It is the signature of any great art form that it enjoy some degree of persecution at its inception. That which cannot challenge convention and rouse the unthinking into fervor is almost in principle not an artistic craft. Over time, of course, we come to accept such forms of expression as the natural byproduct of an ever-changing world, and almost never is an art form, once first practiced, stifled.
In this regard it must be said that musery may well be the first exception to this rule, and that is of course only if one accepts it as a craft to begin with. It is a most contentious thing; its supporters champion it as the first truly universal art, that which can effectively be practiced by all. Its detractors decry it as vociferously as the devoutly religious may speak of the nonbeliever. To one perhaps familiar with this friction, but not entirely learned in the pursuit itself, it may do well to provide a brief history of musery, from its earliest aspirations to even now, as the Muse Games come to their close. The turn of the 19th century brought with it few new forms of tragedy, though the manner in which it distributed sorrow and tension is of an unprecedented sort. War; disease; poverty. The advent of incredible technologies, and their subsequent usage for destruction and surveillance. It was a time of such great anxiety that even the most traditional forms of art—music, literature, the visuals acts of painting and sculpting—seemed themselves imbibed with the collective hypersensitivity of those generations which met difficulty after difficulty without chance for respite. Yet in certain pockets around the world, a few artists here and there elected to remove themselves from what they considered to be a tainted exposure to their dreary environment, choosing instead to draw their inspiration from the more pure source that their ancestors had, that which may be the only thing that can be said to exist independent of the world—a single human being. One needn’t go as far as back to the Muses of the ancient Greeks to understand that the purpose of musery is to stir something within an artist that had already been present, but lied so dormant within them that it required seeing themselves through the eyes of another to find it. The Muses of mythology were the embodiments of artistic instruction. The first examples of modern musery materialized in a different form. They were often young women of noble birth, themselves fascinated by the arts but with no formal training, spending their leisure with those creators simply to peruse their work and enjoy their company, often failing to realize or perhaps completely grasp the role that their presence played. They were rarely asked explicitly to do something, were seldom paid (and if they were, the payment went to their fathers) and aside from developed affinities during the course of the art, they were virtually interchangeable. It seems remarkable, does it not? That with barely more than a century between them, the act of serving as a muse has evolved from one of unintentional collaboration to a governed practice the likes of which result in a practice as remarkable as, say, Madame Boulevergne’s School of Musery and Allure? But therein lies the controversy--the aggressive opposer insists that schools such as Madame Boulevergne’s have simply applied societal pressures and norms to what had once been a divine act; that they espouse rigidity, reflect on civilization’s failings, and above all else, impinge on the rights of those students in, to quote a few, an ‘oppressive and toxic’ manner. To the first two accusations, there is perhaps no end to the interpretations that might be had, but to the final one, there is a very practical question at hand. To what extent might musery be seen as a subservient act? Do parents who enroll their children in such schools, even those as fine as Madam Boulevergne’s, condemn them to lives of subjugation? What takes place in such establishments, that makes them so different from those programs that teach music and dance, or any other skill or trade? The curriculum is, of course, an immediate difference. Though it varies by program, one can expect tutelage in many of the conventional areas of self-presentation; posture, elocution, proper dress. At first glance a school of musery may not seem so different from one of etiquette, though the coursework gradually develops into that which is more, many would say, abstract in their purpose. Poise, grace, composure—these attributes and more are among the most difficult to bestow and sharpen, let alone assess. And what do such classes entail, specifically? Musery is a very unique art; its efficacy is measured by the ability to stir the creativity of others, not by what it itself performs. And so a great deal of time and effort is allocated towards teaching students how to be inspiring, how to present themselves in the most unadulterated manner, to behave in a way that is ostensibly carefree and void of effort despite being, in fact, immensely controlled. The latter years are of instruction are dedicated to effectively shattering those rigorous rules that were first learned. For instance, having previously been taught proper posture, they are then educated in how to properly present flaws in their form, how to add unfiltered, idiosyncratic flares that help distinguish them from others. Schooled properly, the final product is among the most curious and beautiful paradoxes in this world—the untrammeled automaton, the decorous bohemian. It is a being the likes of which is so natural and pure that if it existed in any other context would be frenzied and unmanageable, feral even, but can now be harnessed and channeled. And most importantly, it to any artist serves as a stimulant and masterpiece both. It is impossible to acquaint oneself to the art of musery, however, and not feel some sense of discomfort. Upon learning how one becomes a muse, it is natural to next seek to know what purpose a muse serves, how they perform their duties, what emphasis is placed on their role. It can only be said that musery in this regard is as varied