• Language

16 Doors: A Visual Journal on Creativity

16 Doors ImageOver the course of fours weeks this winter, I created a visual art journal dealing with my understanding of the creative process. I used the themes of alchemy and journey as metaphor and peppered the pages with recurring symbols.  Mostly, I had fun!

What I found at the end of the project is that my chops for drawing from imagination had improved.  I also rediscovered my love for writing.

You can download a .pdf file by clicking the link below.  Hope you enjoy looking at it as much as I enjoyed creating it!

16 Doors: A Visual Journal on Creativity

Skipping Through Darkness

Traveler:                  This place seems familiar. Have I been here before?

Oberon:                   (looking up from the slow-moving river to take in the traveler) Where are you comparing it to?

Traveler:                  I was walking along a riverbank very much like this one. And suddenly there was this shadow.

Oberon:                   Excuse me, did you say shadow?

Traveler:                  Well, not so much a shadow as a rustling of leaves. I mean it was a rustling of leaves until the moment it wasn’t. And then it was a shadow.

Oberon:                   And this rustling of leaves brought you here?

Traveler:                  Yes. I mean, no. It was a shadow. Although I’m not quite sure where here is. I mean, it’s night instead of day. It’s cool instead of warm. It’s quiet here, and that’s different too—the silence.

Oberon:                   Where exactly do you think you came from?

Traveler:                  I’m . . . not sure. Someplace else.

Oberon:                   And you’re quite sure of that?

Traveler:                  Well yes, of course I’m sure. Do you only ask questions?

Oberon:                   You think I ask too many questions?

Traveler:                  I’m just trying to understand how I got here. I mean, I was standing by the river, looking up at a beautiful blue sky, then suddenly I’m here with you looking up at stars.

Oberon:                   (gazing upward) Haven’t the stars always been there?

Traveler:                  No. It was daylight, you know, blue sky and clouds.

Oberon:                   (picks up a stone and skips it along the river’s surface. splashes illuminate with a trail of starlight through the night.)

Traveler:                  So (clearing his throat) where am I and how do I get back?

Oberon:                   (Oberon moves to a fallen tree, sits and pours two glasses of wine) Please sit and wait with me.

Traveler:                  Very well, but what are we waiting for?

Oberon:                   The next skip of the stone.

Oberon and the Traveler drift through the night. Sipping on their wine, they look up at the passing stars.

  • Image–charcoal and pastel on paper by sw pisciotta

What is it to become memory?

She left this morning, and today I find myself in a field on a trail at the end of a trail running west, and the evening is approaching. Light glows on the horizon in tangerine and the softest of lemons, and the light on the earth gives way to shadows stretching long toward the east and the memory of morning.

This is the first sunset she has missed.

The light fades, but in the darkness there is a promise made solemn, the promise set firmly in action over millennia of light and dark, of light and dark, and the return of light. The promise of return does not include her, and tomorrow will be the first sunrise without her, but I will hold her up to the light, the thought of her, held up to the rising light.

Tomorrow the memory of her will greet the morning sun.