I’ve always had a strong sense of fairness when it comes to the people I draw – especially the models who inspired my work. I remember even as a kid, instinctively siding with the girls during playground debates. That tendency stuck. I’ve often gone out of my way to credit the models, even trying to give them more space than the artist usually takes.
And I still believe in that.
Too often, muses get forgotten while the artist receives all the glory.
But over time I’ve started to see the cost of that habit – how sometimes, in trying to elevate someone else, I ended up shrinking myself. I convinced myself that the muse was the story, and that the drawing only mattered because of her.
That kind of thinking makes it harder to listen to my own needs. It entangles the art with the person too tightly. And it creates a loop where I’m not even sure if I’m making the work for myself or as some kind of tribute to the models.
In truth, the model is part of the story. But so am I.
Her courage might inspire a drawing – but it’s my courage to draw something daring and post it.
Her openness might invite me to open up too – but I’m still the one who translates my inner world into art.
I have to keep reminding myself to reclaim that part.
Not in defiance of the muse – but in honor of myself.
