Whatever happened to the Muse? She was once the female figure — deity, Platonic ideal, mistress, lover, wife — whom poets and painters called upon for inspiration. Thus Homer in the Odyssey, the West’s first great work of literary art: “Sing to me of the man, Muse, of twists and turns driven time and again off course.” For hundreds of years, in one form or another, the Muse’s blessing and support were often essential to the creation of art.
Poets stopped invoking the muse centuries ago — eventually turning instead to caffeine, alcohol and amphetamines — but painters, musicians, and even choreographers have celebrated their actual female inspirers in their work up until recent times. And now, we learn, having a muse isn’t a benefit restricted to artists.
According to a recently opened exhibition at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, “The Model as Muse: Embodying Fashion,” the muse lives on as the fashion model who inspires masses of women to dress in ways that capture the spirit of the age. With all due respect to the Met’s curators — and to the alluring fashion photographs that now grace the museum’s walls — such a definition of the muse would have made traditional muses run for the sacred hills.
The original muse could not have been further from an exemplar of style. Her function was not to inspire imitation, but to create new insights and new artistic forms. She was effectively invisible, a gust of divine wind that blew through the human vessel lucky enough to be graced by her attention.
In ancient times, the muse was a divinity, daughter of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory. At first, there were three muses, then the Greek poet Hesiod expanded their number to nine: Calliope, Clio, Euterpe, Erato, Terpsichore, Thalia, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Urania. It was the bureaucratic Romans who assigned a particular function to each muse: Terpsichore was the goddess of dance; Thalia, of comedy; Melpomene of tragedy and so on.
They were benign, helpful beings, who — according to Hesiod — approached a deserving poet and conferred on him three gifts: a laurel branch to use as a sceptre, a “wondrous voice” with which to sing his verse and knowledge of the future and the past. Still, they could be cruelly protective of their ethereal turf. When a Thracian poet named Thamyris challenged the nine muses to a singing contest and lost, they blinded him and struck him dumb. Legend has it that the Sirens, no mean crooners themselves, also tried to compete with the muses. They too were defeated and, as a result, lost their wings and fell into the sea.
… the article continues, of course, and there’s an interesting little slideshow of Muses through the years (including a well-known daughter of a certain Greek dictionary compiler) …
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