INSPIRATION. Its pursuit and its surrender.
When I started to get interested and immersed myself seriously in the world of photography, I met a person who had dedicated a good part of his life to painting.
Always, in spite of the obvious differences, I perceived painters as colleagues since I met them in exhibitions and conversations. My appearance caught my attention, with a kind and polite way of speaking but with a gesture like defeat, sad and even with a tormented halo. When asked about his work and his route he explained how he had participated in numerous painting exhibitions and even owned the patent for various furniture designs. When I asked him about his current situation regarding the painting, his response suddenly settled the conversation. He ended with a blunt “I was the inspiration”, turned, turned his back and left.
Of course I never knew exactly what he called “inspiration”. A muse or a muse?, a family member?, simply a “momentum” of creativity that had to be like wine left? … could be many things or a combination of them. In any case, I’m sure you could never imagine that someone would analyze so many words that showed such disappointment.
Many years later, doing an advertising course in a well-known university in Puerto Rico, I met one of those professors who live what they do, logically, from the perspective of advertising creativity. After several classes, one day the subject of inspiration appeared and what to do to not lose it, to feed it. Basically invited to read a lot, watch many movies of all time, see many exhibitions, travel, play a musical instrument, ride a balloon if necessary, or embark on an adventure in the style of Indiana Jones.
Later, I met a person very linked to the world of painting and culture. A person without special doubt, who had known some of the great geniuses of painting worldwide. One day, during a conversation he told me that artists are born, they are not made. And what they do … what they do is copy. A memory for that book entitled “Roba como an artista” by Austin Kleon in which he states that nothing is original and that acceptance of influences is better, instructing oneself through the work of others to combine them and create their own path.
Undoubtedly everything influences, day to day is bombarded with all kinds of information that ends up leaving its signature on our behavior. To be original is something as valuable as it is fantastic (some unbeliever will say fanciful), to which we must add being quick to spread it or very opaque, according to the personality of each one.
For me there is a state of grace that when everything happens seems to rise and always coincides when what is done comes directly from the heart. Calculation and learning are important, but they are left aside in this matter. When you do something good, you know that you are doing something good almost instantly, no matter what else. To conserve that state is to work on what you want without looking at anything else, without listening to opinions, without thinking about its possible repercussion. It is a moment in which solitude is the forge where the metal becomes liquid and you can touch it with your hands without burning yourself. Where the absurd is true, logic is deformed and you begin to look like nobody else does.
I understood that inspiration can truly be lost. But I also learned that if you ever felt it, you can recover.
Translation by Google translator.
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