as any other occupation. As they near graduation, newly-trained muses are sought out or recruited by artists who seek their inspiratory effects, and often, these pairings are arranged by the schools themselves, the organizers of which are typically more than capable of producing a constructive and successful match. From their, muses enter into a period of contractual companionship with the designated artist, and take on their roles as among the most cherished members of the artistic community. What sorts of tasks do they perform? It depends heavily on the artist and their requirements. Sometimes, it is simply to sit still for as long as is required to produce a portrait. Other times, they may be engaged in a conversation the likes of which might spark an idea for a narrative work. It is a recurring technique of many great poets to simply require nothing at all, to merely observe their muse’s day-to-day activities, that they might imbue such simplicity and ordinariness into their work. Whatever they are instructed to do or not to do, a muse does, and the most capable muse is often the one that is most intentionally unaware of what is required of them. To the insipid, or even merely one uninitiated with musery’s aesthetic value, there is an immediate reaction of consternation to these descriptions, one that often focuses around a single term--slavery. But do slaves enjoy the fruits of their master’s labors? Or receive appreciation for their talents? Obedience and slavery are not tantamount. Yes, muses are definitionally obedient, but no more so than any laborer who must “obey” the rules of their employer, even when it means sacrificing some elements of privacy or control. And for the muse, of course, it is an artistic act to be a muse in and of itself, and so it is a testament to one’s dedication to the craft when they, for the sake of their work, compromise some level of comfortability. So yes, a muse does whatever is required of them to ensure that art is made, and that includes the disagreeable, or the bizarre, or even the sexual, sometimes even all three. One would be remiss to not at this point address what has long been held as a criticism against musery and institutions such as Madam Boulevergne’s. There is a definite an inescapable reality that the demographics of musery do not coincide with the universality that it advertises. It has been observed that more than three quarters of all graduates are female, and that more than two-thirds of those are enrolled by those who do not possess the funds to send their children to a program that confers a more traditional skillset. And so while the elite muses will sometimes come from esteemed families with long lineages of the trade and of great reverence in the artistic community, the average muse will have undergone their training under somewhat more tenuous conditions. The problem is compounded when one considers that those schools that attempt to make themselves more accessible and welcoming often fail to produce premier muses, who will then struggle to find work later in life. Schools such as De Rochford’s, for example, pride themselves on their large admittance rate of male prospects, though has yet to produce a single muse that has taken part in the Muse Games. The result is that there are accusations of musery being a form of entertainment trouncing civility, and several core questions about the practice continue to arise: exactly what sorts of rights does a muse have once they have been legally labelled as such? And to what extent might an artist be forced to censor, or even diminish their work, to meet such requirements? Take, for example, the case of Lysandre Labissière—the first place prize-winner of the most recent Muse Games, whose victory has prompted the recent bout of controversy to which this monograph pertains. If one was not previously acquainted with the name, Labissière’s story is an edifying one. His success was far from auspicious; his family is one tainted by dysfunction and tragedy. His grandfather perished fighting in the Great War, and his grandmother soon after due to illness and grief both, leaving his young mother in the care of distant relatives across the country. There, she took up with a cousin, and Lysandre was born. His mother—then only fifteen—was subsequently removed from the care of the family, and found herself working at a flour mill for the next six years, where she was provided housing for she and her child both. Sadly, she died from work-related injuries, and Lysandre was adopted out by the aunt of one her fellow workers. The woman, herself an older widow, had been a piano teacher. It was she who introduced Lysander to the craft. Now, one should take note that Lysandre’s upbringing hardly brought him any standing within the musical sphere. That he was the first musician that his family could boast meant that he had a difficult time connecting with his peers, and indeed, his modest means led to accusations that his primary ambition was monetary gain. And yet, he managed to secure a recently registered muse from Madam Boulevergne’s, a young girl who had finished top of her class despite graduating a year early. At nineteen and eighteen years old, respectively, Lysandre and his muse were the youngest dyad to submit to the Muse Games that very next year, and remarkably, they finished in second place, Lysandre’s recital having stirred the crowd and judges alike into a raucous throng of joy and energy. While he failed to claim the top prize, many commenters agreed that it would not be long before such a triumph occurred, many speculating that he might be the youngest in history to do so. Yet such predictions did not come to fruition. Three more Muse Games passed—six years in total—and Lysandre and his muse finished in second, second, and then third place. His agitation apparent, his muse was consequently dismissed, and she has allegedly never recovered from the failures herself, struggling to find companions since. Labissière, however, vanished from the public eye completely, even missing the next iteration of the Games in doing so. It was an immense