My mistress calls
In no uncertain terms
Not a voice to be ignored,
Though it is less a voice than a niggling nagging idea
She has been patient
More than patient, she says pointedly
But now it is time to start.
Not a question
Not a pleading
Not even a command, for commands may be disobeyed
No, it is something more ancient
From the very depths of the universe
Has she been patiently waiting since McCubbin finished here?
And Arthur Streeton - did she demand of him?
She has found me, although she has been whispering to me my whole life
And so it begins
A creating done at the hand of the mistress who will not be appeased
Not for a second
Until the work is done
And she will say when it is done, not I.
They used to say one HAD a muse, living in the walls.
Living with you, as an artist.
It is like that.
I do not expect you to understand.
It is an ancient reckoning….