The question I’m asked more than any other is ‘where do you find inspiration?’. It’s one that so many people struggle with, which is probably why it comes up again and again. It happened just last weekend, actually. And as always, I wish I had a great answer. I wish I could say: ‘ah yes, I’m glad you asked, let me tell you the secret…’. But inspiration, I’ve realised, isn’t that simple to explain.
The word itself offers a clue. Inspirare is the Latin root, which means ‘to breathe in’. I love that idea, that inspiration isn’t so much a lightning bolt but a process as natural and regular as breathing. It’s not about being struck by brilliance, but about taking in the world around us, bit by bit, and storing it away in the hope it will be there when we need it later.
And that’s really what I try to do every day. To gradually build a visual reference library in my mind. A jumble of images and impressions gathered day after day. It might be the pattern of a tiled floor, the feel of a door handle, the chair in an airport lounge, even the way a smell wafts from a kitchen to the dining room. I sense; I try to notice. If I can, I take a photo, or at least try to remember where I am so I can come back. Then, I hope, when I’m staring at an empty room and wondering what to do with it, those fragments float back, often in unexpected combinations. And it really does work. Not always, but usually. And I’ve found that gets easier as the years go by, perhaps because I have more reference material to draw upon.
The problem with that kind of slow, accretive inspiration is that it’s not very helpful advice when someone is facing an urgent decision. When they need to choose their kitchen paint colour or bathroom tile, they need inspiration now, the lightning bolt kind, not a suggestion to undertake a lifetime of observation. In those situations, I think what people are really asking when they ask about inspiration is ‘how do I make a decision now?’.
I find myself in that situation all the time too. Because, although I’m slowly building a library, I don’t always have the right reference material stored away. And when that happens, my answer is simple: go somewhere new. Travel, explore, get away from the familiar. That is the great reset button for creativity. The moment you leave your routine, you start to look at the world more closely, and everything becomes a potential idea.
When my husband Will and I renovated our first flat, years ago, we had no idea what we were doing. We were both lawyers, working full time jobs, and suddenly we were being asked about tiles and paint colours. Our excitement at starting our new project quickly turned into anxiety over the list of decisions. Fortunately, at that moment, we escaped for a long anniversary weekend in Stockholm. And because my mind was already searching for ideas, I saw inspiration everywhere. Pale paint colours, calmness, unfussy elegance. All of the beauty of Stockholm. I came back full of ideas.
The same thing happened many years later with my studio building. It was a sad single-storey white box of a building when we bought it. As I was mulling over how to transform it, I felt like I was spinning my wheels. Then we went to Mexico for a holiday, and suddenly everything I saw, rich paint colours, warm textures, lush green planting, felt like a revelation. As soon as we got back home, the studio was painted orange. And every day when I arrive at work, I get a little flash of Mexico here in Camden.
Of course, inspiration doesn’t require travel. Sometimes it can be found closer to home. When Will and I were struggling to agree on how to decorate the entry area of our current flat (not the Stockholm-inspired one), I happened to be wearing corduroy trousers. Will looked down at my trousers and said ‘is there such a thing as corduroy walls?’. Boom! Although I hadn’t seen it before, I loved the idea, and I figured out how to make it happen. (They were very difficult to install, but worth the effort in case you are wondering!)
Those moments, whether from Mexico or from my corduroy trousers, are proof to me that inspiration is not necessarily about originality. It can instead be about awareness of the world as it already exists. We just have to open our eyes to see it.
And that’s why I struggle to give a neat answer when people ask about inspiration. It isn’t a lightning bolt, and there’s no single method. I breathe it in constantly, noticing, collecting, filing away. And when I’m stuck, I push myself towards the unfamiliar, because need, I’ve found, sharpens observation.
Maybe inspiration is simply the act of paying attention. Breathing in what’s around you and putting yourself into situations where you can appreciate newness. And hoping that, in time, you’ll breathe something beautiful back out.
