(Extension of a Story previously published November 2025) (På Svenska nedan)

There are moments when light doesn’t just shine – it whispers. It glides across a surface, pauses at an edge, shapes a quiet contour. In that moment something fleeting yet tangible appears – a presence that cannot be captured, only sensed.

Perhaps it is there that inspiration takes form – in what has not yet found words, but is already felt.

The Silhouette – the Shape of Memory

A silhouette is more than a form against the light. It is an imprint of time, an echo of something that once stood there. When the details fade and the colors fall silent, presence itself steps forward. The silhouette becomes like a memory – not exact, but true in its own way.

In the shifting patterns of nature, the same language repeats: trees in backlight, a figure passing by, a shadow that follows without speaking. The silhouette is both anonymous and intimate – a reminder that we all leave traces, even when we believe ourselves unseen.

Shadows and silhouettes can become storytellers in themselves.
They remind us that absence can define presence, that a gesture of light and darkness can carry rhythm, memory, and meaning — much like jazz itself, playing between the notes.

Watch the History of Jazz, Animated in Dhadow Art 3,5 min by Dominik Käser and team;

“The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art” on YouTube

Echo – What Lingers

An echo is not a repetition; it is a delay. It carries the distance of time but also the warmth of its source. When an image or sound bounces back, it changes – yet its essence remains.

So too with our impressions. We experience something, and much later it returns – in a color, in a light, in a feeling we cannot quite place. Art can be that echo: a movement between the now and what has lingered.

Within the tempestuous Carina Nebula, photographed by the Hubble Space Telescope, lies “Mystic Mountain” – a living sculpture of gas and dust, sculpted by light and time. Perhaps the nature of inspiration is like that: light traveling through darkness and still arriving.

NASA’s Art Program has invited artists to capture the moment when the human gaze meets the infinite — a gesture of curiosity and connection that mirrors the creative act itself. One of its latest commissions, To the Moon and Back, by artists Geraluz and WERC, transforms geometric patterns into reflections on exploration and belonging.

Light from space is not cold; it carries our questions, just as a painting can hold our longing for meaning.

Presence – The Space Between

Presence is not about filling every surface, but about daring to leave emptiness.
It is in the pause, in the breath between two movements, that true presence emerges. A painting can breathe, a photograph can hold silence, a room can contain stillness.

We often speak of seeing, but perhaps it is more about staying – letting the gaze rest until something begins to speak back.
That is the moment when the viewer becomes part of the image.

Silence is not emptiness but a vivid presence — an art of surrender, allowing the world, and ourselves, to unfold in stillness.
Presence, then, is not static. It is a dialogue between weight and lightness, order and chance.

The eye seeks symmetry, yet the heart longs for irregularity.
When the well-balanced tilts slightly, when silence gains a hint of motion – energy arises.

That same energy can be sensed in this year’s Nobel Prizes, where science turned toward poetry.
* Quantum tunneling – particles passing through barriers as if they weren’t there.
* Molecular frameworks with vast inner surfaces – where the hidden holds more than the visible.
* Words that refuse to give up before the dark.
All tell the same story: that the invisible, the nearly impossible, still carries the potential for change.

In the act of creation, that movement is familiar – a kind of inner tunneling, where thought slips through barriers, from silence into form.

There is a physics to every feeling, a structure to every thought.
And perhaps art is the place where the precision of science meets the poetry of stillness.

Light as a Storyteller

Light is more than illumination – it is the voice of the story. It shapes, conceals, reveals. It lets shadow speak.

Sometimes it carries stillness, sometimes drama, sometimes only a faint promise.
Light shows us what is visible, but also reminds us of what is not.
In its passage through the day there is rhythm, change, and hope.
And in its absence – space for dreaming.

When shadow falls and light withdraws, something remains in the room.
Not just the image, but a feeling – a soft echo of presence.
Perhaps that is where the essence of art lies: in the dialogue between the visible and the perceptible.

Threshold of Becoming

A photograph does something curious with time.

In Camera Lucida, photography is described as carrying the quiet truth of what has been. Every image becomes both presence and absence at once — a trace of someone or something standing at the threshold between now and memory. Yet perhaps photographs are not only archives of the past. Perhaps they are thresholds.

In mythology, journeys often begin at crossings: a gate, a bridge, a shoreline, a forest edge. The hero pauses at the boundary between the familiar and the unknown. In The Hero with a Thousand Faces, this moment is called crossing the threshold — the step where transformation begins. The work later inspired many modern narratives, including Star Wars, whose creator George Lucas openly acknowledged Campbell’s influence.

Photography may hold a similar movement.

A photograph preserves what was, yet it also invites what may become. The viewer enters the image carrying memories, hopes, questions, and unfinished journeys. Meaning arises in the meeting. Perhaps this is why photographs move us so deeply. They do not only show moments. They hold transitions. The image becomes a threshold between memory and possibility, between the visible and the sensed, between who we were and who we are becoming.

The artwork “Vid Tröskeln / On the Threshold” continues this exploration. Beginning in a photographic view over Stockholm and unfolding through artistic layers, the work reflects on crossings — between city and horizon, presence and memory, stillness and becoming.

Beneath stone arches and ancient pillars, silhouettes gather — a family, or perhaps generations layered into one image. The water mirrors the sky; the city holds them in a soft embrace. They walk between columns of time, where every step is both arrival and departure. Here, presence feels architectural — a construction of belonging.

What transitions are shaping us right now — and what do we leave behind in silence?

Related Art Exhibitions by Novisali

These reflections continue in upcoming exhibitions where photography, light, shadow, stillness, and artistic layering hold conversations across thresholds — between memory and becoming, presence and absence, city and horizon.

Darkroom Photosalon 2026

Riddersvik, Stockholm
May 30 – June 21, 2026
Vernissage: May 30, 12:00–16:00

As part of the jury-selected exhibition, Novisali presents “Vid Tröskeln / On the Threshold.”

The artwork begins in a photographic moment captured from Stockholm City Hall overlooking Söder and unfolds through a layered artistic process into a reflection on crossing, presence, horizon, and becoming.

The work explores thresholds not only as physical places, but as inner landscapes — where memory lingers while possibility quietly enters.

More about the exhibition and artwork:

Virtual Exhibition – Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence

Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence is a photographic and artistic exploration turning our gaze toward what often escapes the eye — the fragile contours of human presence.

Within the shifting dialogue between shadow and light, movement and stillness, silhouettes become more than outlines. They emerge as vessels of memory, traces of relationships, and carriers of dreams extending beyond the moment.

Through the interweaving of photography, digital layers, moving imagery, and artistic interpretation, the works invite reflection on what remains when an instant dissolves into silence. Each image becomes both fleeting and enduring — a pause in time continuing to resonate as a quiet echo.

The series grew from a shared autumn journey of exploring photography, composition, and creative dialogue together with fellow creators.

It was first presented in an intimate Private View on November 11, 2025, featuring five works. The exhibition on reflections on presence, memory, shadow, and becoming later expanded into a public virtual solo exhibition including 11 photographic and mixed-media works, 1 moving video artwork. Explore the virtual exhibition:

Explore artworks by Novisali available for collection

Thresholds often accompany life’s transitions: graduations, confirmations, weddings, new beginnings, endings, and the quiet crossings into new chapters.

Echoes of Presence reflects on these spaces in between — where memory meets possibility, where presence meets becoming, and where light, shadow, and stillness accompany change.

Selected artworks from the series are now available for collection.

If one of the works resonates with your own journey or a meaningful threshold in life, you are warmly welcome to share your interest in acquiring an artwork. Selected works also include digital extensions and moving layers, inviting the story to continue beyond the visible image.

Sources of Inspiration and Contemporary Echoes

• The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art – The Marginalian – on how shadow and rhythm reveal presence.
• Silence, Solitude, and the Art of Surrender – The Marginalian – on how silence becomes a luminous act of attention.
• NASA Art Program – light of space and human presence.
• NASA: To the Moon and Back Murals – on geometry, exploration, and creative connection.
• NASA and Art – History and Reflections
• NASA History Notes Summer 2025
• The Nobel Prizes 2025 – Press Release – where science meets poetry and the unseen becomes visible.
• Metal-Organic Frameworks Explained – Phys.org – on the Nobel discoveries of hidden structures.
• Camera Lucida by Roland Barthes
• The Hero of Thousand Faces by James Campbell

About Novisali 

Novisali, (alias Liselotte Engstam), is besides her roles as professional board member and advisor, a multi-media artist, with a curious, explorative mind and an ambition to learn and extend art experiences to current and new audiences using both traditional and new digital mediums. More information and exhibitions can be found via Novisali.com

This blog post is also shared at the blog of www.liselotteengstam.com, with the artist name Novisali.

Ekon av närvaro – Skugga, ljus och tystnadens form

Det finns ögonblick när ljuset inte bara lyser – det viskar.
Det glider över en yta, stannar till vid en kant, formar en stilla kontur.
I det ögonblicket uppstår något flyktigt men ändå påtagligt – en närvaro som inte kan fångas, bara anas.

Kanske är det där inspirationen tar form – i det som ännu inte funnit ord, men redan känns.

Silhuetten – Minnets form

En silhuett är mer än en form mot ljuset.
Den är ett avtryck av tid, ett eko av något som en gång stod där.
När detaljerna bleknar och färgerna tystnar, träder själva närvaron fram.
Silhuetten blir som ett minne – inte exakt, men sant på sitt eget sätt.

