What Is Your Source of Inspiration?

Is it music? Is it art? Is it nature?

Is it the way a delicate vine curls itself innocently around the cold, hard, black bar of a guarding iron fence? Is it the way the white sunlight twinkles along the ripples of the turquoise lake? Is it the way a silently graceful ballerina contorts her body in an artistic array of angles and space as she twirls? Is it the musty scent of an old, loosened book whose tattered pages have been turned many times before to the point of frailty?


Is it the thoughtful expression on a stranger’s face as they’re contemplating a silent, but powerful idea in their mind.

Or the way an accomplished athlete stands strong as the curves of their muscles paint their body, and the sweat tracing along their jawline.

For me, my source of inspiration comes from the tiny details of life to the wonderful masterpieces of human intelligence – a variety of things, so to speak. I seek inspiration in the use of color, pattern, and emotion in various works of art. The way the rain looks on the surface of a window. The way I can actually feel when a certain part of a song captures my soul and flows through my veins, taking me to a part of myself that I wish I could reside in forever. That one romantic ballad. That one powerful guitar riff.

The way a spooky ghost story makes me feel like running or looking all around me in hope that I am not alone, and that there are instances of the unexplained. The sound of a hooting owl among the trees. The way silk feels on bare skin. The warm, rising steam as it swirls away from the surface of a cup of tea. Photographs of our wondrous anatomy; cardiac vines, cephalic hills and valleys, the twists and turns of the tunnels of the Viscera. The artistic genius behind the making of the colors of nature – God. 

Certain colors: aquamarine, emerald green, midnight blue, lavender, blood red, rosette mauve – jewel colors. 

The luxuriously strong, yet warm smell of coffee, a pinch of cinnamon. Twinkling of stars, millions of miles away in space unknown. That wonderful sound in one’s voice as they are describing something they’re passionate about; or even yet, the sound of one’s voice when they take an honest interest in what you are saying. A light, perfumed scent of a summer rose. A microscopic, individual design of a winter snowflake. Gothic spires, Romanesque arches, Second-Empire mansards. Swing dancing: so fun and so spirited. The light, reverberating purrs of a contented cat. My all-time favorite: The little melodies of various songbirds in the spring time.

Life is ugly. Life is also beautiful.  

What inspires you? What things in life are you thankful for that deserve your celebration? What helps you go to the place in your mind in which you feel happiest, away from the dark corners of the world? 

Isn’t it a riddle . . . and awe-inspiring, that everything is so beautiful? Despite the horror. Lately I’ve noticed something grand and mysterious peering through my sheer joy in all that is beautiful, a sense of its creator . . . Only man can be truly ugly, because he has the free will to estrange himself from this song of praise. It often seems that he’ll manage to drown out this hymn with his cannon thunder, curses and blasphemy. But during this past spring it has dawned upon me that he won’t be able to do this. And so I want to try and throw myself on the side of the victor.” – Sophie Scholl


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