Where does inspiration come from?

How is that you can stare at an object (like a pool hose) for over 10 years and see nothing other than a pool hose, and then one day you see a ballet where the day before you saw a rudimentary object?


How does that seeing transform itself into a photograph that takes your breath away, a single act that ignites a passion? How does that passion fuel the surge of activity that consumes you every day hence, becoming an obsession?



You are no longer the master of your fate, because you live and breathe by every changing movement of that object. You examine it at least a dozen or more times a day, as the light changes, as the wind blows, as the object wends its way through its busy work. What seems like a single heartbeat has passed, and you have collected dozens upon dozens of images, each one both unique and dependent upon the one before it.


And then, one day it is over. It is complete, and you are sated. You view and review the collection, ferreting out the great from the good. Perhaps there is a smile, a moment of contentment, a bit of reflection. There is no forward thought of what is next: you just appear to be floating, waiting for the current to carry you somewhere else.


You notice a group of birds perched on a telephone pole. You see an image in your mind’s eye, a singular graphic representation of the confluence of natural beauty and a man made construction – and it resonates, and the process begins anew.


You follow the birds, learn their patterns and quirks, and what was once a ballet now becomes a symphony, and a glorious one at that. This time it is different. This time it is complex and much more difficult because you are at the mercy of Nature, all of her whims and whimsical moments.



But the passion fuels the obsession more quickly, and time both passes and stands still at the same time – a delightful conundrum. Each photo is a test of your determination to interpret a fleeting feeling difficult to define; the technical aspects are an order of magnitude greater than before, but the challenge is its own reward, the photos are the icing on a cake that you can’t wait to eat and can’t possibly get enough of. The discipline winds its way through several iterations, each more intricate than the one before, each yielding new fruit, and a new piece of a different cake.


Where did this inspiration come from? Where does it go next?


"All things excellent are as difficult as they are rare"

--Spinoza

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