I naturens skiftande mönster upprepar sig samma språk:
träd i motljus, en gestalt som passerar, en skugga som följer utan att tala.
Silhuetten är både anonym och intim – en påminnelse om att vi alla lämnar spår,
även när vi tror oss vara osedda.

Skuggor och silhuetter kan bli berättare i sig själva.
De påminner oss om att frånvaro kan definiera närvaro –
att ett samspel mellan ljus och mörker kan bära rytm, minne och mening —
precis som jazzen, som spelas mellan tonerna.

 Se “The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art” (3,5 min) av Dominik Käser och team på YouTube.

Eko – Det som dröjer kvar

Ett eko är inte en upprepning; det är en fördröjning.
Det bär tidens avstånd men också källans värme.
När en bild eller ett ljud studsar tillbaka förändras det – men dess väsen finns kvar.

Så är det också med våra intryck.
Vi upplever något, och långt senare återvänder det –
i en färg, i ett ljus, i en känsla vi inte riktigt kan placera.
Konst kan vara det ekot – en rörelse mellan nuet och det som dröjt sig kvar.

Mystiska berget i Carinanebulosan – fotograferat av Hubbleteleskopet, NASA

Inne i den stormiga Carinanebulosan, fotograferad av Hubbleteleskopet,
ligger “Mystic Mountain” – en levande skulptur av gas och stoft,
formad av ljus och tid.
Kanske är inspirationens natur just så: ljus som färdas genom mörkret och ändå når fram.

NASAs konstprogram har bjudit in konstnärer att fånga ögonblicket när den mänskliga blicken möter det oändliga —
en gest av nyfikenhet och förbindelse som speglar själva skapandeakten.
Ett av de senaste uppdragen, To the Moon and Back av konstnärerna Geraluz och WERC, förvandlar geometriska mönster till reflektioner om utforskande och tillhörighet.

Ljuset från rymden är inte kallt;
det bär våra frågor – precis som en målning kan rymma vår längtan efter mening.

Närvaro – Rummet mellan

Närvaro handlar inte om att fylla varje yta, utan om modet att lämna tomrum.
Det är i pausen, i andetaget mellan två rörelser, som sann närvaro uppstår.
En målning kan andas, ett fotografi kan hålla tystnad, ett rum kan rymma stillhet.

Vi talar ofta om att se, men kanske handlar det mer om att stanna –
att låta blicken vila tills något börjar tala tillbaka.
Det är då betraktaren blir en del av bilden.

Tystnad är inte tomhet, utan en levande närvaro –
en konst i att ge efter, låta världen – och oss själva – veckla ut sig i stillhet.

Närvaro är alltså inte statisk.
Det är en dialog mellan tyngd och lätthet, ordning och slump.
Ögat söker symmetri, men hjärtat längtar efter oregelbundenhet.
När det välbalanserade tippar lätt, när tystnaden får en antydan av rörelse –
då uppstår energi.

Nobelprisets poesi

Samma energi kan anas i årets Nobelpris, där vetenskapen vände sig mot poesin:

• Kvanttunnelering – partiklar som passerar genom barriärer som om de inte fanns.
• Molekylära ramverk med enorma inre ytor – där det dolda rymmer mer än det synliga.
• Ord som vägrar ge upp inför mörkret.

Alla berättar samma historia: att det osynliga, det nästan omöjliga, fortfarande bär förändringens kraft.

I själva skapandet är den rörelsen välbekant –
en sorts inre tunnelering, där tanken glider genom barriärer,
från tystnad till form.

Det finns en fysik i varje känsla, en struktur i varje tanke.
Och kanske är konsten den plats där vetenskapens precision möter tystnadens poesi.

Ljuset som berättare

Ljuset är mer än belysning – det är berättelsens röst.
Det formar, döljer, avslöjar.
Det låter skuggan tala.

Ibland bär det stillhet, ibland dramatik, ibland bara ett svagt löfte.
Ljuset visar oss det synliga, men påminner också om det osynliga.
I dess gång genom dagen finns rytm, förändring och hopp.
Och i dess frånvaro – utrymme för drömmar.

När skuggan faller och ljuset drar sig tillbaka, finns något kvar i rummet.
Inte bara bilden, utan en känsla – ett mjukt eko av närvaro.

Kanske är det där konstens kärna ligger:
i dialogen mellan det synliga och det förnimbara.

Tröskeln till Förändring

Ett fotografi gör något märkligt med tiden.

I Camera Lucida beskrivs fotografiet som bärare av den stilla sanningen om det som har varit. Varje bild blir samtidigt närvaro och frånvaro — ett spår av någon eller något som står vid tröskeln mellan nuet och minnet. Men kanske är fotografier inte bara arkiv över det förflutna. Kanske är de trösklar.

I mytologin börjar resor ofta vid övergångar: en port, en bro, en strandlinje, en skogsbryn. Hjälten stannar upp vid gränsen mellan det välbekanta och det okända. I The Hero with a Thousand Faces kallas detta ögonblick att korsa tröskeln — steget där förvandlingen börjar. Verket kom senare att inspirera många moderna berättelser, däribland Star Wars, vars skapare George Lucas öppet har beskrivit Campbells inflytande.

Fotografi kan bära en liknande rörelse.

Ett fotografi bevarar det som varit, men bjuder också in det som kan bli. Betraktaren stiger in i bilden med minnen, hopp, frågor och ofullbordade resor. Mening uppstår i mötet. Kanske är det därför fotografier berör oss så djupt. De visar inte bara ögonblick. De bär övergångar. Bilden blir en tröskel mellan minne och möjlighet, mellan det synliga och det förnimbara, mellan vilka vi var och vilka vi håller på att bli.

Konstverket ”Vid Tröskeln / On the Threshold” fortsätter denna utforskning. Med utgångspunkt i en fotografisk vy över Stockholm och vidareutvecklat genom konstnärliga lager reflekterar verket över övergångar — mellan stad och horisont, närvaro och minne, stillhet och tillblivelse.

Under stenvalv och uråldriga pelare samlas silhuetter — en familj, eller kanske generationer sammanvävda i en och samma bild. Vattnet speglar himlen; staden håller dem i en mjuk omfamning. De vandrar mellan tidens kolonner, där varje steg är både ankomst och avsked. Här känns närvaron nästan arkitektonisk — som en konstruktion av tillhörighet.

Vilka övergångar formar oss just nu — och vad lämnar vi bakom oss i tystnad?

Relaterade konstutställningar av Novisali

Dessa reflektioner fortsätter i kommande utställningar där fotografi, ljus, skugga, stillhet och konstnärliga lager för samtal över trösklar — mellan minne och tillblivelse, närvaro och frånvaro, stad och horisont.

Darkroom Fotosalong 2026

Riddersvik, Stockholm
30 maj – 21 juni 2026
Vernissage: 30 maj kl. 12.00–16.00

Som del av den jurybedömda utställningen presenterar Novisali ”Vid Tröskeln / On the Threshold”.

Verket tar sin början i ett fotografiskt ögonblick fångat från Stadshuset i Stockholm med utsikt mot Söder och utvecklas genom en lagerbaserad konstnärlig process till en reflektion kring övergång, närvaro, horisont och tillblivelse.

Verket utforskar trösklar inte bara som fysiska platser utan som inre landskap — där minnet dröjer kvar medan möjligheten stilla träder in.

Mer om utställningen och verket:

Virtuell utställning – Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence

Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence är en fotografisk och konstnärlig utforskning som riktar blicken mot det som ofta undgår ögat — de sköra konturerna av mänsklig närvaro.

I det skiftande samspelet mellan skugga och ljus, rörelse och stillhet blir silhuetter mer än konturer. De träder fram som bärare av minnen, spår av relationer och drömmar som sträcker sig bortom ögonblicket.

Genom sammanvävningen av fotografi, digitala lager, rörlig bild och konstnärlig tolkning bjuder verken in till reflektion över det som återstår när ett ögonblick löses upp i tystnad. Varje bild blir samtidigt flyktig och bestående — en paus i tiden som fortsätter att vibrera som ett stilla eko.

Serien växte fram ur en gemensam höstresa kring fotografi, komposition och kreativa samtal tillsammans med andra skapare.

Den presenterades först i en intim Private View den 11 november 2025, med fem verk. Utställningen kring närvaro, minne, skugga och tillblivelse växte senare till en offentlig virtuell separatutställning med 11 fotografiska och mixed-media verk samt ett rörligt videoverk.

Utforska den virtuella utställningen:

Utforska konstverk av Novisali tillgängliga för förvärv

Trösklar följer ofta livets övergångar: examen, konfirmationer, bröllop, nya början, avslut och de stilla stegen in i nya kapitel.

Echoes of Presence reflekterar över dessa mellanrum — där minne möter möjlighet, där närvaro möter tillblivelse och där ljus, skugga och stillhet följer förändring.

Utvalda verk ur serien finns nu tillgängliga för samling.

Om något av verken resonerar med din egen resa eller en betydelsefull tröskel i livet är du varmt välkommen att uttrycka intresse för att förvärva ett verk. Utvalda verk inkluderar även digitala förlängningar och rörliga lager, som låter berättelsen fortsätta bortom den synliga bilden.

