Why every woman needs a muse

I chanced upon my first muse when taking Argentine tango lessons. He was a dancer - tall, quiet and not a looker. Tango is slow and very close - danced chest-to-chest - and requires such attention it rendered my man mute. Which I soon discovered was ideal. A muse must be a blank canvas for you to imagine what you want him to be.

If you could do with more inspiration in your life, I heartily recommend you find a muse.

Traditionally they have been the preserve of male artists, who sought female muses.

Think Elizabeth Siddal, who was a muse for Pre-Raphaelite painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and later John Everett Millais (she modelled for his famous 1852 painting Ophelia).

Ophelia by John Everett Millais (Tate)

Or photographer Lee Miller who was a muse of Man Ray (and lover; the two things often go hand-in-hand). Edie Sedgwick was the muse of Andy Warhol (and briefly Bob Dylan).

While Zelda Fitzgerald shaped many of the female characters in her husband’s F Scott Fitzgerald’s works. And actress Catherine Deneuve was a long-time muse for fashion designer Yves Saint Laurent.

But as I found when writing my debut novel, Rembrandt’s Mirror, a muse can unlock a woman’s creativity too.

Zelda and F Scott Fitzgerald (Rex)

What you’re looking for is a man (the opposite sex seems to work much better somehow) on to who you can project all the emotion of your characters, the twists and turns of your plot and who will do whatever you wish to inspire and motivate you through the creative process.

They might become the framework for a character, a model for a painting, or just a crutch.

It’s like a love affair – an obsession that burns brightly (and hopefully chastely) before being extinguished as your artistic endeavour draws to a close.

Catherine Deneuve was a muse for Yves Saint Laurent

There have been male muses in artistic history, too. The newly opened Barbara Hepworth exhibition at London's Tate Britain reveals how the sculptresses husband, Ben Nicholson, became an all-encompassing source of inspiration for her. While painter Frida Kahlo was inspired by her artist husband Diego Rivera.

You could be too. So here are a few rules, which will help you in achieving and maintaining the perfect relationship with your muse.

Rule 1: You want what you want

If he’s tall and lean and you like them short and pudgy don’t hesitate to hurt his feelings and let him go. You want what you want.

It needn’t be physical allure, as long as there is something you adore about them; maybe he has understanding eyes, or a quirky mind. I once had a muse who was an actor; decades older than me, with a mop of wiry hair and a clunking array of bracelets on his arms. Not an Adonis.

He was prepared to act out any scene I was stuck writing. This continued for months, resulting in many a great page of fiction until one fateful Sunday I suggested we play a pair of neurotic lovers who had agreed to never do more than touch each other’s hands. We did this for hours. If only I’d known the rules then…more later.

Rule 2: Nurture your obsession

You must now nurture your appreciation until it grows into the uncontrollable, unhinged fixation that you want it to become. It’s the fire that makes your artistic endeavours possible.

Even while in conversation with your best friend about her children’s refusal to even go within two feet of beetroot, you must keep him alive in your heart. You know you’ve succeeded when you think of your muse even when you’re sitting on the loo.

Congratulations, you are now in the danger zone.

Rule 3: Negotiating danger

Sometimes muses notice this attention and are foolish enough to return what they think is your genuine affection. This is not what muses are for. But you can guard against such an eventuality by choosing a man who’s unavailable.

Married ones are good. Priests are not bad either. But best of all are commitment-phobes. Bingo, you are in safe hands. Priests and married men might be capable of human feeling, but there is no such danger with a guy whose only secure attachment is with his sports car.

So, if you have taken every possible precaution and still your muse starts making advances?

The most important rule of all applies...

Rule 4: Never ever, not once, consummate your relationship with your muse

But why? What about those male artists, didn’t they have lovers? That may be so but life is much longer these days and broken hearts can take years to mend. Yes, it can be creatively productive but it is also rather unpleasant.

So if you find yourself tempted by your muse think of the following:

• Imagine a copy of your novel or collection of poems on your book-shelf. It is a beautiful tangible object. It has longevity. You can show to your grandchildren (although, of course, you may never have any if you follow my advice)

• Meditate on the futility of wasting precious hours cavorting with your muse when you could be writing, painting or sculpting

• Ponder that that your creativity will become enslaved to urges like ‘wanting to make the relationship work’

• Think about what your muse might write on social media.

And if you really want to know what happened with my acting muse? There we were, in his lounge, practicing for the umpteenth time just how the lovers would be holding hands when one of us said ‘I think it is time for lunch.’

We shuffled further apart on the sofa, resumed our normal voices to discuss where to go. And that’s when our hands returned to their habitual caresses as if they had a will of their own. We sat there, our plain old selves, unable to prise our hands apart.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must help myself to the contents of the fridge while I wait for him to call.

Just occasionally, it seems, the roles can be reversed.

Kim Devereux's novel, Rembrandt’s Mirror will be published on 6th August by Atlantic Books.

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