I've spoken with friends regarding the enigmatic nature of inspiration. (Disclaimer: fully unscientific and completely anecdotal notes ahead.) It seems no matter what medium or media (photography, fiction, method acting), most (or at least the best) work is done with a catalyst, of which there are limitless guises. One friend recently revealed that heartbreak was an amazing fount of inspiration. Other people have experienced profound loss-- of identity, of health, of a loved one-- to find their expression. Some have had to hit the proverbial 'rock-bottom'. Others turn to drugs or self-induced pain. A few have the luxury of unencumbered travel. Some turn inward to dreams or outward to world events.
In a moment of quietude, I mulled it over and determined that for me it wasn't heartbreak proper, but sort of the snail-on-a-straight-razor skirting of it. Likewise, intensely passionate situations--the roiling sea of a new cause (or a new love), the delicate dance of sexual tension, the rage and the raging at things beyond one's control--it is those moments of tracing an exquisite line that make the images coalesce. I suppose that's why although I've not been a reasonable draughtsman for some time, I find the element of line again and again in my paintings. I get the suspicion that my affair with the linear will continue to deepen, so expect some poorly-crafted love prose on the topic soon.