Källor till inspiration och samtida ekon

• The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art – The Marginalian – om hur skugga och rytm avslöjar närvaro.
• Silence, Solitude, and the Art of Surrender – The Marginalian –om hur tystnad blir en lysande akt av uppmärksamhet.
• NASA Art Program – liljuset från rymden och den mänskliga närvaron.
• NASA: To the Moon and Back Murals – om geometri, utforskande och skapande förbindelser.
• NASA and Art – History and Reflections
• NASA History Notes Summer 2025
• The Nobel Prizes 2025 – Press Release – där vetenskap möter poesi och det osynliga blir synligt.
• Metal-Organic Frameworks Explained – Phys.org – om Nobelupptäckternas dolda strukturer.
• Camera Lucida by Roland Barthes
• The Hero of Thousand Faces by James Campbell

Om Novisali 

Novisali (alias Liselotte Engstam) är, vid sidan av sina roller som professionell styrelseledamot och rådgivare, en multimediakonstnär med ett nyfiket och utforskande sinne.
Hon strävar efter att lära och utvidga konstupplevelser för både nuvarande och nya publikgrupper, genom att använda både traditionella och nya digitala medier.

Mer information och utställningar finns på Novisali.com.
Detta blogginlägg delas också på www.liselotteengstam.com, under konstnärsnamnet Novisali.

The post Between Presence and Becoming first appeared on Novisali.

(In English Below)

Vissa resor börjar långt innan båten lämnar bryggan. Den här började genom fotografiet — genom veckor av att sakta ner, observera ljuset, söka kompositioner och lära sig att se på ett nytt sätt.

Det som började som en del av programmet Inspirerande Fotografering under ledning av fotografen Robert Wållberg utvecklades gradvis till något större: en visuell resa genom Stockholms innerskärgårds vattenvägar, där fotografi, historia, arkitektur, minnen och kulturellt berättande började flätas samman.

Några av de fotoövningar och kreativa utforskanden som växte fram under resan syns här — där ljus, former, rörelse och stämningar gradvis blev till berättelser genom kameran. Resan blev inte bara en förflyttning mellan platser, utan också ett sätt att börja se världen annorlunda genom fotografiet.

Från vattnet tycks villorna nästan avslöja sig på ett annat sätt. I Stocksund, Djursholm, Storholmen och Lidingö öppnar sig fasaderna mot ljuset medan berättelser långsamt träder fram genom linsen: konstnärer och arkitekter, hotellpionjärer, kulturmecenater, industrifamiljer, kungliga kopplingar och kreativa världar som fortfarande tycks dröja kvar längs strandlinjen.

Ibland kändes resan mindre som dokumentation av platser och mer som att röra sig genom historiska lager. En villa blev en dörröppning till ett annat sekel. En spegling i vattnet bar spår av samtal, målningar, musik och liv som en gång levts där. Kameran blev långsamt både observatör och berättare.

Och kanske var det där ännu en dimension av immersivt berättande tyst började ta form. För resan fotograferades inte bara. Den kartlades också, lagerlades och dokumenterades rumsligt genom ArcGIS StoryMaps från ESRI.

Kombinationen av bilder, geografi, vattenvägar, rörelse och berättelse förvandlade upplevelsen till något mer immersivt än ett traditionellt resereportage. Inte bara en serie fotografier — utan en resa som människor själva kan röra sig genom.

Kartan blir en del av berättandet. Landskapet blir berättelsens struktur. Platsen själv blir ett minne.

I den meningen öppnar StoryMaps ännu en fascinerande dimension av immersivt berättande — där fotografi, geografi, historia och reflektion smälter samman till lager av närvaro och upptäckande.

Delar av denna framväxande process har löpande delats genom Inspiring Photography-reflektionerna på Instagram via @novisali_arts och kulminerar nu i Resereportaget och en privat utställning på Tollare Gård i Nacka.

Det som alltmer fascinerar mig är hur immersivt berättande idag kan ske genom så många sammanlänkade former: genom fotografi, genom rörelse, genom kartor, genom förstärkta lager, genom minnen, genom atmosfär och genom mellanrummen mellan historia och nutid.

Kanske handlar immersivt berättande egentligen inte alls om teknik. Kanske handlar det om att hjälpa oss att träda djupare in i berättelser, platser och mänsklig närvaro.

Utforska StoryMap Bakom Fasaderna på Svenska:

Inspirerande Fotografering Reflektions serie & länkar

Reflektionsserien Inspirerande Fotografering har vuxit fram under ledning av den utmärkta fotografen Robert Wållberg — en säsong av gemensamt utforskande där fotografer vecka för vecka har experimenterat med seende genom ljus, komposition, perspektiv och samtal.

Det har varit en resa som inte bara handlat om teknik och bilder, utan också om att långsamt börja se världen annorlunda genom kameran — hur ljus formar rum, hur detaljer förändrar berättelser och hur fotografi kan öppna nya sätt att uppleva närvaro, stämning och mening.

Delar av processen har löpande delats i reflektionsserien Inspiring Photography på Instagramkontot @novisali_arts och kan upplevas via denna länk reflektionsserien Inspiring Photography:

Direktlänkar till StoryMaps:

Bakom Fasaderna på svenska

Behind the Facades På Engelska

Prova att skapa din egen StoryMap med ArcGIS

Relaterade Historier

Om Novisali 

Novisali (alias Liselotte Engstam) är, vid sidan av sina roller som professionell styrelseledamot och rådgivare, en multimediakonstnär med ett nyfiket och utforskande sinne.
Hon strävar efter att lära och utvidga konstupplevelser för både nuvarande och nya publikgrupper, genom att använda både traditionella och nya digitala medier.

Mer information och utställningar finns på Novisali.com.
Detta blogginlägg delas också på www.liselotteengstam.com.

Behind the Facades 

– Photography, History, and Storytelling Along Stockholm’s Waterways

Some journeys begin long before the boat leaves the pier. This one began through photography — through weeks of slowing down, observing light, searching for composition, and learning to see differently.

What started as part of the Inspiring Photography program led by photographer Robert Wållberg gradually evolved into something larger: a visual journey through the waterways of Stockholm’s inner archipelago, where photography, history, architecture, memory, and cultural storytelling began to intertwine.

Some of the photography exercises and creative explorations that emerged during the journey can be seen here — where light, shapes, movement, and atmosphere gradually became stories through the camera. The journey became not only a movement between places, but also a way of beginning to see the world differently through photography.

From the water, the villas almost seem to reveal themselves differently. In Stocksund, 
Djursholm, Storholmen, and Lidingö, facades open toward the light while stories quietly emerge through the lens: artists and architects, hotel pioneers, cultural patrons, industrial families, royal connections, and creative worlds that still seem to linger along the shoreline.

At times, the journey felt less like documenting places and more like moving through historical layers. A villa became a doorway into another century. A reflection in the water carried traces of conversations, paintings, music, and lives once lived there. The camera slowly became part observer, part storyteller. 

And perhaps that is where another dimension of immersive storytelling quietly appeared. Because the journey was not only photographed. It was also mapped, layered, and spatially documented through ArcGIS StoryMaps by ESRI.

The combination of images, geography, waterways, movement, and narrative transformed the experience into something more immersive than a traditional travel story. Not only a sequence of photographs — but a journey people can move through themselves.

The map becomes part of the storytelling. The landscape becomes narrative structure. Place itself becomes memory.

In that sense, StoryMaps opens another fascinating dimension of immersive storytelling:
where photography, geography, history, and reflection merge into layered experiences of presence and discovery.

Fragments of this evolving process have continuously been shared through the Inspiring Photography reflections on Instagram via @novisali_arts and now culminate in the travel report and a private exhibition at Tollare Gård in Nacka.

What increasingly fascinates me is how immersive storytelling today can happen across so many interconnected forms: through photography, through movement, through maps, through augmented layers, through memory, through atmosphere, and through the spaces between history and the present moment.

Perhaps immersive storytelling is not ultimately about technology at all. Perhaps it is about helping us enter more deeply into stories, places, and human presence.

Explore StoryMap Behind the Facades in English

Inspiring Photography Reflection Series and links

The reflection series Inspiring Photography has evolved under the guidance of the excellent photographer Robert Wållberg — a season of shared exploration where photographers, week by week, experimented with seeing through light, composition, perspective, and conversation.

It has been a journey not only about technique and images, but also about slowly beginning to see the world differently through the camera — how light shapes spaces, how details transform stories, and how photography can open new ways of experiencing presence, atmosphere, and meaning.

Parts of the process have continuously been shared through the reflection series Inspiring Photography on the Instagram account @novisali_arts and can be experienced through this link Inspiring Photography reflection series:

Find direkt links to the Story Maps :

Behind the Facades in English :

Bakom Fasaderna In Swedish :

Try make your own StoryMap with ArcGIS from ESRI

Related Stories

About Novisali 

Novisali, (alias Liselotte Engstam), is besides her roles as professional board member and advisor, a multi-media artist, with a curious, explorative mind and an ambition to learn and extend art experiences to current and new audiences using both traditional and new digital mediums. More information and exhibitions can be found via Novisali.com

This blog post is also shared at the blog of www.liselotteengstam.com.

The post Bakom fasaderna/ Behind the Facades first appeared on Novisali.

(På Svenska nedan)

There are moments when light doesn’t just shine – it whispers. It glides across a surface, pauses at an edge, shapes a quiet contour. In that moment something fleeting yet tangible appears – a presence that cannot be captured, only sensed.

Perhaps it is there that inspiration takes form – in what has not yet found words, but is already felt.

The Silhouette – the Shape of Memory

A silhouette is more than a form against the light. It is an imprint of time, an echo of something that once stood there. When the details fade and the colors fall silent, presence itself steps forward. The silhouette becomes like a memory – not exact, but true in its own way.

In the shifting patterns of nature, the same language repeats: trees in backlight, a figure passing by, a shadow that follows without speaking. The silhouette is both anonymous and intimate – a reminder that we all leave traces, even when we believe ourselves unseen.

