It’s been a while since I’ve shared something here with you, and for a good reason.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been quietly working on the next step of The Hidden I. This project began for me as a letter.

Before it was a platform, before it had structure or a visual language, it lived as an exchange, as a place where I could write without needing to perform, explain myself, or keep pace with anything outside of my own inner rhythm. It was a space where reflection mattered more than reach, and sincerity mattered more than visibility.

Over time, I felt that this voice needed more room to become more spacious. I wanted the thoughts, images, and silences I was working with to live somewhere they could breathe, somewhere they wouldn’t be compressed by timelines or reduced to fragments alone.

This is how The Hidden I evolved into what it is becoming now: a magazine.

What you see today is not a departure from the newsletter but an extension of it. The website is where the work currently lives. I like to think of it as a quiet room designed for slow attention and emotional depth. And this letter remains what it has always been: a personal point of contact.

If the website is the room, this newsletter is my way of returning to you after the door has been left open, to gather what unfolded, to share context, and to offer a way back in when time allows.

This Week Inside The Hidden I is a new weekly series I’m beginning through this letter.

It wasn’t created to add another channel to keep up with (there are already many) nor to create another feed to scroll through. Instead, I wanted to create a recurring moment where everything that happened inside The Hidden I during the week could be held together without any pressure.

Each week, I’ll use this letter to gather what was shared and reflect on it as a whole. I won’t summarize or repeat the work, but offer shared context, a sense of cohesion, and, of course, a feeling.

You don’t need to read everything as it’s published, and you don’t need to arrive on time. Nothing within The Hidden I is designed around urgency or completion. This series exists so that you can return calmly, slowly, and step back inside the work without feeling behind or overwhelmed.

The intention is simple: to create a soft re-entry point, to slow the pace, and to remind us that presence doesn’t require constant attention.

Now, let’s see what has unfolded this week inside The Hidden I:

This first week marked the launch of The Hidden I, or, as I like to think of it, the opening of the room.

It began with The Hidden I, an essay that introduces this magazine into being. I didn’t want to release it as a “launch announcement,” but as a threshold, as a reflection on interiority, presence, and the need for spaces where thought and feeling can exist without performance. It is where the voice, tone, and intention of The Hidden I were first articulated.

That opening was followed by Exordium, a curatorial essay that sets the foundation for why curations exist within The Hidden I. In it, I reflect on what curation represents to me, and on the role it plays within this project. Alongside the text, five artworks were brought together, each carrying its own presence, tension, and emotional register. Together, they form the first curatorial gesture of The Hidden I.

The week then widened its lens with A New Creative Era, an essay shaped around the tensions of our moment: acceleration and intention, abundance and meaning, tools and consciousness. Rather than offering conclusions, it asks what kind of creative work remains meaningful when scale and speed are no longer the primary questions, and what role technology plays within that shift.

That reflection was followed by Where Feeling Begins, a curation centered on what exists before language: sensation, memory, and inner motion. The five artworks gathered here point toward a place where emotion precedes articulation, and where feeling arrives before explanation.

If you’d like to step inside any of these pieces, you can explore them all on the website, where the work lives and continues to unfold!

This is what has unfolded during the first week inside The Hidden I. As time passes, what is shared within its space, both there and here, will continue to evolve. I see this project as a living organism, unfolding in its own natural rhythm. As, perhaps, we all should.

Thank you for reading!🌹

Eduard🌹

It’s been a while since I’ve shared something here with you, and for a good reason.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been quietly working on the next step of The Hidden I. This project began for me as a letter.

Before it was a platform, before it had structure or a visual language, it lived as an exchange, as a place where I could write without needing to perform, explain myself, or keep pace with anything outside of my own inner rhythm. It was a space where reflection mattered more than reach, and sincerity mattered more than visibility.

Over time, I felt that this voice needed more room to become more spacious. I wanted the thoughts, images, and silences I was working with to live somewhere they could breathe, somewhere they wouldn’t be compressed by timelines or reduced to fragments alone.

This is how The Hidden I evolved into what it is becoming now: a magazine.

What you see today is not a departure from the newsletter but an extension of it. The website is where the work currently lives. I like to think of it as a quiet room designed for slow attention and emotional depth. And this letter remains what it has always been: a personal point of contact.

If the website is the room, this newsletter is my way of returning to you after the door has been left open, to gather what unfolded, to share context, and to offer a way back in when time allows.

This Week Inside The Hidden I is a new weekly series I’m beginning through this letter.

It wasn’t created to add another channel to keep up with (there are already many) nor to create another feed to scroll through. Instead, I wanted to create a recurring moment where everything that happened inside The Hidden I during the week could be held together without any pressure.

Each week, I’ll use this letter to gather what was shared and reflect on it as a whole. I won’t summarize or repeat the work, but offer shared context, a sense of cohesion, and, of course, a feeling.

You don’t need to read everything as it’s published, and you don’t need to arrive on time. Nothing within The Hidden I is designed around urgency or completion. This series exists so that you can return calmly, slowly, and step back inside the work without feeling behind or overwhelmed.

The intention is simple: to create a soft re-entry point, to slow the pace, and to remind us that presence doesn’t require constant attention.

Now, let’s see what has unfolded this week inside The Hidden I:

This first week marked the launch of The Hidden I, or, as I like to think of it, the opening of the room.

It began with The Hidden I, an essay that introduces this magazine into being. I didn’t want to release it as a “launch announcement,” but as a threshold, as a reflection on interiority, presence, and the need for spaces where thought and feeling can exist without performance. It is where the voice, tone, and intention of The Hidden I were first articulated.

That opening was followed by Exordium, a curatorial essay that sets the foundation for why curations exist within The Hidden I. In it, I reflect on what curation represents to me, and on the role it plays within this project. Alongside the text, five artworks were brought together, each carrying its own presence, tension, and emotional register. Together, they form the first curatorial gesture of The Hidden I.

The week then widened its lens with A New Creative Era, an essay shaped around the tensions of our moment: acceleration and intention, abundance and meaning, tools and consciousness. Rather than offering conclusions, it asks what kind of creative work remains meaningful when scale and speed are no longer the primary questions, and what role technology plays within that shift.

That reflection was followed by Where Feeling Begins, a curation centered on what exists before language: sensation, memory, and inner motion. The five artworks gathered here point toward a place where emotion precedes articulation, and where feeling arrives before explanation.

If you’d like to step inside any of these pieces, you can explore them all on the website, where the work lives and continues to unfold!

This is what has unfolded during the first week inside The Hidden I. As time passes, what is shared within its space, both there and here, will continue to evolve. I see this project as a living organism, unfolding in its own natural rhythm. As, perhaps, we all should.

Thank you for reading!🌹

Eduard🌹