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Can you be too Inspired ?

Can you be too Inspired ?

Can you be too Inspired ?

What does that even mean, to be inspired? Where does it come from, and how does it manifest?

by

Ishaan Gangavkar

4 min read

4 min read

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“The process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.”


What does that even mean, to be inspired? Where does it come from, and how does it manifest? I talk not of the diluted, curated inspiration overflowing on our social media feeds, but of the real thing, the essence of something urging artists to get off their behinds and create. If you’re an artist, you have more than likely also suffered from being uninspired- the lack of desire to create and as you can see, this month's edition is a lot later than I would’ve liked, and I must apologise, as I waited too long for a strike of inspiration mobilising me to my desk.   

The main question that I kept grappling with, time and time again, was simple: Does life inspire art, or does art inspire life? For the longest period in human history, I believe that the order was clear, as you lived and created through your art a reflection of that life. Art came after, as a result, and today I confess, I’m no longer convinced that’s the truth. 


Quietly, yet surely, the rate of consumption of art amongst our generation has predetermined the type of art we make. Instead of living and reflecting on our own life, we have become voyeuristic as a species, experiencing life by watching each other. At some point, we started living through the art in front of us, and our approach to life began to match that inspiration of art.  Now here lies the question: Aren’t all humans inspired by existing art to create new art, and is there such a thing as too much art? 


This month, the Brief uncovers the novel problem with inspiration which centuries of artists never had to face. Too much Inspiration.



As kids, all of us begin life as somewhat of a blank canvas. Every experience we make begins to leave a mark, from the Michael Jackson CDs echoing throughout the living room, the shape of the roots underneath the Banyan tree at school, or even a small remark you heard your uncle make that one time. With time, without actively choosing the moments we acknowledge,e the knowledge we appreciate, we begin to create a filter which records all that goes through. All the experiences in our life. Each experience, a small piece in the resulting mosaic of our personal taste.


Now back to the question I raised earlier: the problem is never that we lack inspiration of any kind, but the fact that today, we have far too much of it. The sheer volume of inspiration present is far more than any single person could filter through a lifetime, and it arrives to distract in the blink of an eye. 



An endlessly “curated” feed begins to dictate our taste before we get the chance to decide for ourselves. Ranked, sorted, and delivered by its own agenda, the algorithms begin to control human interest. We’re not just being shown things, but constantly reminded of what to like, what to dislike and what opinions to have, slowly homogenising us into clones of a single mould. 


Everyone ends up looking at the same references, wearing the same clothes, posting the same pictures, essentially being herded like sheep, copying the same blueprint until individuals begin to blur into one another. When algorithms are designed to support the existing formulas for success, individuals begin blindly copying the inspiration, hoping for the same results. Over time, this begins to develop, and the lack of personal taste results in everyone pulling from the same cultural cloud, a cloud beginning to run dry.



That’s the cost of the overload. As artists begin to conform to “success-fueling” approaches to making art, we have forgotten to distinguish between being inspired and simply copying. Paying homage, sampling, and quoting are old and honest techniques long used in the arts, each of which not only makes the conscious effort at understanding its source,  but delves deeper to learn why it worked, before choosing to build on top of it. Imitation, or copying, on the other hand, skips that understanding completely. By copying, the artist simply seeks to copy the result, without any questions or knowledge about why the original thought worked in the first place. 


So, coming back to feeling inspired. All of us as humans are inspired by the experiences we go through, colored in the mosaic of our lives, and that truth will remain long after we are gone. As artists, I believe us to be only vessels of that inspiration, and how we allow that inspiration to pass through us is not only our choice to make, but a responsibility to carry. Once inspiration arrives, it all depends on what you, as artists, choose to do with it: either leave it unchanged, replicate it under a different name, or take our time, understand it, and let it become something only we could have made.  To turn it into something that might inspire someone else in turn.



That’s the cost of the overload. As artists begin to conform to “success-fueling” approaches to making art, we have forgotten to distinguish between being inspired and simply copying. Paying homage, sampling, and quoting are old and honest techniques long used in the arts, each of which not only makes the conscious effort at understanding its source,  but delves deeper to learn why it worked, before choosing to build on top of it. Imitation, or copying, on the other hand, skips that understanding completely. By copying, the artist simply seeks to copy the result, without any questions or knowledge about why the original thought worked in the first place. 


So, coming back to feeling inspired. All of us as humans are inspired by the experiences we go through, colored in the mosaic of our lives, and that truth will remain long after we are gone. As artists, I believe us to be only vessels of that inspiration, and how we allow that inspiration to pass through us is not only our choice to make, but a responsibility to carry. Once inspiration arrives, it all depends on what you, as artists, choose to do with it: either leave it unchanged, replicate it under a different name, or take our time, understand it, and let it become something only we could have made.  To turn it into something that might inspire someone else in turn.



Every era of art has carried its own distinct style, forged in the reaction to whatever has threatened to replace it. Impressionism was a response to photography, making art that only humans were possible of making. Now, we slowly approach the cusp of this new era, one pushing against AI in the creative industries, one returning to human-made art because it can no longer be generated. Being present for this era thrills me deeply, more than words can explain. Not only am I genuinely curious to see how this change of era plays out, but even more so, I’m even more excited to keep choosing what I build from. That we get to choose what we consume, what we like, and especially that we decide what gets made next. 


So, I am left wondering: the next time I am struck by inspiration, how will I know what I shall make? But for today, this is all.



Every era of art has carried its own distinct style, forged in the reaction to whatever has threatened to replace it. Impressionism was a response to photography, making art that only humans were possible of making. Now, we slowly approach the cusp of this new era, one pushing against AI in the creative industries, one returning to human-made art because it can no longer be generated. Being present for this era thrills me deeply, more than words can explain. Not only am I genuinely curious to see how this change of era plays out, but even more so, I’m even more excited to keep choosing what I build from. That we get to choose what we consume, what we like, and especially that we decide what gets made next. 


So, I am left wondering: the next time I am struck by inspiration, how will I know what I shall make? But for today, this is all.



An endlessly “curated” feed begins to dictate our taste before we get the chance to decide for ourselves. Ranked, sorted, and delivered by its own agenda, the algorithms begin to control human interest. We’re not just being shown things, but constantly reminded of what to like, what to dislike and what opinions to have, slowly homogenising us into clones of a single mould. 


Everyone ends up looking at the same references, wearing the same clothes, posting the same pictures, essentially being herded like sheep, copying the same blueprint until individuals begin to blur into one another. When algorithms are designed to support the existing formulas for success, individuals begin blindly copying the inspiration, hoping for the same results. Over time, this begins to develop, and the lack of personal taste results in everyone pulling from the same cultural cloud, a cloud beginning to run dry.


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