Shadows and silhouettes can become storytellers in themselves.
They remind us that absence can define presence, that a gesture of light and darkness can carry rhythm, memory, and meaning — much like jazz itself, playing between the notes.

Watch the History of Jazz, Animated in Dhadow Art 3,5 min by Dominik Käser and team;

“The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art” on YouTube

Echo – What Lingers

An echo is not a repetition; it is a delay. It carries the distance of time but also the warmth of its source. When an image or sound bounces back, it changes – yet its essence remains.

So too with our impressions. We experience something, and much later it returns – in a color, in a light, in a feeling we cannot quite place. Art can be that echo: a movement between the now and what has lingered.

Within the tempestuous Carina Nebula, photographed by the Hubble Space Telescope, lies “Mystic Mountain” – a living sculpture of gas and dust, sculpted by light and time. Perhaps the nature of inspiration is like that: light traveling through darkness and still arriving.

NASA’s Art Program has invited artists to capture the moment when the human gaze meets the infinite — a gesture of curiosity and connection that mirrors the creative act itself. One of its latest commissions, To the Moon and Back, by artists Geraluz and WERC, transforms geometric patterns into reflections on exploration and belonging.

Light from space is not cold; it carries our questions, just as a painting can hold our longing for meaning.

Presence – The Space Between

Presence is not about filling every surface, but about daring to leave emptiness.
It is in the pause, in the breath between two movements, that true presence emerges. A painting can breathe, a photograph can hold silence, a room can contain stillness.

We often speak of seeing, but perhaps it is more about staying – letting the gaze rest until something begins to speak back.
That is the moment when the viewer becomes part of the image.

Silence is not emptiness but a vivid presence — an art of surrender, allowing the world, and ourselves, to unfold in stillness.
Presence, then, is not static. It is a dialogue between weight and lightness, order and chance.

The eye seeks symmetry, yet the heart longs for irregularity.
When the well-balanced tilts slightly, when silence gains a hint of motion – energy arises.

That same energy can be sensed in this year’s Nobel Prizes, where science turned toward poetry.
* Quantum tunneling – particles passing through barriers as if they weren’t there.
* Molecular frameworks with vast inner surfaces – where the hidden holds more than the visible.
* Words that refuse to give up before the dark.
All tell the same story: that the invisible, the nearly impossible, still carries the potential for change.

In the act of creation, that movement is familiar – a kind of inner tunneling, where thought slips through barriers, from silence into form.

There is a physics to every feeling, a structure to every thought.
And perhaps art is the place where the precision of science meets the poetry of stillness.

Light as a Storyteller

Light is more than illumination – it is the voice of the story. It shapes, conceals, reveals. It lets shadow speak.

Sometimes it carries stillness, sometimes drama, sometimes only a faint promise.
Light shows us what is visible, but also reminds us of what is not.
In its passage through the day there is rhythm, change, and hope.
And in its absence – space for dreaming.

When shadow falls and light withdraws, something remains in the room.
Not just the image, but a feeling – a soft echo of presence.
Perhaps that is where the essence of art lies: in the dialogue between the visible and the perceptible.

Coming Art Exhibitions by Novisali

These reflections continue in the upcoming Art exhibitions, where light, shadow, and stillness hold conversations across boundaries and materials:
• Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence – November 11, 2025
• Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence – November–December 2025 
• Sparks of Hope – December 2025

Sources of Inspiration and Contemporary Echoes

• The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art – The Marginalian – on how shadow and rhythm reveal presence.
• Silence, Solitude, and the Art of Surrender – The Marginalian – on how silence becomes a luminous act of attention.
• NASA Art Program – light of space and human presence.
• NASA: To the Moon and Back Murals – on geometry, exploration, and creative connection.
• NASA and Art – History and Reflections
• NASA History Notes Summer 2025
• The Nobel Prizes 2025 – Press Release – where science meets poetry and the unseen becomes visible.
• Metal-Organic Frameworks Explained – Phys.org – on the Nobel discoveries of hidden structures.

About Novisali 

Novisali, (alias Liselotte Engstam), is besides her roles as professional board member and advisor, a multi-media artist, with a curious, explorative mind and an ambition to learn and extend art experiences to current and new audiences using both traditional and new digital mediums. More information and exhibitions can be found via Novisali.com

This blog post is also shared at the blog of www.liselotteengstam.com, with the artist name Novisali.

Ekon av närvaro – Skugga, ljus och tystnadens form

Det finns ögonblick när ljuset inte bara lyser – det viskar.
Det glider över en yta, stannar till vid en kant, formar en stilla kontur.
I det ögonblicket uppstår något flyktigt men ändå påtagligt – en närvaro som inte kan fångas, bara anas.

Kanske är det där inspirationen tar form – i det som ännu inte funnit ord, men redan känns.

Silhuetten – Minnets form

En silhuett är mer än en form mot ljuset.
Den är ett avtryck av tid, ett eko av något som en gång stod där.
När detaljerna bleknar och färgerna tystnar, träder själva närvaron fram.
Silhuetten blir som ett minne – inte exakt, men sant på sitt eget sätt.

I naturens skiftande mönster upprepar sig samma språk:
träd i motljus, en gestalt som passerar, en skugga som följer utan att tala.
Silhuetten är både anonym och intim – en påminnelse om att vi alla lämnar spår,
även när vi tror oss vara osedda.

Skuggor och silhuetter kan bli berättare i sig själva.
De påminner oss om att frånvaro kan definiera närvaro –
att ett samspel mellan ljus och mörker kan bära rytm, minne och mening —
precis som jazzen, som spelas mellan tonerna.

 Se “The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art” (3,5 min) av Dominik Käser och team på YouTube.

Eko – Det som dröjer kvar

Ett eko är inte en upprepning; det är en fördröjning.
Det bär tidens avstånd men också källans värme.
När en bild eller ett ljud studsar tillbaka förändras det – men dess väsen finns kvar.

Så är det också med våra intryck.
Vi upplever något, och långt senare återvänder det –
i en färg, i ett ljus, i en känsla vi inte riktigt kan placera.
Konst kan vara det ekot – en rörelse mellan nuet och det som dröjt sig kvar.

Mystiska berget i Carinanebulosan – fotograferat av Hubbleteleskopet, NASA

Inne i den stormiga Carinanebulosan, fotograferad av Hubbleteleskopet,
ligger “Mystic Mountain” – en levande skulptur av gas och stoft,
formad av ljus och tid.
Kanske är inspirationens natur just så: ljus som färdas genom mörkret och ändå når fram.

NASAs konstprogram har bjudit in konstnärer att fånga ögonblicket när den mänskliga blicken möter det oändliga —
en gest av nyfikenhet och förbindelse som speglar själva skapandeakten.
Ett av de senaste uppdragen, To the Moon and Back av konstnärerna Geraluz och WERC, förvandlar geometriska mönster till reflektioner om utforskande och tillhörighet.

Ljuset från rymden är inte kallt;
det bär våra frågor – precis som en målning kan rymma vår längtan efter mening.

Närvaro – Rummet mellan

Närvaro handlar inte om att fylla varje yta, utan om modet att lämna tomrum.
Det är i pausen, i andetaget mellan två rörelser, som sann närvaro uppstår.
En målning kan andas, ett fotografi kan hålla tystnad, ett rum kan rymma stillhet.

Vi talar ofta om att se, men kanske handlar det mer om att stanna –
att låta blicken vila tills något börjar tala tillbaka.
Det är då betraktaren blir en del av bilden.

Tystnad är inte tomhet, utan en levande närvaro –
en konst i att ge efter, låta världen – och oss själva – veckla ut sig i stillhet.

Närvaro är alltså inte statisk.
Det är en dialog mellan tyngd och lätthet, ordning och slump.
Ögat söker symmetri, men hjärtat längtar efter oregelbundenhet.
När det välbalanserade tippar lätt, när tystnaden får en antydan av rörelse –
då uppstår energi.

Nobelprisets poesi

Samma energi kan anas i årets Nobelpris, där vetenskapen vände sig mot poesin:

• Kvanttunnelering – partiklar som passerar genom barriärer som om de inte fanns.
• Molekylära ramverk med enorma inre ytor – där det dolda rymmer mer än det synliga.
• Ord som vägrar ge upp inför mörkret.

Alla berättar samma historia: att det osynliga, det nästan omöjliga, fortfarande bär förändringens kraft.

I själva skapandet är den rörelsen välbekant –
en sorts inre tunnelering, där tanken glider genom barriärer,
från tystnad till form.

Det finns en fysik i varje känsla, en struktur i varje tanke.
Och kanske är konsten den plats där vetenskapens precision möter tystnadens poesi.

Ljuset som berättare

Ljuset är mer än belysning – det är berättelsens röst.
Det formar, döljer, avslöjar.
Det låter skuggan tala.

Ibland bär det stillhet, ibland dramatik, ibland bara ett svagt löfte.
Ljuset visar oss det synliga, men påminner också om det osynliga.
I dess gång genom dagen finns rytm, förändring och hopp.
Och i dess frånvaro – utrymme för drömmar.

När skuggan faller och ljuset drar sig tillbaka, finns något kvar i rummet.
Inte bara bilden, utan en känsla – ett mjukt eko av närvaro.

Kanske är det där konstens kärna ligger:
i dialogen mellan det synliga och det förnimbara.

