Kyoto is an ancient city in Japan that is home to several important Buddhist monasteries. On a rainy day I was walking through the grounds of one such monastery. Cherry blossoms had fallen on the sidewalk and were held in place by the moisture of the rain. I photographed the pattern they created. Then years later as I worked on this painting I was reminded of that moment, and, in fact, of that whole extraordinary day.

I had been left in Kyoto by my friends so that I could spend an extra day there before taking the train to Tokyo. I was completely disoriented. The language barrier is an obvious source of disorientation — the moment I stepped off the plane in Japan, I was illiterate. But on top of that, the Japanese make their addresses not dependent on location, but upon the length of time the building has been in that location. There is no logic to it. Local knowledge is the key to getting around.

In the midst of this dizzying disorientation, the beautiful flower petals scattered on the ground were reassuring. I found beauty in the accidental. That at least had not changed for me. It was a small window into this world — like the muse whispering to me — be here now.