So I realize that I have to be the least consistent blogger among Class Sixers. Sorry about that. I’m starting to get sick with whatever has been going around my office for the past two weeks so I’m going to keep this post rather short.
This week Fremantle Headspace sponsored an art exhibit at a local art gallery. The art submissions were from 12 to 25 year olds and the only requirement was that the piece address the theme: “what’s in your headspace?”. The art was just off the charts incredible. There were charcoal portraits done by a class of 12-year-olds and when one of the girls came in to take a picture next to her portrait, I was just amazed that someone so young could do something so intricate.
I felt a little out of place at the event. It was a small gallery and packed so it seemed that no matter where I stood, I was in someone’s way. It was also a bit awkward not really knowing anyone and trying to strike up conversation in close quarters. The more I interact with Australians and more so talk with Australians about Australian culture, the more I am realizing that people really keep to themselves- great if you want privacy, not great for a visiting student in desperate need of friends. (You have to be impressed that I was able to use Australian three times in the span of one sentence. Well you don’t have to be, but I am and would slightly disappointed if you weren’t.)
After the event Sara, the student who was in charge of coordinating it, invited me out to drinks with her and her friends. I decided that it was definitely worth giving up my guaranteed ride home and facing an uncertain travail with either the bus line or walking because I was real need of social interaction. I was definitely a bit of a 10th wheel because the group were all old friends who hadn’t seen each other in months and spent most of the evening catching up. However, it was worth going if only to talk to one of the women there and learn about her life as a muse.
Apparently this young woman had spent time traveling through Germany, England and France and somewhere along the way met an eccentric French artist who fell in love with her. He immediately started calling her his muse and sending passionate love letters in her direction. They would reunite every so often and he would continue his ceaseless flattery. Oh to be a muse and inspire great work. Unfortunately the work got to be popular and the guy developed a massive ego (hard to believe right?) and his letters became less frequent and more disinterested. The moral of the story is that you never know how long you’ll have as someone’s muse. Cherish it.