Kommande utställningar av Novisali

Dessa reflektioner fortsätter i kommande konstutställningar,
där ljus, skugga och stillhet för samtal över gränser och material:

• Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence – November 11, 2025
• Echoes of Silhouettes in Presence – November–December 2025 – ÖPPEN NU
• Sparks of Hope – December 2025

Källor till inspiration och samtida ekon

• The History of Jazz, Animated in Shadow Art – The Marginalian – om hur skugga och rytm avslöjar närvaro.
• Silence, Solitude, and the Art of Surrender – The Marginalian –om hur tystnad blir en lysande akt av uppmärksamhet.
• NASA Art Program – liljuset från rymden och den mänskliga närvaron.
• NASA: To the Moon and Back Murals – om geometri, utforskande och skapande förbindelser.
• NASA and Art – History and Reflections
• NASA History Notes Summer 2025
• The Nobel Prizes 2025 – Press Release – där vetenskap möter poesi och det osynliga blir synligt.
• Metal-Organic Frameworks Explained – Phys.org – om Nobelupptäckternas dolda strukturer.

Om Novisali 

Novisali (alias Liselotte Engstam) är, vid sidan av sina roller som professionell styrelseledamot och rådgivare, en multimediakonstnär med ett nyfiket och utforskande sinne.
Hon strävar efter att lära och utvidga konstupplevelser för både nuvarande och nya publikgrupper, genom att använda både traditionella och nya digitala medier.

Mer information och utställningar finns på Novisali.com.
Detta blogginlägg delas också på www.liselotteengstam.com, under konstnärsnamnet Novisali.

The post Echoes of Presence first appeared on Novisali.

There’s a moment, just before the camera finds its focus, when the world seems to hold its breath. A fragment of metal, a carved shape, a brush of light — something small suddenly becomes everything.

In that instant, we move from glancing to seeing. From scanning to sensing. From overview to intimacy. This theme — Close-Up & Details — invites that quiet shift: the art of leaning in to what we usually overlook.

In the Margin

When we come close, the world rearranges itself. The familiar becomes abstract. The ordinary, sculptural. Edges blur, textures rise to the surface, and small things — once peripheral — reveal unexpected grace.

“In the margin lies the pulse of transformation — what we ignore often holds the seeds of renewal.”

“In the margin” is not just a place on a page or a frame. It is a state of awareness — a borderland where focus softens and something new comes alive. It is there, in the faint glimmer of a reflection or the crack in the paint, that the unnoticed begins to speak.

Close-ups remind us that life’s beauty often hides in what doesn’t announce itself.

Details as Meaning

Every detail carries its own story — a curve, a repetition, a texture that time has shaped.
Artists, poets, and scientists share this same discipline: to notice what others pass by.

The visual artist Yasemin Uyar’s Patternicity transforms ordinary moments into “dreamy diagrams of daily life” — reminding us that even the smallest fragments hold hidden rhythm, if we only pause to see.

To attend to details, then, is not to be distracted by the small, but to let the small reveal the whole. Attention, after all, is a form of reverence. In a world of noise, to truly see is an act of care.

“When we turn our gaze toward detail, the world begins to weave itself back together.”

The Practice of Seeing

Taking a close-up photograph is a kind of meditation. It demands stillness. It rewards patience.

The act of adjusting focus — of moving closer until the familiar becomes strange — opens a new dimension of understanding. Light becomes language. Shadow, punctuation.

Try it: move close to something you think you know — a door, a leaf, a fragment of wall — and stay with it. What appears at first as form begins to dissolve into texture, rhythm, and tone. The surface becomes story.

Zooming In and Out — From Art to Strategy

This act of seeing — zooming in to explore detail, zooming out to understand context — is not only artistic. It mirrors the very rhythm of leadership and strategy.

In boardrooms, as in creative work, clarity emerges from movement between scales. We zoom in to understand nuance and data; we zoom out to discern direction and purpose.

The 2025 Nobel Prize in Economic Sciences, awarded to Philippe Aghion, Peter Howitt, and Joel Mokyr, celebrates this same dynamic in the realm of innovation — the dance of creative destruction. Their research shows how renewal happens when we can see both the fine grain of change and the broader architecture of systems: when we value the small sparks that, over time, transform entire economies.

This interplay between micro and macro echoes Alexander von Humboldt’s vision of nature as a living web — where “no single fact can be considered in isolation, but only as part of a cosmic whole.”

“To see clearly, we must learn to shift our distance — to move between detail and horizon, between part and whole.”

In both art and strategy, that awareness is vital. Zoom in, and you find structure and details. Zoom out, and you find context and meaning. Both are needed for renewal.

Three Photographs in Dialogue

Each close-up became a quiet encounter — a study in patience and proximity.

1. Iron and Light

A loop of forged metal catches sunlight on its weathered edge — a dialogue between strength and softness, between light and endurance.

2. Wood and Symbol

On an old door, iron and wood converse through texture and geometry — human intention meeting the slow artistry of time.

3. Stone and Color

Against a wall of vivid red, a carved ornament spirals like a fossil of movement, holding centuries in a single touch.

Each image is a microcosm — a meeting of material, time, and emotion. Together they speak of attention, of presence, of belonging through closeness.

Maps of Togetherness Art Exhibition 

These reflections also resonate with my upcoming exhibition Maps of Togetherness, where connection itself becomes a landscape.
Just as close-ups reveal hidden relations between surfaces, Maps of Togetherness explores the threads of human relation — how we are bound not by grand gestures, but by subtle alignments and shared textures of experience.

To see closely is to recognize kinship: between metal and light, between people and places, between what is seen and what is sensed.

Novisali is exhibiting Maps of Togetherness together with fellow artists from Danderyd Art Center at Församlingens Hus Danderyd (Angantyrvägen 39, Djursholm) from October 17–31, 2025. Opening hours are weekdays, 9 AM–4 PM, and Sundays 12.30-2PM. Welcome to experience the works of Novisali and other artists – in togetherness.

Read more: Novisali art exhibition  

Returning to the Whole

After every close-up comes the instinct to step back — to see how the detail fits within the larger pattern.

Perhaps meaning doesn’t reside in the grand overview, but in the patient study of a single surface — and in the movement between the two. When we learn to shift focus — in art, in strategy, in life — we rediscover balance.

“Every detail is a doorway. Step closer, and the world begins to speak.”

Further Reading & Connections

• Patternicity — Yasemin Uyar’s lyrical exploration of daily detail (The Marginalian)
• Alexander von Humboldt and the Invention of Nature — on the cosmos of connections (The Marginalian)
• Bridging Polarities and Creative Destruction — reflections on board renewal (Digoshen.com)
• Maps of Togetherness — upcoming exhibition (Novisali.com)

About Novisali 

Novisali, (alias Liselotte Engstam), is besides her roles as professional board member and advisor, a multi-media artist, with a curious, explorative mind and an ambition to learn and extend art experiences to current and new audiences using both traditional and new digital mediums. More information and exhibitions can be found via Novisali.com

This blog post is also shared at the blog of www.liselotteengstam.com, with the artist name Novisali.

The post Close-Up: The Art of Seeing the Unseen first appeared on Novisali.

The Language of Shapes

Triangles, circles, and squares: three forms so simple a child can draw them, yet so profound that they have guided artists, architects, scientists, and seekers for millennia. They are not just geometry but a grammar of the world. In paintings, they set mood and rhythm. In photography, they guide the gaze and hold balance. In science and nature, they reveal hidden laws of strength, cycles, and growth. And in philosophy and spiritual traditions, they appear again and again as archetypes — aspiration, unity, grounding.

When we pay attention to these shapes, we begin to see them everywhere — in the rise of a roofline, in the orbit of a planet, in the frame of a photograph, in the sacred centers of faith. They remind us that form is never only surface, but meaning, memory, and metaphor.

The Triangle

The triangle is the shape of reaching. It points, it leans, it gathers energy to rise. In Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, Christ sits at the center of a perfect triangle, a geometry that steadies the whole composition and, at the same time, directs the eye upward toward transcendence. The triangle here becomes not only a compositional tool but a symbol of balance, divinity, and the tension between earth and heaven.

Artists and photographers have long trusted the triangle for its ability to create movement and equilibrium. In architecture, towers, gables, and pyramids rise in triangular silhouettes, embodying both stability and aspiration. The triangle is dynamic: an upright form suggests strength and harmony, while an inverted one hints at imbalance, fragility, even danger.

Science confirms what the eye intuits: the triangle is the strongest of shapes. Bridges stand on triangular trusses, each side leaning into the other, refusing collapse. At the microscopic level, molecules often arrange themselves in triangular or tetrahedral patterns, revealing that even nature depends on the strength of this archetype.

Symbolically, the triangle has carried multiple meanings. In alchemy, the upward triangle was fire, spirit, striving; the downward triangle was water, receptivity, surrender. In Christianity, it became the Trinity — three distinct, one eternal. In every context, the triangle holds tension: balanced yet dynamic, grounded yet always pointing beyond itself.

Reflective Question: What is your triangle right now — what are you reaching toward, and where do you feel the tension of balance in your life?

The Circle

Where the triangle points, the circle embraces. It is the line with no beginning and no end, the form of wholeness and eternal return.

Kandinsky called it the most spiritual of shapes, and in his Several Circles, they float like planets suspended in cosmic rhythm, vibrating with unseen harmony. Across cultures, circles have been used to map both the universe and the soul. In Hindu and Buddhist traditions, mandalas unfold as intricate circles, representations of the cosmos and the path toward inner completeness.

In Zen practice, the ensō — drawn in a single breath — captures enlightenment, emptiness, and presence, all at once.

Circles guide the eye differently than triangles: they hold us, draw us in, and set us moving endlessly along their path. A round mirror reflects not only the subject but the endlessness of seeing. The curve of an arch softens edges and invites entry. A stone cast into water writes its memory in widening rings, a visible poem of cause and effect.

