In sharing what inspires and replenishes my creativity, failure may seem an odd and ominous beginning. But failure is the origin of all creativity. When trying to express ourselves in interesting ways, we so often fail before we succeed. We have to be willing to do so, or we may never get started.

First, let me be clear: I’m not going to name any names, or point to any specific works or performances that I consider failures. I don’t go in for that kind of criticism — at least not in public! — because I don’t want to affect someone else’s experience of the same work.

There are little, boring failures all around us, like a flat tire or a pen running out of ink or over-cooked broccoli, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.

Ambitious failures require the audacity to have a grand idea, and to follow it through, despite all those along the path who try to distract with the temptations of mediocrity and cliche, who suggest the easy answers rather than seeking what feels right, and the tenacity to keep on going, despite enormous risks. I find that journey, and the work that emerges at the end of it, profoundly admirable, however dubious or lacking the artistic merits might be.

The most spectacular failures are often a result of following the most eccentric visions. And the spectacle of failure can itself be fascinating — assuming it doesn’t involve any lasting physical harm, of course.

The reasons for failure are often complex and unknown. They are open to interpretation. We decide how to frame failure, how forgiving, empathetic and accepting we would like to be.

Failure could suggest incompetence, or uncompromising integrity. It could suggest laziness and lack of forethought, or it could suggest reaching and striving despite difficulty. Failure means that goals weren’t met — but it also means there were goals. Failure might also be an indicator of misunderstood circumstances, and an opportunity for a re-appraisal of the situation.

When humbled, what do we dare do next? Failure can strip away the artifice, leaving us to focus on the essential.

Success might make us smug and self-satisfied, and it’s good to feel that way sometimes. But failure forces us to ask questions.

Witnessing someone else’s failure, or recollecting some of my own, I have to reflect: Am I taking all the risks I need to be taking? Am I putting enough on the line to not only succeed, but also, possibly, to fail?