There are days when I suspect that the pictures I am looking for already exist somewhere inside me, finished and patient, and that my part consists of learning the way to them. I cannot say where the suspicion comes from. It comes most often in the early morning, when the room is still the color of slate and the first light has not yet decided which wall to touch.
For the past few days I have been working with a new tool, an AI that turns a sentence into an image. I treat it like a lantern carried into an unfamiliar house. It lets me see further than my own eyes reach, and I remain the one who decides which door to open next.
What I am trying to catch is a mood that shimmers between my words and the world beyond them: a mood of otherness, of tension, of longing to touch something that is not from here. Beside the mood stands form, and form has asked for my attention just as insistently.
Digital glass.
I want it to resemble a hologram and to pulse with light like a window into another dimension. Each layer of the work, every experiment, brings me one step closer to that window.
What I have so far are sketches on a transparent surface, early and unfinished, moments along the way toward something that is still emerging. Some of them are visual tests for the first of the three microstories I have completed for the collection. I keep them in my own archive, to be set beside the final form one day.
If you have ever felt a picture waiting behind your own words, you already know the road I am on.