How hard is it to be an artist. How hard is it to have to chase a cruel and elusive muse, a muse that as soon as she appears vanishes again, leaving nothing but a vague memory of the wonders you could have created. How hard is it to wait day after day without feeling an ounce of inspiration.
But there are times that life, or destiny, offers us a chain to bind the odious muse, to retain her and not let her escape. Each artist is a world and there are some who never manage to capture her against her will, but in my case that chain is the rain.
Every time it rains my muse runs to take shelter under my roof. Every time it rains she huddles next to me on my bed and whispers to me the most wonderful dreams so that I can portray them afterwards. Every time it rains she stays by my side helping me to create without rest.
And that’s why I wonder, why can’t it rain all the time? Why can’t the sun remain hidden while the clouds cry incessantly?
But it is not like that, it doesn’t matter much you want it the rain hardly ever remains as much as you would like to. And as soon as the sun rises my muse fades, she evaporates with those warm and shining rays, leaving me completely alone again.