shock to artists and the general population both when he announced his return after three years of relative silence, though of course, this was partially aided in the media attention surrounding his new muse—the famed Tokemi Akoyoto, and if one is not familiar with that name, then for shame, for she is among the most celebrated muses of our time, having thrice mused for Game winners (the only to do so with three different artists, no less) and is easily the most successful muse to hail from Akademia Souzojutsu, the most prestigious school of musery not in Europe. Thought to have retired more than a decade prior, Labissière’s announcement that he had recruited her and was in the midst of developing a concerto with her involvement caused quite the stir, and he was the heavy favorite leading in to the next tournament. What happened next you almost certainly know, as one can hardly refer to the recent events surrounding Labissière without its inclusion, but the minutiae of it bears divulging. Obviously, Labissière performed to lukewarm reception, and eventually finished in 9th place, the lowest of his (and certainly Akoyoto’s) career. Akoyoto herself was criticized, her legacy tarnished, and the two of them reportedly have barely spoken since. What most people do not know, however, is that Labissière had funneled almost all of his life’s earnings into the development of the piece, having went so far as to have equipment and supplies airlifted to the top of Mont Blanc, where he organized a three-day campaign to construct his composition in the beauty of the mountain’s peak. He reportedly had Akoyoto dance and sing precariously at the edges of the acme as he worked, in frigid temperatures no less, believing that the danger and stress would arouse him to assemble a frenetic piece as harsh and arduous as only a death-defying venture to the top of a mountain could. That the concerto finished so poorly at the Games was thus only a portion of the disgrace; the larger blemish was in that those of his peers familiar with this strategy saw the entire ordeal as the death throes of a once-precocious musician, whose early acclaim had been proven to be more a fluke than anything else. The stage is now set for the most recent arc of Labissière’s story, the very same that has ignited our discussion. Thoroughly embarrassed by his last showing, and now facing accusations of having attempted to purchase glory, Labissière returned to Madam Boulevergne’s, hoping to use whatever influence he had left to procure a muse that might help him to produce a piece that could reclaim the veneration he had just barely tasted as a young man. Though turned away, he was directed to the school’s waitlist, where he encountered a girl who had previously been accepted to the program but had been forced to drop-out due to monetary constraints, and whose parents were in the midst of trying to resubmit her application. Labissière paid to have her home-schooled by an accredited acquaintance to whom he was still friendly, the graduation itself was expedited, and with only two weeks to the next Muse Games, he had the girl registered as his muse. Four days later, she was reported dead, having been roused from her sleep in the middle of the night and bludgeoned to death with a steel rod. Whether it was always Labissière’s intention to use the girl as he did, or if his decision to kill her came after a period of other attempts to utilize her inspiratory abilities, we cannot know, as that information is protected by the Le Franz Act, which of course permits artists to refrain from divulging the secrets of their creative processes. Whatever the case, Labissière’s performance at the next Muse Games proved to be one for the ages. Entitled “Ode to a Gnat”, the four-minute piano solo somehow managed to encompass all of the feelings of sorrow, remorse, and indeed, even supremacy, that could only be conjured after having taken another human's life. The audience wept, the judges rose to their feet and applauded, themselves tear-stricken, and the next two days of exhibitions were considered all but formalities, for Labissière had been the clear winner the moment that he’d risen from his seat to bow. At this juncture it is important for those who have not witnessed an award ceremony to understand that while opponents of the Muse Games often use the ritual as an example of the aforementioned 'muses-are-slaves' idea, the reality is far more nuanced. At a cursory glance it does seem to be the case that the artist is placed higher than their muse, as it is only technically the artist that receives the commendation, that of the Sock & Buskin Ribbon, and it is pinned to them by the muse no less. But the gesture carries great symbolism to it, for just as it was the muse that gave the artist the gift of their inspiration, so do they have the distinct honor of bestowing their token of shared credit. It is in itself a performance, a rare glance into a private world, a moment wherein the audience has the opportunity to see firsthand just how necessary the muse is to the entire undertaking. If one needs to any convincing of the matter, look no further than that very award ceremony, for the exact moment that opponents of musery and the Games have clung to as an attestation of its wickedness is, in fact a boon in favor of the art. Obviously, the winning muse was not in attendance. Who then, pinned the ribbon to Labissière? Why, it was no other than her mother of course! Weeping as the encomium took place, when it finally came time to present the ribbon, the girl’s mother—who herself had aspired to be a muse in her youth—attached the decorative fabric to Labissière’s body and then gave him a warm hug, thanking him for having given her daughter the gift of everlasting distinction. Now I ask, dear reader, does that seem ‘oppressive’, or ‘toxic’, to you?
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
About MeVekin87 is the author of the Albus Potter Series, a 7-book continuation of the J.K Rowling's Harry Potter books. The Things I Write While You're Asleep |
Photo used under Creative Commons from verchmarco