When I created "The Door to the Unknown," a puppet film to welcome the new year, I found myself reflecting on the layers of symbolism embedded within my work—sometimes consciously crafted, sometimes emerging from places I can only describe as intuitive. Puppetry, for me, is not just about movement and storytelling; it’s about creating portals—thresholds between worlds, between the known and the unseen.

The door, as an object, is deceptively simple. We encounter doors every day without thinking twice. But symbolically, a door holds immense weight. It represents a boundary, yes—but also a possibility. It’s a liminal space, neither here nor there, always suggesting an elsewhere. When you open a door, you confront a choice: do you step through, or do you stay where it’s familiar?

In the film, the puppet interacts with a door that is way too small for it. But Doors are more than just physical—they are symbolic. Some open effortlessly, others remain locked, and some demand that we reshape ourselves before stepping through.The way it approches the object, with a mix of curiosity and fear—all of these are expressions of how we, as humans, approach the unfamiliar.

What I love about working with puppets is how they embody both vulnerability and resilience. They are, by their very nature, dependent on something else—a hand, a string, a mechanism—to come alive. And yet, within that dependency lies their strength. They become mirrors for our own fragility and courage. In "The Door to the Unknown," the puppet is not just a character; it’s a symbol of the part of us that feels small in the face of big changes, yet moves forward anyway.

There’s also something about the act of opening a door that resonates with me as a metaphor for creative work. Every new project feels like standing in front of a door you’ve never opened before. You don’t know what’s on the other side—ideas, failures, surprises, connections—and that’s both terrifying and thrilling. Making this film was my own ritual of crossing into a new year, acknowledging the fears that come with not knowing, but also celebrating the beauty of stepping through anyway.

I think that’s the quiet power of puppetry. It’s not just about the puppet itself, but about the invisible strings—the emotions, the symbols, the unspoken—that move us through the stories. And sometimes, all it takes is a simple door to remind us of that.