Fight for You

| Six |

2010

There was no denying Muse-Less was a brilliant artist.

From the first moment I had opened the blog page, I was mesmerized.

I scrolled through 62 posts. They were a mix of pencil sketches, oil and watercolour pictures. Mostly sketches of various things, landscapes, animals and objects.
Muse-Less had talent.

I am a true believer that art is personal. Appreciating an art form didn't necessarily mean knowing why the artist created it or understanding their reasoning for any part of it. Each person needed to feel their own emotions towards art, not what they were told to feel.

All of Muse-Less' work had made me feel something. There wasn't one thing I hadn't enjoyed. But there was one series that stood out to me. It was a series of paintings of a woman. She had shoulder length wavy dark hair. She wore the same style dress in each painting. An A-Line dress that stopped just above her knees. She wore a dark pair of heels. Her face had only one feature. A wide smile that that had created a small dimple just below where her right cheek would normally be. No eyes or nose. Only a smile. She was always painted in black and white.

In every painting, she was in a different scene. One painting had her standing on a path with trees lining either side. The path appeared to be covered in water and glistened slightly. The watery path seemed calm. The trees trunks stood strong and solid in the ground. All the leaves were on fire. The red and orange flames dominated the picture as they stretched upward melting into one fiery sky. The woman stood, black and white, with the smile on her face.

In another, the woman was in the middle of a lightning storm. The sky above was a dark purple shade. The clouds looked angry like they were fighting against each other. The ground below sandy like a desert floor, barren and empty. The woman stood, a smile on her face, alone. The white lightning bolts came down around her like long arthritic fingers reaching out to grab her.

One painting had her pictured standing on the shore of a beach. Still wearing the A-line dress and heels. The sun was setting and melting into the horizon. Not a single cloud was in the sky. Small waves were breaking on the shoreline. The scene was beautiful but the woman wasn't facing toward it to witness the magic. She faced me. The same smile on her face and nothing more.

The images were haunting. The woman seemed happy. Her smile was ginormous. It was the kind of smile that made even the coldest heart melt. Yet everything around her evoked feelings of sadness, beauty, rage, fear. It was a complete oxymoron.

The latest post was a sketch of a woman. The point of view was from behind her. She was sitting, her top half naked and what appeared to be a blanket wrapped loosely around her waist. Her arms appeared to be sitting in her lap although, from the point of view, I was unsure. Her hair sat in a loose bun on top of her head. Her head turned slightly to peer over her right shoulder. There was something about the women that felt familiar. This woman did have eyes and a nose. The curve of her back and waist sketched out and rounded in all the womanly places. There was no smile. No dimple. Her expression was sad. She was exposed.

I had no idea who she was. I didn't need to know. She was nameless and often faceless yet I still felt like I knew her.

In my head, this woman was me.