Sources of Inspiration

23AUG26

I was asked a question today:

“What are some of your creative inspirations?”

This is how I tried to answer it:

Often, for me, it's the air. There is something magical when the windows are open and you can hear birds and a bit of traffic go by, or the neighbours. Then you feel the breeze come in. It's the best thing in late summer or autumn, during a sunny and warm day. It's bright, but the air has that fresh autumn cold to it. I love the way the rays of the sun will fall into a room and you can see the dancing sparkles of dust. It's so magical to just sit there, with a cup of coffee, or tea, and just listen.

Or if I read or watch something that inspires me. A certain scene in a book, for example. Especially if it is a book you love dearly. Feels like an old friend. In Lord of the Rings, when the Hobbits reach Rivendell, always makes me want to draw delicate leaves and paint in autumn colours.

But I have often felt inspired by the amazing artistry of animation. Something about the colours, the contours,... I don't know. I find the fight in Bleach between Ichigo and Ulquiorra, or some of the momens in the Shinjuku battle of Jujutsu Kaisen, very inspiring. I have no idea how the animators did what they did. It blows me away. The movements, that overlaying impressionist sense for colour and lights. Best shit I have ever seen.

But I think, it's mostly stories, where I find most of my inspiration.

That is the answer that I gave to that person, but I would like to fill in some of the gaps, the little details that I left out.

The reason why late summer air inspires me, is because of the nostalgia it brings. Memories tied to summers spent in Spain, both as a child, and as an adult. Unfortunately, I can’t visit as often as I’d like, and I get very homesick during this time of the year.

In Villa Dolores, the house of my grandparents, in a small village about half an hour from Madrid, we had a huge, gorgeous plant of grape vines. Its gnarled and twisty branches grew over the terrace, giving us shade and refuge from hot summer days. By the end of August, into early September, the grapes grew in thick clusters. My abuelo would get them down for us. This could be my memory playing tricks on me, because I was much smaller, but those grapes were enormous. Big and green and so sweet. I couldn’t fit the big ones in my mouth and had to eat them with a couple of bites. My abuelo would also often buy huge watermelons. I remember that one time he got one that was so big, that my yaya was afraid it might break the table. He would cut us these long slices that would leave red sticky marks on our faces. My little brother, who was his favourite, would always be the first to get one. “Para el enano”, he would say.

Decades later, after Villa Dolores was long gone, and my grandparents became a lingering presence in my memory, that stays with me, every day, my mother moved to northern Spain. So that is where I go now, when I can.

It is still the same air, the same warm days with the early autumn breeze, but now it brings with it the smell of forests and the salty taste of the ocean. I didn’t think it was possible for the human heart to hold this much love for a place. Everytime I go there, it feels like coming home. A big chunk of my ancestors were from northern Spain, and this may sound silly, but the earth there feels like it calls to me, like my roots are deep in that soil, and like that is where I truly belong. It’s hard to put into words. It is a place where myths are still very much alive. Where mountain fogs are as humid as the breath of the Cuélebre, where rivers ring with the laughter of Xanas, and the gurgling sound of the ocean’s waves sound like the giggles of the Espumeru.

You have to experience it, to believe just how deep mythologies are tied to the places and the people who tell them.

That is the heart of everything that inspires me.