Muse Characters Penelope – the artist Karina – the muse The curtains open on a ramshackle studio, scattered with scraps of paper and half-finished paintings. The focus of the room is an overly large easel, angled away from the audience, and a small artist’s stool beside it. Around this is a small circle of clear, clean space, and beyond it, chaos. Scraps of fabric in a thousand hues of colour litter the floor, and what little space is not taken up by ripped canvases is strewn with paintbrushes. The room is colourful, but faded; the patchwork background is overshadowed by the commanding presence of the easel in the centre. A spotlight shines down on this easel with a soft, golden glow, and the remainder of the studio is dimmed. The impression of a door is given at the side of the room. On the small stool perches the artist. She is in contrast to the room, dressed simply, in all black, and though her gaze is locked on the easel in front of her, her eyes appear slightly unfocused. She holds a paintbrush in one hand, and drifts it over the canvas with long, slow strokes. There is a dream-like quality to her movements, and she sings quietly to herself. Penelope: Oh, what sweet creation, I paint your lips with my desire, Speak of love with every lie, Oh, my sweet beloved…. (Her song drifts away as she continues to paint. From the side of the room, another woman enters, and the lights brighten, spreading their glow. She is dressed simply, yet elegantly in white, and her movements are fluid. A tangle of red hair spirals down her back. She crosses to Penelope’s side, and leans down to kiss the back of her neck.) Penelope: [murmuring] Morning. Karina: Morning. [she tilts her head to study the painting] I like it. Penelope: I thought you would. (Karina drapes her arms over Penelope’s shoulders, a casual intimacy.) Karina: Can we go out today? Penelope: I think it’s best if we just stay here. Karina: [sighing] But we never go out. All day, every day, it’s just you and me and this studio. You spend so much time on your artwork. Don’t you ever want a change? Penelope: I have to spend time on my paintings. You know I like to paint a story, and play with emotions on the page. That takes time. And when I want change, I pick a new colour, change the hue. (She reaches for a palette, and dips her brush in red. Karina stiffens, and moving away from Penelope, begins to pace. A faint red light bathes the room in muted colour.) Karina: [getting angry] #life isn’t a painting! You need to get out of this studio. And I do too. Penelope: I have everything I need right here. Karina: [anger mounting] You’re infuriating! You keep me cooped up in here all day, and I can’t breathe! It’s stifling! All you do is paint, paint, paint, and you expect me to hang around and warm your bed for when you finally decide to take a break! Penelope: [brow creasing] Don’t exaggerate. Karina: I’m not exaggerating! Can’t you see what you’re doing? It’s suffocating. Penelope: [beginning to get annoyed] You’re over reacting. Stop being so bloody volatile. Karina: I’m not volatile! I have every reason to be angry! I need more than this! Penelope: More than what? More than me? Karina: [quietly] Maybe. Penelope: [coldly] Then go! You know where the door is. But think carefully. I can get another muse easily! But you, you’re nothing without me. (Karina’s gaze darkens, and she falls quiet as her anger starts to boil over. At the sudden silence, Penelope glances over towards her, and in seeing her, turns to her palette. She picks a soft, calming blue, and turns to paint.) Penelope: I’m sorry. That was harsh. You know I don’t mean it. Please don’t be angry. You were over exaggerating. (The red lighting changes to a gentle blue, casting shadows like water.) ( Karina pauses for a moment, as if torn, but then seems to deflate. The anger ebbs from her features, and she relaxes, moving closer to Penelope.) Karina: [sighing] I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t have exploded like that. I’m sorry. Penelope: [smiling] It’s ok. Everything’s forgiven. (A faint smile crosses Karina’s face and she perches on the edge of a messy table to fiddle with the various pieces of fabric scattered across it. An easy companionship falls upon the room, and Karina hums softly. Penelope picks up the tune, and begins to sing.) Penelope: Oh, what sweet creation, I paint your hands with my intentions, Speak of faith with every lie, Oh, my sweet beloved… (As her song ends, Penelope glances over at Karina, and pauses thoughtfully. After a moment, she dips her brush into a pale, silken pink, and the room hums with the same shade. Her paintbrush caresses the canvas, and after a few strokes, Penelope lifts her head to see Karina gazing at her. She smiles.) Penelope: [softly] Come here. (Karina crosses to her and they embrace, lovingly. There is a murmur of soft words, and Karina’s mouth moves over Penelope’s shoulder, neck, mouth. They break apart, for a second, and a question is whispered in Penelope’s ear.) Penelope: [breathlessly] Yes. (A smile lights Karina’s face, and grabbing Penelope’s hand, she pulls her towards the door. In their haste, they do not notice the colour palette sat precariously at the edge of the table. They bump into it, knocking the palette and sending colours flying. Multi-coloured dabs of paint fall onto the canvas, and Penelope’s eyes go wide.) Penelope: [desperately] No! (She reaches forward, clutching at nothing, the damage already done. Karina backs away, stumbling, and falls to the ground. She begins to scream.) (The room spins in a whirl of different coloured lights; blues, reds, greens, purples, every colour imaginable. Through the chaos, there is the faint image of Penelope rushing to Karina’s side. And then, for a moment, the room goes dark.) (The lights flicker back on, a simple white. Karina is gone. Penelope begins to clear away the split paint. The dream-like look has gone from her eyes, and she appears frustrated. As she cleans, she mutters to herself.) Penelope: Well done, Penelope. Of course you’d manage to muck up the one painting that was going right. Bloody typical. (She crosses to the easel, and picks up the ruined canvas. Looking at it, she sighs.) Penelope: I almost had something with this one. Could’ve made a great story. (She sets the canvas down, away from the mess of paint, and as she does, turns it towards the audience. The painting is marred from the spilt palette, but beneath the splattering, a picture can be made out. It shows a woman, dressed simply, yet elegantly in white. A tangle of red hair spirals down her back.) (Penelope finishes cleaning, and sets a new canvas down on her easel.) Penelope: Ok, time for a new muse. I think I’ll call you Bethany. (She begins to paint, and the lights dim. As the curtains begin to close, Penelope’s voice drifts out.) Penelope: Oh, what sweet creation, Oh, my sweet beloved…

