreams come true and nothing could stop him now. And so, he made one more decision. Making his way to the warehouse where he spent most of his nights, he felt so sure, so confident in his future he had absolutely no trouble walking in and exclaiming “I quit!”