Inspiration is Everywhere
When I was younger, I used to store all my collected keepsakes in cardboard shoeboxes underneath my twin trundle bed. Ticket stubs from the movies and art galleries; history museum pamphlets and paper maps; random cutouts from magazines or newspapers; birthday cards and letters from friends; photos I had taken on disposable 35mm Fujifilm cameras. Two summers ago, my dad decided to sell our old house and downsize to a smaller place with both my sister and I at college. As part of the moving process he asked me to “go through and get rid of all that junk.”
Sorting through the items I had collected over the past two decades, I will admit that most of it appears as junk. But in retrospect, I would argue that I was collecting inspiration. Because at one point or another, I had been compelled enough to keep that item and safely stow it away in one of my shoeboxes rather than dispose of it in the trash. The AMC Entertainment ticket stub for “Perks of Being a Wallflower” isn’t just a worn receipt; it’s a reminder of a cinematic experience that moved me emotionally at one point of time. A cut out glossy piece of paper from a Tiger Beat magazine cover isn’t just a remnant of silly teenage angst; it’s a color sample of bright, saturated colors that I once found stimulating. A random beaded keychain of an elephant I must have purchased on a family trip to the Florida Keys isn’t a waste of babysitting money that I had contributed too easily to the tourist trap; it’s a reminder of an experience that was made magical through its novelty to my fresh eyes.
While I no longer collect random physical items that spark my creativity, I have maintained the habit of building up a collection of things that inspire and inform my work. But digitally, by means of my iPhone. Like every other member of Generation Z, my phone is on me so much that it could arguably be an additional appendage. Whenever I see something that stokes my creativity, I snap a quick picture and add it to my photo album dubbed “Life Inspiration.” A particularly unique Didot typeface on a wall poster I saw while walking to grab a coffee. The pattern of shadows and lines made on the laminate floor of my apartment when the sun comes through half-closed blinds at 5:30 pm. The vintage design on the chalkboard at Trader Joe's advertising peaches on sale. Sometimes, I’m not even aware of what exactly about what I am observing is pushing me to unlock my phone and take a photo. But I’ve learned to trust my gut, and refer back to photos later and view them with a fresh eye.
I also make it a point to save things that I find online and on social media. When I’m on Behance, I’ll save any fonts, textures or color schemes that I find compelling within a collection of mood boards, which function as my modern-day shoe boxes. When I’m on Instagram, I’ll save other artists’ work within different collections to reference back to later. If I see a random ad with compelling art or copy on Facebook or Twitter, I’ll take a screenshot and add it to my photo album “Internet Inspiration.”
The power of intentional observation and immersion is a vital for supporting my own creativity. By doing it every day, not only does it flex and keep my creative muscle in shape, but over time, it builds up a collection of inspiration that I use to inform my future work. I hate cliches, but it is true that inspiration is everywhere - even in the most inconsequential or unexpected places. The key is in keeping your eyes open to it constantly, and saving it when you can.