One of the Great Things I struggle with in life is balance. I get enough exercise, but I never see my friends. I read 75 books in one year, but never write anything. Sometimes I take reams of photographs, in spurts of expression; sometimes I am dry as a summer gully in this respect.

Currently it’s the latter. A couple of months ago, around the launch of the Daily Shoot project and my transition into Adobe’s photo workflow software, Lightroom, I flurried into action. I discovered the surprising depth of field potential of my wide-angle (17-40mm) lens. Despite its clutzy slowness (f/4.0 at best), it’s practically a macro lens: I can focus on things less than a foot away. I started feeling comfortable with the entangling ropes of Lightroom’s photo correction tools (with some hiccups). The Daily Shoot gave me new ways to explore.

But then, about two weeks ago, I came down with photographer’s ennui. Though I still walk the same route to work, with the same, often insane visual entertainments, my camera dangles heavily at my hip.

“Eyes up, eyes open!” I chide myself. Yes, yes, look. But to look is not always to see, and there are neurons that are firing too analytically when they should be making abstract, impressionistic connections.

These troughs and valleys are not new. One of the most consistent sources of inspiration is also the most wretched: emotional turmoil. The summer after David dumped me in 2001 was, even before the world stage went all pear-shaped, a personal disaster but an artistic revolution of sorts.

The years of 2001-2002 were peppered with what I consider “classic” shots of my personal genre: dense and saturated, people-free landscapes reduced, in many cases, to their geometrical basics.

There was a smaller renaissance after my medical chaos and diagnosis of Crohn’s. The world seemed a far safer and wonderful place to roam.

The world simplified again and seemed less threatening.

Sometimes inspiration hits for no apparent reason. Sometimes effort is rewarded, sometimes trying harder just makes it worse.

Right now I am uninspired. I’ve lived long enough to know that this is merely temporary, that the muses will smile upon me again—someday.