My answer is many, many inspirations.  And they may come from a variety of places and times.  For the little painting posted here, I can claim and write something about at least two conscious sources of ideas and encouragement (God knows what happens unconsciously).  The first is a 13th century Chinese painting by Mu Ch'i, a Zen practitioner; and the second, a 19th century wall fragment painted by Goya, at his home in Spain.

This ink painting is a classic work of Chinese art.  Some critics even consider it to be the greatest painting ever painted.  I don't know about that big claim, but I do know that I have been intrigued ever since I saw a reproduction of it (as the cover for Peter Swann's Chinese Painting).  Like enticing song lyrics, it often bursts and persists in my mind.  I love the placement and weight of the persimmons at the bottom of the scroll, the seeming vastness of the space above them, and the simplicity and clarity with which the persimmons are drawn.  It is not surprising that this nearly 700 hundred year old piece made its way into my work (especially for that eggplant on the far right of my painting).  

Littlestone, on the heritage Trust website (theheritagetrust.wordpress.com), describes Mu Ch'i's  work as the painting for which a man lost his life.  Here is the story.  A fire broke out in the Ryoko-in Temple where the painting was kept and the temple burned down.  The painting escaped destruction through the sacrifice of one of the temple's monks.  The monk braved the flames and ran into the temple.  He slit open his stomach, placed the painting in the cavity he had made in his body, and ran out bringing the painting to safety.  Stains on the right side of the painting (that one can see in some reproductions) are said to come from this "act of selfless devotion."  Who could forget this painting?

This painting, The Dog​, was done by Goya between the years 1819-1823.  He painted it directly in oils on the plaster walls of his home, one of a series now known as The Black Paintings.  It was later transferred to canvas.  Like the Mu Ch'i, it is a much celebrated work.  The Spanish painter, Antonio Saura, called it the "world's most beautiful painting."  In his last visit to the Prado museum, Joan Miro asked to see two paintings, this one and Las Meninas by Velazquez.  Manuela Mena, curator at the Prado said "There is not a single contemporary painter in the world that does not pray in front of The Dog."  Well!

As in the case of the Chinese painting, I am drawn to the division into two clear sections, with a darker, heavier section at the bottom.  Again, there is the simplicity of forms.  Also, who could resist the suggestion of gold in the upper section and the yearning in the face of that little dog as the precious being looks upward?  I don't think my eggplants are yearning but I do hope they show some charm.  

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So many sources of inspiration cannot be contained in one little painting.  As I was writing this blog post, yet another painting happened in my studio.  Who knows what might come next?

In his article in the September 24, 2015 issue of The New York Review of Books,  Perl worries about contemporary painting and questions its significance. He finds it helpful to return to Lionel Trilling's  Sincerity and Authenticity (delivered as lectures in 1970 and published in 1972).  These essays on art help Perl make sense of what troubles him about much of what people are now calling paintings. 

For Perl, there may be too much authenticity (a painter's connection with her own inner life) and too little sincerity (a painter's sense of connection with and responsibility to society and artistic tradition).  Contemporary painting might strike Perl as more meaningful if it showed that the painter was struggling, in the act of painting, with finding a better balance between sincerity and authenticity.  Perl's words on Cezanne speak of what he is looking for:

                            For Cezanne, the sincerity of his commitment to traditional stylistic
                            legibility was constantly challenged by the authenticity of his idiosyncratic
                            experience of nature.  It is Cezanne's double allegiance -- to the sincerity
                            of tradition and the authenticity of his own perceptions of form -- that has
                            made his work central for artists from Matisse, Picasso, and Braque down to our own day.

Perl's selection of a Diebenkorn painting illustrates the point.  Diebenkorn "makes a painting that unmakes and then remakes painting's traditions."  Diebenkorn shows the viewer both the idiosyncratic nuts and bolts of his studio through his depiction of his studio wall, and a timelessly elegant composition. 
Check that painting out by clicking here.

Art criticism like this makes me want to rush back to my studio.