Wednesday, February 6, 2008

The pigment of pain


My inspiration?

It has always been pain.

Not physical pain, but emotional conflict and discomfort.

Without it, I’m a poet without a muse.
A writer without a pen.
A woman without a man.

Because experience proves that only the wrong men can be a true inspiration.

They’re the foil to the beautiful things in life.
They’re the reason a good guy looks so scrumptious.
They're the answer to the question of "happily ever after."

An answer that can be painted in amusing and elaborate ways.

And so my canvas remains blank in times of happiness.

A white surface whose shine only reflects tiny textured bumps waiting to grab onto color, movement, and light.

Time and time again, with paintbrush in hand, I've attempted the masterpiece.

But how can a person find a palette that inspires pleasure… when the only pigment they can see is pain?

3 comments:

Sarah said...

Maybe you just assume that people only want to read about the pain, and that's clouding your inspiration.

But if we can't talk about the good, the great and the best, we aren't being fair.

Anonymous said...

maybe your canvas remains blank not in times of happiness, but in times of numbness.

maybe "happiness" really means to be "without pain", or just "without feeling".

maybe when we think we're "happy", we're really just numb.

and maybe when we think we're "numb" (the emotional connotation), we're really just suppressing the pain. maybe when we say, "i feel numb," we're really saying that the pain can't hurt any more than it does right now, and so we're not actually numb to the pain, we're just used to it.

but when there is no pain, nothing to suppress, nothing to feel, and we truly are just numb, maybe we interpret that as "happiness".

so maybe you're actually numb right now. sans pain. sans inspiration. and happy to be.

maybe we all are, numb and happy for it, a lot more often than we think. maybe we spend most of our lives trying to avoid pain rather than pursue happiness.

life, liberty, and the pursuit of numbness...

perhaps i'm being pessimistic. or pragmatic. or whatever.

but it seems to me, and to chrissie, that "happiness" rarely inspires.

proust would agree with that. i think most of us would.

so what does that say about "happiness"...? (keeping aside the possibility that i could be totally wrong.)

Anonymous said...

I totally agree with the muse. Having been in one exceedingly painful relationship that yield a ridiculously large amount of art work, I'm now in a happy relationship where I'm not getting anything done. And I can't decide which is worse?

Look at Dali and Gala..Picasso and his muse..(forgot her name..but she wasn't his wife...)