Connected and Separate and Whole

We’re all puzzle pieces. But I don’t mean like a physical jigsaw puzzle where each piece has fixed edges, a fixed place. I think the universe is both constant and perpetually in flux. A paradox, I know.

A new artwork in my Whispers Among the Trees series titled, "Connected and Separate and Whole"

Dearest Doodle Soupsters,

Do you like puzzles? That feeling when the pieces click into place? You see connections that you didn’t see before? Somehow, it just fits.

Jigsaw puzzles aren’t really my thing, but there are many kinds of puzzles. I love mysteries. Detective shows. Existential questions.

When I was making the artwork above, I really got that feeling. I mean, I get that “flow state … and click!” feeling a lot when I make art. But this was on a whole other level.

The day before, I experimented with a few mixed media pieces. One small, one slightly bigger.

Drawing onto those. Then I cut the smaller one, turned it into a collection of puzzle pieces.

Mapped those onto the larger paper. Then, I did the same thing again. Turned that collaged piece into a new set of puzzle pieces. And again onto an even larger space.

Other unfinished drawings, pages from my sketchbook, sticky notes on my studio walls, tape enter the mix. Each piece like it has always been a part of this puzzle. Searching. Hmmm. I wonder. Oh. And this. And now that. Ooh. And this, right here! Yes! Click. Click. Click. Belonging.

Each tree, one of many. Each forest, one of more. Each person, part of humanity. Humanity, one kind of all living beings. Each cat, one of many. Each animal. Each part of an ecosystem that’s interconnected with all ecosystems. Each puzzle piece in a puzzle that’s also puzzle pieces in a larger puzzle. And in an even larger puzzle. Zooming out and out, we go!

All separate. All connected.

What happens to one forest is important for all the people and animals who rely on and care about that forest. And every forest helps the whole world. Our world has a problem with too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Trees hold onto that CO2 for us. And of course, that means all humans, and future generations of humans, are connected to these trees.

What happens to one person is important for that person and all the people who rely on and care about that person. And there are ripple effects that we cannot totally measure or understand. Invisible lines from me to you and you to me and to all these beings we may not even realize connect us.

And that doesn’t mean I buy into the, in my view, too simplistic, too rose-colored, too lacking in nuance, idea that we are all one. Yes, we are all connected. And, we’re all separate.

The loneliness we experience is real. The isolation. The times when you needed help, but had to go it alone. The fact that we’re all connected doesn’t take away that pain. If anything, it makes it more confusing. What’s wrong with me that I feel alone? That I don’t know who I can call?

We’re all puzzle pieces. But I don’t mean like a physical jigsaw puzzle where each piece has fixed edges, a fixed place. I think the universe is both constant and perpetually in flux. A paradox, I know.

The series of art I’m currently in the middle of … this is the longest I’ve spent on one series. And I expect to stay in this series for a while, still. It is the intersection, a connection of puzzle pieces I’ve been building, finding, unearthing, creating from the beginning.

Whispers Among the Trees. A text I wrote. A hybrid poetry-prose novella. Conversations between a strange human (sweet child of the universe) and a fairy so-called existence. Humans may imagine a fairy to be a tiny feminine thing because a tiny feminine thing can be overpowered, and thus, (some are convinced) can be controlled. I draw a parallel here to my own story of surviving rape as a child and young adult. I struggle with more unanswerable questions: why do people do bad things? why rape? why harm? They tried to overpower and control me while I was still growing, while I was tiny. This series is me expressing and experiencing my power as an imaginative, curious, playful, passionate, contemplative, free, and loving human being.

This series comes from the idea of the universe as an unfathomably expansive tapestry that we all weave together. It comes from an imagined species of black hole bug-bees. It comes from finding beauty, whimsy, and wisdom in contemplating the mysteries of existence. It comes from this idea: as I search for answers, I make art from the questions.

The italicized above comes from the series description I wrote. This series is the most me I’ve felt as an artist. It’s interconnected with the songs on my album coming out later this month, A wildflower grows from the cracks in the sidewalk.

In fact, in the text I wrote, the strange human sings and many of the lyrics overlap with the songs on this album. I love writing fiction because I am the strange human, but I’m also not the strange human. I love drawing faces, because the face is mine and it’s also not. I can stretch my arms out wide and play. Expand. Imagine. When I’m writing in a character’s voice, for that moment, I am that character. I step into … what would they say? How would they say it? What would they do? How would they do it? Why? What’s going on for them internally? Now, how would this other character react? Why?

Even as I wrote this whole spiel about puzzle pieces, what do I know? That’s why I love art. I don’t have to know. I can just feel and express.

I’m just one human. I can’t possibly have the answers to the greatest mysteries of existence. And still, I can sense. I can wonder. I can ask. I can throw some spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks. I can create art.

Again and again, I walk around, around and I end up standing in front of this poem by Mary Oliver —

The man who has many answersis often found

in the theaters of information

where he offers, graciously,

his deep findings.

While the man who has only questions,

to comfort himself, makes music.

I don’t have any answers. Just questions, art, music. Connections with people, with trees, with animals. I mean, but what more do I need?

Sometimes, I refuse to accept that I don’t have answers. I become obsessed with analyzing, questioning, doubting … I want to know why! I want to know! I want to know!

That’s not how I feel in this moment. I accept it. Right now, I do. I don’t know. And that’s okay. I don’t have to know.

Look, I’m glad this world who has people who think they have answers because sometimes, maybe that’s what it takes to change things, to make the world more just. I’m just not one of them and that’s okay. I still want to make the world better, kinder, gentler, more beautiful, more welcoming, joyful, supportive, more full of wonder and magic, curiosity. And I’ll try my best to do that, through my relationships, through my art, through the how’s and why’s of my actions. I want to create intimate spaces, those thin places, the space between, where you get to be you and I get to be me and we get to simply exist together. To be the puzzle pieces we are. That’s how we fit together, right? The artwork at the top of this email — it isn’t a bunch of cut up artworks that perfectly fit into each other like jigsaw pieces. There are all these lines, of pen, colored pencil, tape (some more visible in blue, some less visible in clear tape) over, underneath, somewhere between. An overlap here or there. A space between, drawn onto. Into?

Trees have this spiritual meaning for me. There’s a reason I made the fairy so-called Existence (an embodiment of wordless, indescribable, illusive truth) a woodland fairy. A reason the strange human hears these fairy’s whispers among the trees. Among the trees.

I have more to understand about this, but I’ll come back to it. I’m trusting myself to come back to it. To understand it better later. To be in the questions and let them be unanswered.

In the meantime, here are some details shots of the artwork from the top of this email, “Connected and separate and whole, we are all puzzle pieces” …

Connected and separate and whole, your truly, a woman with many questions,

Nicole Sylvia Javorsky

This post was first sent as a newsletter edition on May 8, 2025 titled, "Chicken Doodle Soup #78: Connected and Separated and Whole" — sign up to get your doodle soup delivered right to your inbox!