It is strange, really, to give thought to inspiration? Where does it come from? Why is it that when it hits us, it consumes us, like a fire ready to set our very souls aflame?
I just had the pleasure of watching Bill Cunningham New York - an amazing documentary based on the humble photographer who had a passion for fashion. He never paid any attention to his own material world, instead he lived through the fabric expression of others.
As soon as the film ended, I looked Bill up on Facebook, and was deeply saddened to find he had passed away this past summer at 87 years young. I wish I could have met him. I wish I could have followed him around for a day, much like to documentary crew. I would bask in his infinite wisdom of the craft, of human nature, of mindfulness, and of New York City.
Even from spending an hour and a half with his story, I have felt a reawakening of my creative urge - my hunger to use my many crafts to connect with the Spirit of the Universe that binds every human, animal, plant, building, atom, together.
Thank You, Mr. Cunningham.
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