Nature, too, favors the circle. The orbits of planets, once traced by Kepler, reveal cycles of cosmic order. The rings of a tree mark time, each band a record of survival. Ripples move across a pond, carrying outward the energy of a single drop. Even our eyes — the portals of perception — are circles gazing out and in.

Philosophically and spiritually, the circle speaks of eternity and return. The ouroboros, the serpent devouring its own tail, illustrates the cycle of life and death unending. The Zen ensō embraces both everything and nothing, perfection and imperfection. The circle reminds us that life itself is cyclical — that what departs one day returns, changed but continuous.

Reflective Question: Where in your life do you sense circles — rhythms that repeat, cycles that return, or wholeness that holds you together?

The Square

If the circle belongs to heaven, the square belongs to earth. It is the form of grounding, order, and stability.

In 1915, Kazimir Malevich unveiled his Black Square, a stark painting he called the “zero point of art.” Preserved today at the Tate, it still feels radical: a rupture with representation, a doorway into pure form. Mondrian later sought harmony in grids of squares and rectangles, balancing blocks of color to reflect universal order.

The square has shaped how we see. Square-format cameras like the Hasselblad or Rolleiflex demanded symmetry, while Instagram’s original square frame trained a generation to think in balance. The square insists on boundaries, on edges, on balance.

In nature, the square is less common but no less striking. Salt crystals grow as perfect cubes, miniature architectures of matter. Human culture has embraced the square fully: cities and houses are framed in rectangles, books rest as squares in the hand, and chessboards mark the logic of the mind’s battle.

Spiritually, the square carries grounding power. In Chinese cosmology, heaven was round, but earth was square — the infinite paired with the material. Native American medicine wheels divided life into four directions and four elements, rooting the circle of existence in the logic of four. At the heart of Islam stands the Kaaba in Mecca, a perfect cube circled endlessly by pilgrims, embodying the meeting of heaven’s infinity and earth’s solidity.

Reflective Question: What is your square — where do you feel grounded, stable, or held by the boundaries and structures in your life?

Shapes through My Lens

These archetypal forms are not only found in paintings, temples, or scientific models — they are also present in the very spaces we walk through. During one of our weekly Photography and Composition Challenges, I followed the thread of squares, triangles, and circles through the Stockholm City Hall, the venue where the Nobel Banquet is held each December. Moving through its architecture, I began to see how these shapes are not abstractions but living companions, guiding both structure and spirit.

The arcade outside Stockholm City Hall, designed by architect Ragnar Östberg, is carried by massive granite pillars and rounded arches inspired by Italian architecture. Circles appear in the arches and spheres, triangles in the bases of the markers, and squares in the stone blocks of the wall. Together they create a balance between strength and ornament, echoing Östberg’s vision of blending Italian grace with Swedish solidity.

Inside the Council Chamber, where Stockholm’s City Council meets, the ceiling becomes a tapestry of forms. Wooden beams cross into triangles and squares, while painted panels of stars and leaf ornaments bring circular rhythm to the space. Designed by Östberg and decorated by Axel Erdmann and Olle Hjortzberg, the hall embodies the National Romantic spirit — a meeting of technique, symbolism, and artistry.

The Prince’s Gallery, overlooking Riddarfjärden, shows how geometry and the human figure converse. Sculptor Carl Eldh’s relief of a powerful male form stands beside a gridded window, its strict squares contrasting with the organic body. Circles in the nearby spheres and the figure’s diagonal stance draw the eye into a dialogue of stability and motion, of art and architecture intertwined.

Closing

Triangle, circle, square. Three shapes, endlessly repeated. The triangle rising, the circle flowing, the square grounding. They appear on canvas, in photographs, in molecules, in the orbits of stars, and in the sacred centers of faith. They are more than geometry: they are metaphors for living.

To see them is to remember that life, too, has its shapes. We reach, we return, we root. And in their quiet presence, these forms remind us that aspiration, unity, and grounding are not only patterns in art but rhythms of existence.

Final reflection: Which of these shapes calls to you most strongly now — are you in a season of reaching like the triangle, flowing like the circle, or grounding like the square?

References

The Secret and Sacred Geometry of Leonardo’s The Last Supper
The Alchemist Symbol — OUP Education Blog
“1992” — Guggenheim Collection
Ensō — Wikipedia
“Black Square” — Kazimir Malevich — Tate
Salt Crystals, Cubic Geometry — ZME Science
Stockholm City Hall — Wikipedia
Nobel Banquet — Wikipedia
The Nobel Prize — Official Site
Hilma af Klint: Altarpieces — Art Gallery of New South Wales

From Reflection to Encounter

This reflection on shapes does not remain only in words. On October 10-13 2025, these silent shifts of perspective will find form in public space at Art Fair ARTMUC Munich, where Novisali’s guardians — Fox, Bear, Eagle, and Hedgehog — will be shown with Galeria Gaudi. 

Each guardian carries its own shape of vision — a triangle’s reach, a circle’s embrace, a square’s grounding — each a way of seeing and protecting. They invite visitors to move closer, to circle, to pause. In the exhibition hall, the play of forms deepens: light, distance, and the movement of others turn still images into living encounters. Shapes emerge not only within the works, but also in the spaces between them, in the sightlines that cross the fair’s hundreds of voices in art.

What was once inward reflection becomes shared discovery. To follow the line of a triangle, the curve of a circle, the frame of a square, is to step, to lean, to look anew — together, in Munich.  Read more about the exhibition here.

About Novisali 

Novisali, (alias Liselotte Engstam), is besides her roles as professional board member and advisor, a multi-media artist, with a curious, explorative mind and an ambition to learn and extend art experiences to current and new audiences using both traditional and new digital mediums. More information and exhibitions can be found via Novisali.com

This blog post is also shared at the blog of www.liselotteengstam.com, with the artist name Novisali.

The post The Language of Shapes first appeared on Novisali.

The Hidden Architecture of Angles

Two lines converging, a pause in their journey, a moment of decision. Angles shape the way we see, the way we move, the way we create. They are quiet signposts, telling us where to turn, how to climb, and what to notice.

In art, angles guide the eye across the canvas. A diagonal pulls us forward, a triangle lifts us upward, a curve softens the edge of conflict. They hold both balance and tension, structure and freedom.

In nature, angles are everywhere — the hexagons of a honeycomb, the crystalline perfection of snow, the branches splitting from a trunk in purposeful directions. Each one a reminder that even the smallest forms of life build on geometry, precision, and intention.

In The Marginalian’s The Consolations of the Telescopic Perspective, the writer invites us to step beyond the narrow field of our own moment — to zoom out, to tilt upward or outward. That is exactly what I’m suggesting when I say: shift your angle.

And in life, angles invite us to shift perspective.
Seen from above, a landscape unfolds as patterns we could never notice at ground level. From below, the towering shapes of architecture or trees remind us of scale, strength, and awe. From the side, light casts unexpected shadows that reveal new textures.

I was also struck by a series of watercolour estate plans in The Public Domain Review — sweeping aerial views that collapse height, ground, and line into one frame. From above, the gardens, paths, and fences become geometry. What looks ordinary on the ground becomes extraordinary when lifted into another dimension.

Three Photographs, Three Angles

During a recent photography and composition session, three images reminded me how profoundly angles shape meaning:

The first image gazes upward, where a pale column ascends into a flawless blue. Seen from below, the angle stretches its height into infinity, turning concrete into aspiration. The geometry is sharp yet serene, a dialogue between earthbound weight and skyward lightness. The strength lies in its clarity, though the austerity leaves little warmth—like a promise kept at a distance.

The second view tilts gently upward toward a sculpture of steel and silence. Curved arcs rise like sails, caught in an unseen wind, while a lone figure sits suspended within. The angle lends motion, as if the form itself leans into journey. Here strength lies in rhythm and the human touch, yet the seated figure, seen from below, feels untouchable—balanced between presence and absence.

The third frame looks almost straight down upon a duck adrift in rippling light. The angle flattens the scene, so that feathers become tapestry and water transforms into shifting glass. Serenity rests in the stillness of the bird against the restless surface. Yet the patterns threaten to steal attention, as if reminding us that calm often exists only when seen from the right angle.

The Courage to Tilt the Lens

To look from another angle is to see a familiar scene differently — what once felt sharp may soften, what seemed like a wall may reveal itself as a path. Angles are metaphors for choices, for pivots, for the courage to explore new directions.

Where angles meet, there is connection.
Two paths crossing, two ideas aligning, two lives intersecting — each encounter forming a point that changes the lines that continue onward.

Perhaps angles are less about edges and more about possibilities. They are the moments in between, when direction is not fixed but waiting for us to choose.

So the next time you find yourself standing still, try tilting the lens.
Look from above, from below, from the side.
Shift your angle.

What you discover may not be new, but it may be seen anew — and that can be enough to change everything.

From Reflection to Encounter

This reflection on angles does not remain only in words. On October 10-13 2025, these silent shifts of perspective will step into public space at Art Fair ARTMUC Munich, where Novisali’s guardians — Fox, Bear, Eagle, and Hedgehog — will be shown with Galeria Gaudi.

Each carries its own angle of vision, its own way of seeing and protecting, inviting visitors to move closer, to circle, to pause. In the exhibition hall, the play of perspective deepens: light, distance, and the movement of others turn still images into living encounters. Angles emerge not only within the works, but also in the spaces between them, in the sightlines that cross the fair’s hundreds of voices in art.

