The creative process is an inherently human experience.
Humans, infinitely versatile and resourceful creatures, can create, explore, conceive, assess, assemble, combine, and build bridges between seemingly unrelated islands of understanding. Moreover, they may concretely manifest what their minds first project as mere prospects if they are conscientious enough.
Reflections Hardcover – 25 April 2025 by Landon Clay (Author), Agustin Moreno (Author)
The creative process is an inherently human experience. Humans, infinitely versatile and resourceful creatures, can create, explore, conceive, assess, assemble, combine, and build bridges between seemingly unrelated islands of understanding. Moreover, they may concretely manifest what their minds first project as mere prospects if they are conscientious enough.
But the very act of creation is an uphill path riddled with obstacles. As ideas emerge, they must be distilled and organised, decomposed into later interconnected constituents to create a coherent unit. The vision of what is sought is often blurred, obscured by the infinite possibilities. The creator, usually emotionally and intellectually invested, might picture something lurking behind a shrouded veil, although the precise description of what it is that hides may be unclear and indistinct. In the heat of the search, creations are destroyed and recreated. Ideas are reshuffled and reassessed. Old concepts are revisited and further enlightened.
This somewhat unsatisfactory state of affairs, a rather unpalatable perception of a work in progress heading somewhere undefined or unanticipated, may be a metaphor for life's trajectory itself. Walking towards something or somewhere unclear, adapting and evolving to meet our perceived goals, we humans live, love, commune, and exist in a constant state of change until inevitably fulfilling the only certainty we have, the cessation of existence. We are, in this manner, perpetually unfinished works of art.
This project attempts to capture the elusive nature of the creative process. It also explores the relationship between two well-established disciplines widely considered disparate: Art and Science. The emotional rollercoasters inherent to creation, ranging from deep-set frustration to blinding exhilaration and euphoria, are typically associated with artists; rarely are they connected with scientists. While not new, one of the aims of this work is to protest against this preconception and point out that Science, as the human enterprise it is, and its practitioners, are very much subject to the tidal influences of the creative mind at work. Therefore, we have chosen to portray an individual, and his strenuous search for something larger than himself, while diffusing the boundaries across various fields of human endeavor. The palette choice is also not accidental, the black and grey being used as a metaphor for the obscure, unclear, yet-to-be-finished.
The Pianist
She spends her days, in focused dedication.
The skin behind her legs, bears marks of her vocation.
Her stare fixed in the sheet, while fingers stories tell.
The keys under command, the Audience under spell.
On coming home, unfailingly she is met
by shrieking barks, of small and faithful pet.
One which grown spoiled, under her caring wing;
who now awaits, what Death may deign to bring.
In such a scene, the Traveller takes his cue;
A good ol’ friend, he enters forth, anew.
Taking her hands, those tools of noble trade;
He asks to dance, to sounds that never fade.
To sounds of joy, to music of deep hue.
Composed by Gods, interpreted by two.
A symphony of fire; a raptuous song draws nigh.
The two musicians, as One in lover’s sigh.
But sounds grew dim, her feeling seeming strange.
His restless self, confused by sudden change.
And while he knew, the erring of her ways;
Vainly he’d hoped, to spend with her his days.
And it is thus, that no more shall they wander,
Through any of Hill’s regions now no longer.
And so it seems, no further will they ponder,
To the Music of the Masters, sounding yonder.
She shall look back, with weary eyes grown old
To youthful years, pursuing goals gone cold.
And she will meet, with grief etched in her face;
the smother of the grip… of Solitude’s embrace.
Montevideo, Uruguay, December 2019.
The Sailor
He sailed:
With hopes, wishes and dreams in bags with holes.
In waters calm of storm but wide and bold.
With sight put in the distance far ashore.
Remembering companions left before.
And thought:
Recall to leave your Trust only where due.
When those who seemed the closest prove untrue.
And sailors in all ships should hark the say:
“Refusing chains entails a price to pay.”
Augsburg, Germany, March 2020.
A problem of three
In his back the Weight a’bearing
Of forefathers of his Art;
And his Plume now traces flaring,
Through the ink Ideas part.
Each such stroke imbued in Teachings,
From all those who’ve left their mark.
Throughout his journey Words beseeching,
To old Mentors learned to hark.
And his gaze lies in the skies,
In that orb ‘bout to wane soon;
Such bright Guide attracts his eyes,
noble light we call the Moon.
In the study of its motion,
Is where now lies all his Thought;
Breeding from a deep devotion,
as such Poincaré once taught.
Montevideo, Uruguay, April 2020.
The whispers of the Mage
The freest of all roamers took his fall.
From Depths. Her Call.
The Cauldron of the Warlock brewing slow.
Her Art. His woe.
The Music of her whispers drawing near.
How quick. Smells Fear.
“Death has finally come, my Dear.”
Montevideo, Uruguay, April 2020.
Dreams of Itajaí
To the north of the Deep South,
waits her bosom, open, wide.
Joyous would a Wanderer lie,
in such spot forget his Pride.
Fanciful eternal Sleep,
Such as sweet, as Summer's Sigh.
Left a Kiss in Forehead high;
Kept all Dreams dreamt in her Keep.
Augsburg, Germany, August 2020.
A thought
You! Who suffers much and speaks so few:
Recall to speak your words when times are due.
The urge to lock your thoughts behind a cage,
Will keep your Earthly Soul from turning page.
As heavy as the thud of falling Book,
From mighty Heights to which you dared to look;
The story of your Days will find its End,
Before you know you’ll meet your final Friend.
And while such cold Embrace lies out of Sight,
And thence the Day of Gloom is but a distant Fright;
By one turn all the pages of the Tome as met,
And leave through the last Door with no Regret.
Montevideo, Uruguay, January 2021.