persimmony

by Hermann Hesse. Favorite book. Go read it.

What is inspiration?--elusive. It's completely necessary all the time and yet can't be found most of that time. But I've learned which old rugs and which dusty cabinets in likes to hide behind; and though it's not always lurking under the kitchen sink or in the garden shed, it's always somewhere, waiting to be found. A good friend asked, "what inspires you?" A worthy question. What does inspire me? Abstractness inspires me. Good art. Beautiful lighting, like four o'clock in the afternoon when the sun's backlighting the spring grass and it glows, like midnight when it's pitch black except it's not because the world is lit up from the millions