What was once inward reflection becomes shared discovery. To tilt the lens becomes to step, to lean, to look anew — together, in Munich. Read more about the exhibition here.

About Novisali 

Novisali, (alias Liselotte Engstam), is besides her roles as professional board member and advisor, a multi-media artist, with a curious, explorative mind and an ambition to learn and extend art experiences to current and new audiences using both traditional and new digital mediums. More information and exhibitions can be found via Novisali.com

This blog post is also shared at the blog of www.liselotteengstam.com, with the artist name Novisali.

The post Angles: The Silent Shifts of Perspective first appeared on Novisali.

(Läs denna blogpost på svenska HÄR)

As both an artist and someone deeply curious about how we carry and translate meaning across time, I’ve long felt a quiet kinship with women like Engla Hägertz,  my fathers aunt,  and Hilma af Klint—creators who saw the world not only as it appeared, but as it might become.

This project is an offering. A poetic reconstruction. A meditation on what might have been said, if two visionary women—one with a camera, one with a brush—had found one another across their parallel paths in early 20th-century Sweden.

It is also an invitation to reflect on the unseen threads that connect us across generations, disciplines, and silences. In these imagined letters, I hear echoes of my own creative questions—and perhaps you will too.

— Novisali

Parallel Lives, kindred visions 

Engla Hägertz (1890–1974) and Hilma af Klint (1862–1944) lived in the same country during overlapping decades, yet belonged to different spheres of the Swedish art world. One wielded a camera. The other, a brush. Neither sought fame. Both pursued truth.

Engla Hägertz 

Engla was a female photographer and studio owner in Oskarström, a small industrial town in Halland, Sweden. Together with her sister Gudrun, she opened her first studio in 1914, capturing portraits of townspeople, laborers, and local families. She also photographed nature—especially flowers—and later created and sold hand-printed botanical postcards. Her work, though often practical, radiated empathy and compositional clarity. She saw light not just as illumination, but as revelation.

Hilma af Klint 

Hilma, meanwhile, painted in silence. Her early career followed conventional routes—portraits, landscapes, botanical and scientific illustrations. She studied at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Stockholm (1882–1887), where she was one of the first women admitted. After graduation, she lived and worked primarily in Stockholm, where she built a modest career as a traditional painter.

But in 1906, guided by spiritual experiences and communications she believed came from higher realms, she embarked on a radical new path. She began creating abstract paintings—geometric, symbolic, visionary works that preceded Kandinsky’s by several years. These would later become known as the “Paintings for the Temple,” and marked her turn away from the visible world toward an art of inner revelation. She believed the world wasn’t yet ready to understand them.

Though no evidence suggests they ever met, their lives unfolded in quiet parallel. They were unmarried, independent, deeply spiritual, and creatively driven—women who built careers on their own terms in a time that offered them few models. Both cultivated beauty from the everyday. Both listened for something beyond the visible.

If They Had Met: A Likely Conversation

Imagine Engla reaching out in admiration—perhaps after hearing whispers of Hilma’s strange and beautiful paintings through artist friends in Halmstad or Gothenburg. She might have asked how to stay true to a vision the world didn’t yet understand. Hilma, decades older but similarly solitary, might have written back with gentle encouragement: urging Engla to trust the unseen, to follow the light not just in her subjects, but within herself.

Their letters would not be loud. They would be slow, thoughtful, and quietly transformative—like the way spring sunlight moves across a wooden floor. They would speak of loss and courage, of nature and mystery, of photography as memory and painting as revelation.

And though their mediums differed, their messages would harmonize:

See deeply. Create faithfully. Trust what others cannot yet see.

Letters between Engla Hägertz and Hilma af Klint

Letter 1: March 1914

Engla (24) → Hilma (51)

From Bruksgatan, Oskarström – To Brahegatan, Stockholm 

Dear Miss af Klint,

I hope this letter finds you well. I write with humble admiration and genuine curiosity. My name is Engla Hägertz, and my sister and I have just acquired our first photography studio in Oskarström. We are two women, newly in charge of both business and image, filled with ambition but also uncertainty.

I came across mention of your work through a friend in Halmstad, who described it as “otherworldly—like symbols singing in color.” That description has stayed with me.

I wonder if I may ask you something: how does one stay true to an artistic vision when it runs ahead of what the world understands? I feel this already—people want simple portraits. But sometimes, I see something else in them. Something more.

Do you ever feel guided by something unseen? And if so, how do you honor it in your work?

With respect and hope,
Engla Hägertz
Studioägare, Bruksgatan 19, Oskarström

PS. I’ve enclosed a photograph of my sister Gudrun and myself—taken just outside our new studio on Bruksgatan. I thought it might make our letter feel a little less distant, a little more human. I hope you won’t find it presumptuous; it simply felt right to share an image, since that is the language I speak best.

We both admire your work greatly, even if we are just beginning to understand it. Perhaps one day, we will have the chance to meet—not just through letters or photographs, but in person, spirit to spirit.

Warmest regards once more,

Engla

Letter 2: July 1914

Hilma (51) → Engla (24)
From Munsö, Stockholm – to Bruksgatan, Oskarström

Dear Miss Hägertz,

Your letter reached me with the gentleness of someone attuned to more than just surface. Thank you for writing.

You ask how to stay true to a vision ahead of its time. I have asked myself the same. For years, I painted portraits, flowers, even scientific illustrations—works that others understood. But in 1906, something shifted. I began to receive messages. Not from the outer world, but from within. I was asked to paint the unseen.

Many do not understand what I do now. But I believe we are not alone in our creating. We are collaborators with something greater.

Keep seeing what others miss, Miss Hägertz. The world may catch up, but your vision must lead.

Warmly,
Hilma af Klint

P.S. I’ve enclosed a small photograph of myself in my studio, alongside a preparatory sketch I made years ago. It later became part of a larger painting I titled Old Age, part of a series exploring the cycle of life—not as decline, but as transformation.

I share it not for judgment, but in the spirit of artistic kinship. Perhaps you will see in it something I did not intend—some echo or energy that speaks to you. I wonder: how do you read images that reach beyond clarity?

I would be most curious to hear your thoughts, not as a critic, but as a fellow seer of the in-between.

With kind regard once again,

Hilma

Letter 3: September 1915

Engla (26) → Hilma (53)
From Bruksgatan, Oskarström – To Ynglingagatan, Stockholm

Dear Hilma,

Thank you for your words. They offered strength in a year full of trial. My sister Gudrun and I are still learning the rhythms of running a studio—booking sittings, managing chemicals, chasing light. Yet more than that, I’m learning to listen.

You wrote that you were asked to paint the unseen. I feel I am learning to photograph it. A man came in with tired eyes and a soot-darkened face. When the image emerged, there was tenderness the world never saw in him. The lens, I believe, listens to light’s memory.

You said we are collaborators with something greater. Perhaps so. And perhaps that is the artist’s true commission.

With warmth and thanks,
Engla

P.S. I’ve enclosed two photographs that I hope you’ll receive with interest. The first is from within our studio—a quiet moment between sittings, where light poured in just right across the backdrop and caught Gudrun adjusting the camera. I often find the in-between moments are the most revealing.

The second is from a recent visit to Arild, where we combined work and rest. The coastal landscape there felt more alive than any backdrop we could construct. The sea, the wind, the way the grasses lean—it all seemed to whisper something ancient. I felt more like a listener than a photographer.

I wonder—do you also find that nature speaks differently depending on where you are? And do you think the unseen you paint is sometimes nestled in the curve of a hill, or the hush of a tree?

Curious to hear what you see.

Warmly,

Engla

Letter 4: April 1917

Engla (27) → Hilma (54)
From Bruksgatan, Oskarström – To Ynglingagatan, Stockholm 

Dear Hilma,

I write with a heavy heart. My sister Gudrun has passed. She fought bravely, but the illness overtook her this spring.

The studio feels hollow without her presence—her quiet hands, her strong laugh, her way of framing a shot before I even saw it. She was not only my sister but my co-creator. I wonder if you’ve ever felt a creative bond like that, one so woven into daily life that its absence feels like light missing from the room.

Still, I develop the prints we began together. I press flowers into books like we used to. I try to listen for her in the silence.

With grief and love,
Engla

P.S. I’ve enclosed a photograph of myself standing on the doorstep of our studio. It was taken by a kind neighbor who sensed, I think, the pause in me. Some days I hesitate there—hand on the doorframe, heart holding its breath—half expecting to hear Gudrun’s voice from inside. For a moment, I still believe she might be there, adjusting the curtain, laughing at the sunlight catching the lens.

Do you know that feeling, Hilma? When absence doesn’t feel like an emptiness, but like a presence you cannot quite enter?

The studio remains filled with her touch, but I walk through it differently now. Quieter. Slower. More aware of everything we built together.

I share this image not as a portrait, but as a question. What do you see in it?

With a full and aching heart,

Engla

Letter 5: October 1917

Hilma (55) → Engla (28)
Från Ynglingagatan, Stockholm – Till Bruksgatan, Oskarström

Dearest Engla,

I am deeply sorry to hear about Gudrun. Such losses shape us, even as they try to undo us. In my own life, grief has often opened the doorway to deeper seeing.

I’ve just returned from Dornach, where Steiner’s vision is taking shape in the Goetheanum. I have also been exploring aand writing on Studies of the Life of the Soul. The building curves like thought itself. I believe architecture, painting, even photography can become temples of becoming.

In your portraits, you reveal the sacred in the ordinary. That is no small feat. That is alchemy.

Hold close what calls to you.