Artemisia Her face slips by too quickly, Too briefly, to grasp the tendrils of past smiles. A thousand dark eyes, identical, Yet so different, stare back at me, Accusing me for forgetting. I'm sorry, I fear I tread too heavily on this fragile remembrance. I can't recall the shade of her hair. Was it the red of autumn's song, Or lighter, sunlight on shadow? Did it shine by the fire, like fire; Amber whiskey down my throat? I can't recall. I can't remember the tone of her laugh. Did it bubble up and pop; champagne, Or was it courser, a husk from the chest? Did she dampen it down; laughter on a leash, Or throw back her head; "Here I am." I can't remember. I can't recall the press of her lips. Did they linger slowly, a blessing, Or take unforgivingly, wild like lightning? Did they part, ever so invitingly, When I showed her how to love, drunk on the essence of us. I can't recall. She is washed out to sea, Drifting away; a quiet drowning. Every moment, every breath drags me further from her; Think too hard and she falls, Sand through my fingers. I'm sorry, I fear I tread to heavily on this fragile remembrance.

Salt-stained Lips My love, now a world away from me, Was once an ocean in suspension, Salt water ran in her veins, Her essence forged on jagged rocks, and now, The curves of her body are an unfamiliar shore. But I sailed those waters once. I marvelled at the glimmer of light that blessed the tip of every wave; A fragile beauty amidst a world of grey. I knew where the waters ran too deep, Too dark; avoid at risk of drowning. My love was gentle and wild, All at once; a contrast in shades of blue. Her salt-stained lips pressed to mine with the taste of wind, And by God, I was lost, Taken by the deep. We were as one, she and I, A sailor and her storm. We made love with the shore-lapping tides, And the raging winds, crashing against rocks. Time stood still in awe of our fury. But she grew too vast, Too wild, untameable in her glory. Her love was too much to bear, And in the end, I was too weak, too human, To make my bed upon the sea.

I Never Knew Love came suddenly, All at once, and much too quickly. Just a tremble in the wind, And her name was once my lips. I never knew a tremble could feel like an earthquake. Until her. She crept up on me, The temptress; she wore desire like a second skin. Enveloped in her touch, Her skin like fire, an ember lingered. I never knew an ember could feel like an inferno. Until her. I waited for her, patient, I knew she would find me. But each hour passed, without her, and I, Left alone, counted each second as it drifted by. I never knew a second could feel like an eternity. Until her.

Letting Go I crave the open sky; A caged bird, I ache for the expanse. Locked tight in gentle longing, The day weeps for my reluctance; "Walk away," it begs. I try to. I try to break the chains, Shatter this desire into nothing, But it fights back. Howling, snarling, A beast stalks through me, And it will not come to heel. I crave the grounding earth, Far adrift, I cannot find its steadiness. Drowning, the beast dines on broken words, And the world weeps for my reluctance; "Forget her," it begs. I try to. I try to block her from my thoughts, Banish the sound of her name, But she haunts me. Whispering, waiting, She tries in drunken confidence to find us peace, But is it even there to find? I crave her lonely touch, And her piercing, harsh refusal. I am awash in a troubled sea, And I weep for my reluctance; "Let go," I beg. I try to. I try to leave her behind, A distant, beautiful shadow, A hollow ghost of past desires. It works, but it hurts, bites, Sinks it's teeth into me and pulls; The beast is breaking loose. Later, she walked by, but the beast had left me, Dragged its claws across my throat. I did not speak, or move, But I wept for my acceptance; "Move on," I urged. I do. I do but I cannot fly, The sky is too wide, The approaching storm roaring, unrelenting. The wild has stolen my voice, stolen her, It has cast off my chains with cruel malice, And it pains me, letting go.