Clementine Journal

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Clementine Journal

Clementine is a collaborative storytelling platform whose mission is to kindle and nurture curiosity within the creative mind.

We explore and elevate the subtle and often elusive elements that hold significance in our lives and work.

18/12/2025

“A walk with The Outside Institute, the project I began in 2017, is an invitation to activate all your senses and observe in new ways, to pay attention to a level of detail, a granular specificity, that may elude you in everyday life. It’s also an exhortation to get intimate and interact with the biosphere around you. And it’s an opportunity to reconsider and reframe preconceptions, judgments, and fears you may bring into wild spaces.”

Read the full story in our current Clementine Issue! Out Now. Purchase link in Bio.

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From decoding secret messages to seeing ghosts or simply appreciating what we ignore, there are many ways to play with our proposition: “Seeing the Unseen.” Is it a superpower or simply a matter of perspective?

18/12/2025

A walk with The Outside Institute, the project I began in 2017, is an invitation to activate all your senses and observe in new ways, to pay attention to a level of detail, a granular specificity, that may elude you in everyday life. It’s also an exhortation to get intimate and interact with the biosphere around you. And it’s an opportunity to reconsider and reframe preconceptions, judgments, and fears you may bring into wild spaces.

16/12/2025

Clementine Issue No.3 out now. Perfect stocking stuffer for $6. Simply DM to order ✨

To see differently is a conscious act. Is that attention a superpower, clairvoyance, or just a shift in perspective? In these pages, we meet people who’ve learned to see differently. Some glimpse futures that haven’t happened yet. Others recognize possibilities where most see nothing. And some simply learned to name what was always there.

With , , , , ,
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From decoding secret messages to seeing ghosts or simply appreciating what we ignore, there are many ways to play with our proposition: “Seeing the Unseen.” Is it a superpower or simply a matter of perspective? Share your story of “Seeing the Unseen” for Clementine Issue No.03

25/11/2025

We’d been living in Portland almost a year when it happened—that moment in the Safeway parking lot when I became my mother without meaning to.

I was juggling a bag of groceries against my hip, keys in the other hand, trying to open the trunk of my Subaru Outback. The motion was automatic, practiced, though I’d never owned a car before moving here. As the hatchback lifted, I felt it: the exact angle of my mother’s body twenty-five years ago, the way she’d balanced grocery bags against her hip while fumbling with the station wagon keys. For one disorienting second, I wasn’t sure whose hands were opening which trunk, whose life I was living.

Read the full story in our upcoming issue! Out Next week.

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From decoding secret messages to seeing ghosts or simply appreciating what we ignore, there are many ways to play with our proposition: “Seeing the Unseen.” Is it a superpower or simply a matter of perspective? Share your story of “Seeing the Unseen” for Clementine Issue No.03. Submission instructions can be found on our website.

11/11/2025

Available for Pre-Order!

19/10/2025

In December, I was driving through the desert at dusk on an empty road. I don’t remember if it was Arizona or California or Utah—it was probably Arizona.

The grade descended moderately into a long dip that bottomed out on a dry creek bed before climbing back up the other bank. Headlights illuminated the descent —by that time, the remnants of the sun were contained in a fuzzy blue trim atop the western horizon. At the bottom of the dip, in the middle of the road, was a dog.

It was sitting in a Sphinx position, front paws extended across the double yellow centerline. Instinctively, I swerved, bending the path of the vehicle too far to the left and around the mammoth-sized dog blocking most of the road. Mammoth-sized dog.

As I flashed past, level with the massive creature, it became a patch of sand that, following the perpendicular trajectory of the gully, had blown crosswise, covering the road.

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From decoding secret messages to seeing ghosts or simply appreciating what we ignore, there are many ways to play with our proposition: “Seeing the Unseen.” Is it a superpower or simply a matter of perspective? Share your story of “Seeing the Unseen” for Clementine Issue No.03. Submission instructions can be found on our website.

11/10/2025

Many years ago, I watched an animation that proposed we might have it all backward. What if leaves do not fall from trees in October, but instead climb the branches in March? What if they gather at dawn and together start climbing a tree in order to watch the sun come up?

Perhaps the leaves I see drifting down the river
are not fallen at all, but have chosen to go for a swim,
lulled by the shimmer of their own reflections. Slowly they drift and enjoy the chorus of crickets along the bank.

Perhaps seeing the unseen is nothing more than learning to look toward beginnings and not look at what comes to end.

Perhaps.

03/10/2025

October has arrived. The month to button up, gather, and bring everything together. I began compiling the stories for Seeing the Unseen. A quiet shiver of anticipation as ideas, images, and reflections converge into something alive.

The pieces are starting to come together, and I am reminded of why we do this: to capture what usually goes unnoticed and to open a space for curiosity and wonder.

Soon, the issue will be ready to reveal itself. I’m excited and ready to show what has been quietly unfolding in these moments of observation.

Yours, Clementine

Some of the people to look forward from for issue No 03: , , , , ,

16/09/2025

Don't be careful.
You could hurt yourself.
Louise Bourgeois

25/07/2025

All is lush. Everything seems at its sensory peak. The crickets. The birds. Twigs crack under unseen hooves. Wind brushing against leaves. The woods are constantly speaking.

But there’s a whole other language out there. Quieter. Stranger. Hidden in plain sight.

A few weeks ago, I took a walk with Laura of the to discover just that: Nature’s little secrets.

I saw a small, speckled orb with a hole in it resting on a bed of moss beneath an enormous tree. A little weird object of imperfection. Nature always seems to have a story.

A wasp lays her egg.
A leaf responds.
The tree, irritated by the intrusion, grows a protective layer.

A gall. Part defense. Part accommodation.

A visible record of an encounter.

With my curiosity piqued, I thought about the importance of investigation. Not as a means to an answer, but as a practice of attention. A way of letting the unknown stretch you open rather than shut you down.

To investigate is to stay with the question. To notice closely enough that the ordinary becomes astonishing.

The discovery isn’t always grand.
Sometimes, it’s small and round and nestled in moss…

…waiting for you to ask what it is.

18/07/2025

You know when you stare at the bathroom tiles, or a knot in wood grain, and you see a face in the pattern. Once it’s there you can’t unsee it. There’s a name for that.

Pareidolia is the science behind seeing faces in every day objects and it seems there might be an evolutionary reason behind it. Babies are more likely to be cared for the more readily they see faces. Carl Sagan is said to have theorized, “Those infants who a million years ago were unable to recognize a face smiled back less, were less likely to win the hearts of their parents, and less likely to prosper.” Putting aside the idea that babies need to smile to win the hearts of their parents, it’s a pretty interesting theory.

Studies show that two types of people are likely to experience pareidolia more frequently. The neurotic, who are often on high alert for danger and more likely to spot something that isn’t there. And women, maybe because they’re more likely to recognize emotions through facial expressions.

I think there’s a third kind of person in the mix: the creatively minded. Always seeing shapes, stories, faces, and possibilities that others may leave unseen.

05/07/2025

Every morning, a red cardinal throws himself against my window.

It’s not a violent crash, just a persistent tapping. Wings fluttering, beak striking glass, again and again.

I’ve read that he sees his reflection and believes it’s another bird. A rival. An intruder. He can’t help himself. He’s trying to defend his territory.
But he’s also interrupting my sleep. Invading my slumber.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Same stubborn rhythm.

He’s not just fighting a phantom. It’s as if he’s trying to pierce the barrier between worlds. A wooden house in his flight path, a piece of glass catching his own gaze, and now, mine.

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