I've gotten a little inspiration wall shy. This traces back to the day I pinned a postcard way too enthusiastically and the pin board came loose and fell down the back of a very wide and heavy bookshelf, pushpins and papers and photos and feathers and ticket stubs rattling and rustling down the back of the monster bookshelf in a dramatic inspiration landslide. I just kind of stood there, on my footstool, with the little pointy pushpin still in my hand. It seemed like a message, I don't know. But I think I've gotten over it.
Boards and walls are like the inside of our heads, they're not sequential, or linear, they don't really stick to a theme, beyond the theme of ourselves, and our families, and the places we go. It all gets stuck up there, together, old and new things, new things that get older each day they're up there. Something we saw once and loved, and get to see everyday now. Things that wind up, in some way, in your art or your writing. Stuff you can't throw away, even if you don't know why yet, or ever will.
In my dollhouses, even better. Because in miniature, I can gather up every postcard I can think of, every artist I can remember, and not have to find it for real. An imaginary pin board, made real, if small.