With care,
Hilma

P.S. I’ve enclosed a small drawing—made during one of our recent séances. It came quickly, almost without thought, as if passed through me rather than from me. It is not a composition in the usual sense, but a trace—a symbol I do not yet fully understand.

I share it with you not as finished work, but as a gesture. A language of lines born in stillness. Perhaps it speaks more clearly to you than it does to me.

You mentioned listening for Gudrun in the silence. I wonder if what we call silence is sometimes where the truest presence lives. I do believe that in certain states—dream, grief, prayer, light through trees—we become more attuned to what moves beneath.

Let me know what you see, if you feel called.

With gentleness across distance,

Hilma

Letter 6: Spring 1919

Engla (30) → Hilma (56)
Från Bruksgatan, Oskarström – Till Munsö, Stockholm

Dear Hilma,

This spring has been both return and rebirth. I recovered from the fever that swept through last year and have resumed our studio. It feels different now—quieter, maybe deeper.

Your letters helped me through. The thought that my work, too, might be a temple—this stayed with me. I now photograph not only people but their gestures, their absences. What is not said has become just as present.

Thank you for showing me that form can hold silence.

With gratitude,
Engla

P.S. Lately, I’ve taken to bringing small bursts of color into my surroundings—painting the garden chairs sky blue, the table legs a hopeful green. It’s as if, after so much grey, I need the world to speak in brighter tones again. Even the simplest things—a tin watering can, a cushion on the step—have become little altars of intention.

I’ve also done something I never imagined: I bought myself a car and have started learning to drive. There’s something freeing about being behind the wheel, wind in my hair, with no one expecting where I’ll go next. I’ve been visiting coastal towns with my camera, following nothing but light and feeling.

I’ve included a photograph of my mother, Josefina, standing on the beach at Tylösand. She looks out over the water with a kind of quiet courage. I often think of her resilience—and now I see I carry it, too.

I wonder—have you ever felt the need to color the world around you before returning to your canvas?

With spring’s unfolding,

Engla

Letter 7: Summer 1920

Hilma (58) → Engla (31)
Från Munsö, Stockholm till Bruksgatan, Oskarström

Dear Engla,

It delights me to hear you’ve taken to the roads in your own car! A woman with wheels is a marvel of our time. I, too, have wandered—to Mölle, to Dornach again. Travel shifts perception. So does illness. So does spirit.

I’m now painting trees—both real and imagined. I see you are photographing by the sea? The sea is another kind of spiral. May your images hold the rhythm of waves.

Yours in quiet motion,

Hilma

P.S. I’ve enclosed a page from my sketchbook—a study of blue violets I made while walking near Dornach. I’ve started calling it The Blue Swedes in my mind, perhaps because the colors reminded me of the way home feels in memory: tender, quiet, rooted.

The form came to me like a whisper—part flower, part symbol. I’m not certain what it means yet, but I feel it’s a link between body and spirit, soil and sky.

Do you ever name your photographs after feelings rather than places? Or after the people they remind you of?

I thought of you as I painted this. Perhaps it’s the rhythm of your seaside journeys that stirred the color in me. Let me know what you see in it—your eye often reveals what mine misses.

With traveling thoughts,

Hilma

Letter 8: August 1925

Engla (35) → Hilma (63)
From Bruksgatan, Oskarström – to Munsö, Stockholm

Dear Hilma,

I’ve been photographing reflections lately—people in mirrors, flowers caught in glass, faces in puddles. Something in your spiral paintings must have inspired this. They seem to say: the center is always elsewhere.

Sometimes I wonder, do we both use our crafts not to document but to translate? I think so.

With admiration,
Engla

P.S. I’ve enclosed a photograph that feel like small riddle.

It showm my sister Hevig an dmyself. It shows me twice—once directly, and once in reflection. A mirror stood angled just so in the corner of our sitting room, catching more of me than I intended. Yet there’s something truthful in it. The seen and the seen-again. The self and the echo. I wonder if your spirals also carry that doubling—a movement toward something not yet fully revealed.

Do you ever find that your brush captures questions rather than answers?

With curiosity and affection,

Engla

Letter 9: January 1938

Hilma (76) → Engla (48)
From Grönegatan, Lund – to Bruksgatan, Oskarström

Dear Engla,

In Järna the trees are frozen but glowing. I’ve taken to sketching them again. Roots like prayers. I’ve also been dreaming of a round temple filled with paintings—not to display art, but to awaken something in the visitor.

You once asked if our work remembers. I say yes. It remembers what we forgot. What the world hurried past.

Yours in devotion,
Hilma

P.S. I’ve enclosed three small offerings that I hope will speak to you in different ways.

The first is a painting I made in Dornach in 1930—an earlier study of trees. Their branches reach upward like questions, while the roots, invisible at first, form a quiet geometry of trust beneath the surface. I was thinking of how growth is both ascent and descent—how spirit and soil speak to each other if we let them.

The second is a photograph of my place in Järna, taken on a frost-bright morning. The light was still and translucent, and I felt it carried something sacred—as if the house itself was listening.

The third is a new sketch for what I now call The Temple Within. It is not a building as much as an intention—a place where images do not instruct, but resonate. The shape came to me in meditation: circular, unfolding, womb-like. Each wall would carry a cycle of paintings, each passage offering stillness.

Let me know what you feel in these fragments. You, with your gift for reading light, may see something I have only begun to sense.

With quiet hope,

Hilma

Letter 10: December 1939

Engla (49) → Hilma (77)
From Bruksgatan, Oskarström – to Hamngatan 5, Djursholm

Dear Hilma,

The world teeters again on the edge of war. I find myself returning to small things—hyacinths in the window, shadows on frost.

I think of you often. You tucked your work away, saying the world wasn’t ready. Was it trust or doubt that guided you? I hope it was trust. I try to trust too.

With quiet courage,
Engla

P.S. I’ve enclosed a few photographs that have become anchors for me in these uncertain days—fragments of light I’ve tried to hold onto.

The first is a quiet portrait of myself with flowers on the table. Behind me on the wall hangs a photograph of my beloved Gudrun. It was taken years ago, but I find that her gaze still steadies me. Some days, it feels like we’re still working side by side.

Another shows me arranging flowers—some placed gently as a tablecloth embroidered by hand, others tucked on a lamp that casts golden light in the early evenings. These small gestures—flowers, linens, light—feel like ways of saying: We are still here. We still create beauty.

And finally, a larger photograph of my family: sisters, brothers, their husbands, wives, and children gathered in laughter and layered conversation. I look at it often now. In the face of what looms, it reminds me of what binds.

I share these with you not only as memory, but as testament—that even as the world edges toward shadow, we keep shaping light.

With tenderness across the distance,

Engla

Letter 11: September 1944

Hilma (82) → Engla (54)
From Hamngatan 5, Djursholm – To Bruksgatan, Oskarström

Beloved Engla,

I sense this is my final letter. My hands shake now, but the light is still within me. I have prepared the archive. Erik will guard it. Not yet understood, but not lost.

When you press the shutter, do you feel you are making something for a future eye? I always did.

You helped me feel less alone in this. Thank you.

In light,
Hilma

Ps. Adding my sketch of Pinus Silvestrus: Pinus sylvestris is a manifestation of the search for truth; it ascends to the heights and tells us: “try to reach the light, try to overcome what holds you back.” That obstacle is our disinterest in searching for the source of life; instead, we have an innate desire to create ourselves following our own rules. There is no possibility to create, for man draws from a common source the life skills that in part lie concealed, in part are revealed in the world of forms. In order to be able to come up with new forms we would have to understand what has already been created.

Afterword: A Dialogue Across Light and Time

The letters you have just read are fictional—but the lives, the art, and the questions they contain are very real.

Engla Hägertz, the quiet observer with a camera in her hands, left behind over 25,000 photographs. Her images of working families, children, flowers, and local life were never part of a major gallery show—but they became cherished reflections of a region and an era. She documented the beauty in the ordinary and made space for feeling in the formal.

Hilma af Klint, the painter who listened to inner voices, created more than a thousand visionary works—swirling with color, geometry, spirit, and symbolism. Her paintings, kept hidden for decades, are now recognized as foundational to abstract art. She imagined her works displayed in a temple not yet built—a future gallery of awakening.

Though these women never met, this exchange reimagines what might have occurred if their worlds had touched. Their imagined letters are a celebration of parallel courage:

– The courage to create without applause.
– The courage to trust invisible truths.
– The courage to leave behind a trace for others to follow.

In reading their words, we are reminded that some of the most important artistic conversations happen in quiet—between light and shadow, spirit and surface, brushstroke and shutter.

Their legacy is not only in what they created, but in what they make possible for us to see today.

Perhaps you, too, are listening to something others cannot yet hear.

If so—may these letters be your encouragement to continue.

Learn more

More about Engla Hägetz (google translated website) EnglaHagertz.se

Details about Engla from genealogy

More about Hilma af Klint (wikipedia) About Hilma af Klint

Hilma af Klint Foundation

Hilma af Klint exhibition 2025 at Museum of Modern Art in New York

The newly authored book about an imaginary time of Hilma af Klints life, The invisible temple – a vision about Hilma af klint (in Swedish) by Ida There´n.

About Novisali 

Novisali, (alias Liselotte Engstam), is besides her roles as professional board member and advisor, a multi-media artist, with a curious, explorative mind and an ambition to learn and extend art experiences to current and new audiences using both traditional and new digital mediums. More information and exhibitions can be found via Novisali.com

This blog post was is also shared at the blog of www.liselotteengstam.com, with the artist name Novisali.

The post When Quiet Visionaries Speak first appeared on Novisali.