Black Bat Records

Alexander Dumas, my favorite writer, beautifully described the relationship with the muse through the character of Benvenuto Cellini in the book The King’s Jeweler. He was certainly not the only one. Greek mythology also dealt with muses, however, it conceived them in a supernatural way. Such a muse seems supernatural when an artist meets her or him in my case. A seemingly ordinary person with extraordinary magic and a single glance awakens such inspiration that the artist does not have time to give form or shape to what sparks in her.

I met my muse, with the fascinating essence of Melpomene, Euterpe and Erato in one, almost 4 years ago. A seemingly ordinary man who sat in a chair and did his work. As if in a haze, when nothing else existed. Time suddenly flowed differently and although that moment would not have been significant in any way, it paralyzed me with fascination. I stared intently at those eyes, and if I didn’t have a respirator on, I would have been seen staring with my mouth open. There was peace inside me, my brain stopped its endless rush, and there was silence. Something moved in that silence. I couldn’t look away. As if I wasn’t there at that moment and only the object of my creative awakening passion existed. Apparently, I was out of place watching every fascinating movement, the depth of those eyes, and that moment was etched in my memory, as if it had been carved into an eternal stone with sacred writing.

Every composition and every painting since then has been just a desperate attempt to capture that expression and capture what happened at that moment and in every other moment of our meeting. An untouchable muse. As if one was afraid that with a single touch it would melt away, or make that magic disappear. That creative, inexhaustible movement of the deepest core. Every time the same. The endless rush in my head stops, like the sea calming down after a wild storm and is like a calm, motionless mirror. Nothing else exists, only my muse. The only moment in my being when there is no other place I would rather be and there is no past or future. Just pure, bare existence. Its power is truly supernatural, because there is no way to stop my head. Before, I only rested from endless thinking and analysis in a full anesthesia. Before, for me, the muse was just a concept on the pages of a book and in Greek mythology.

And so began my passionate pursuit to express the inexpressible. To capture those monumental moments with my muse, when every attempt to immortalize that expression and express that atmosphere in music and lyrics is led astray by the sheer and pure perfection of something that cannot be expressed either in music or on canvas. And so a single work is not good enough, because that fleeting moment can only be experienced and is so rare that it cannot even be expressed by sound. So the artist tries more and more works and cannot be satisfied. The muse also has incredible power in that it is enough to think of him in a period of creative darkness and in that moment he will rekindle the inspired passion again and again. How can a person be kissed by a muse if she does not exist at that moment? Will that magic disappear when those supernatural lips touch? Will that fascination go away, or will her work become eternal and her muse an inexhaustible source of creativity? As most texts describe muses in a female body… I met mine in a male one and no words from great books do justice to the muses that one just meets, because nothing from that moment can express what the artist would like to express.