We have a tendency to romanticize inspiration. By “we,” I mean artists. We praise the days we go on long walks and watch the sun set on a river while standing on a bridge that keeps us from drowning. We experience art, hoping to find enough inspiration to create whatever seed our creative mind deems ready for blossoming. And yet, to claim that we–I–I’ll speak for myself–am inspired by a concrete thing every single day would be a lie. The sun isn’t always out. The art I experience isn’t always inspiring. Does it have to be?
I’m learning how to be at ease with being uninspired. For much of my artistic life, being uninspired has resulted in unending existential questions about talent, or lack thereof, creative ingenuity, or lack thereof. So, a question that I pose for myself is this: how can I maintain a seriousness of purpose and commitment to create, even when I’m uninspired? How can I allow lack of inspiration to be just as valuable to me as an artist and use it as a tool for storytelling?
My imagination is exhausted.