Missing a muse

My early paintings were simply songs for my supper. If necessary I could turn my hand to any subject in order to survive. If I grew weary of painting I turned my attention to other things: build a house, build a boat, sail across an ocean. To paraphrase the words of Henry David Thoreau, My life was the poem I would have writ, but I could not both live and utter it.

All of that changed in the late 1980's when, financially secure but at a creative low point, I sensed the need to express something deeper through my paintings and sculptures. It was then that Sheila, my first muse, entered my life. 

I had known Sheila since her late teenage years and before her early death we worked together on a studio edition of her poems. It was through her poetry that Sheila served as my inspirational muse. Sadly, the only photograph I have of Sheila is one that was printed on the cover of of her memorial service program. 

Sheila Hyndman

Fate can be both cruel and kind. Cruel in terms of depriving me of Sheila but kind in providing me with Alice. Alice worked with me for a year as my studio assistant and model. This time it was my muse's sweet simplicity and unwavering support that inspired and revived me.  

Alice Matthews

Sales and commissions may provide an artist with the means of survival but it is the muse, in whatever form she takes, that provides inspiration and understanding.