What makes someone a muse?
Whenever we hear the word ‘muse’, the image of a beautiful woman typically comes to mind. Perhaps it’s Elizabeth Siddal, considered a muse to the Pre-Raphaelites, or Anna Karina, who married Jean-Luc Godard and starred in many of his films, with critics quickly calling her his ultimate muse. From Jane Birkin and Edie Sedgwick to Dora Maar and Pattie Boyd, countless women have been classed as muses first and individuals second.
But what makes a muse? The term implies an effortless and enviable kind of beauty that many would aspire to have and that an artist simply has to capture and immortalise forever. Muses often inspire artists to greatness, and their existence alone influences world-famous paintings, classic songs, and groundbreaking films. Surely muses are a good thing?
There isn’t anything inherently wrong with being someone’s muse, but the identity of a muse can often get lost in translation or misconstrued, becoming just a footnote or a personality-less object in an artist’s (usually male) life. When an artist uses a muse to portray different characters, such as Godard having Karina play a variety of playful or tragic women, the muse becomes easily moldable, their own talents overshadowed by the so-called genius of the artist they inspired.
Instead of a muse being recognised for what it can bring to the table, it is often considered in association with another, and its own achievements are ignored in the process. Siddal was not only a model – which requires intense concentration and, in the case of Ophelia, even caused her to contract pneumonia – but she was also a poet and an artist. Karina might be best known for her roles in Godard’s films like Vivre sa vie and Une femme est une femme, but what about her performances in other movies, like Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s Chinese Roulette or Jacques Rivette’s The Nun, as well as the movies she directed, such as Victoria, and her singing and novel-writing career?
So often, female muses are known for nothing more than their presence in an artwork, and any credit they have in shaping it goes unacknowledged. They become reproducible images rather than fleshed-out people, and it’s not a coincidence that female muses are all the more common than male ones. It has always been easier for men to become creatives, especially professionally, with women instead seen as one-dimensional objects to sculpt into art – but God forbid they try and pick up a paintbrush themselves.
Of course, there are male muses out there; Patti Smith considered Robert Mapplethorpe her muse, while Diego Rivera is often classed as Frida Kahlo’s muse. Yet, in most circumstances, the male muse is also a well-known figure, likely an artist, too. In the art world, a female muse is always at risk of fading into obscurity and becoming a mere idea rather than an individual.
Even in more famous cases, it’s still common to hear people calling a well-established female figure ‘so-and-so’s muse’ before anything else. Birkin is often referred to as Gainsbourg’s muse (or even Hermès), but she was an actor, a musician, an author, a style icon who eventually rebelled against patriarchal beauty standards, and a screenwriter – she was so much more than the French crooner’s partner and mere ‘muse’.
To be a ‘muse’ is to be prepared for your identity and individuality to be sacrificed. This doesn’t necessarily have to be the case if society were more receptive to the idea of women as creative agents who can be both sources of inspiration for an artist as well as active collaborators and artists in their own right. A muse can be anyone, but it is usually a beautiful woman, framed by a male gaze, who people are so quick to overlook as someone with true substance and artistic knowledge. They are assumed to just sit or stand there and be pretty.
Is there a way to make someone your muse without erasing their identity in the process? There is no definitive answer, but the perception of muses certainly has to change if we want to see any progress in the way that women are perceived in the world of art, cinema, and music. Many female artists often choose to make themselves their own muses in a way, like Chantal Akerman or Agnes Varda, who took back power and allowed themselves to be moulded and shaped by their own hands.
When you look at the work of many famous male artists, perhaps think about the role of the muse if one is present. Consider who they were, how they shaped their place in the art they inhabit, and perhaps even research them and see if they were also an artist, too. Chances are, an artist misrepresented or flattened all traces of their muse’s personality in favour of their own ideas, and while this has yielded some undoubtedly great pieces of art, we can’t let these women remain passive objects.
