The late 19th century witnessed a cultural phenomenon that swept across the Western art world, leaving an indelible mark on its aesthetic: Japonism. The opening of Japan to trade after centuries of isolation sparked a fervent fascination with Japanese art and design, influencing everything from painting and printmaking to decorative arts. One particularly charming and intimate expression of this influence was the practice of painting on fans, a delicate art form embraced by some of the most prominent artists of the era.

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 on 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 it created. Then years later as I worked on this painting it reminded me of that moment, and, in fact, of that whole extraordinary day.

Several years ago as I crossed the Mall in Washington on my way back to my hotel, I decided I had to duck into the Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, part of the Smithsonian, and see the Asian work there. On display was the Price Collection, on loan from Los Angeles. The first piece I saw as I entered the exhibition was "Pine and Plum Trees in Snowstorm" by Katsu Jagyoku, the 18th Century Japanese artist.

The room was dimmed and soft light fell on an enormous screen with branches and falling snow. I felt completely enveloped by the piece. I had both a calm and emotional response to it, a feeling that has stayed with me to this day.

Yes, I really am painting garbage. I didn't set out to paint garbage. I didn't wake up one morning and say painting garbage would be a good thing to do. Instead, while walking near a friend's house in Sasebo, Japan, I passed the recycling center. In it they were moving bales of recycled paper to prepare them for transport. The image of their surface was striking to me, like a Harnett trompe l'oeil painting, and the structure of the bales made me think of Don Judd's boxes.

While in Paris, Dégas' close friend Giovanni Boldini painted a still life on a canvas that measured 47 1/4 inches high by 15 1/4 inches wide.