It was by design that we mostly used pictures that you could not

“It was by design that we mostly used pictures that you could not necessarily see what was going on, and that didn’t really focus in on the band, but instead focused in on a theme.” Thus spoke Mike McCready, the musician and creative soul behind much of Pearl Jam’s artistry. His words reveal not only a philosophy of visual design but a way of seeing the world—a belief that mystery, suggestion, and symbolism can sometimes speak louder than clarity. In them lives the ancient wisdom that truth, when shown too plainly, loses its sacred power. Art, he reminds us, should not always show, but evoke. It should draw the heart into reflection, not just the eyes into recognition.

In the ancient traditions of storytelling, the greatest teachers and poets rarely gave their lessons directly. They spoke in parables, riddles, and images that stirred the imagination. They knew that a truth revealed too easily is forgotten too quickly, but a truth discovered—uncovered by the seeker’s own thought—takes root in the soul. So too did McCready and his band seek to create art that hid the obvious to reveal the essential. Their album art and imagery often left the viewer wondering, What is happening here?—a question that leads not to confusion, but to deeper engagement.

This philosophy reflects the heart of Pearl Jam’s identity. In a time when music was often drowned by spectacle, McCready’s vision turned the gaze away from the performers and toward the message—toward what the music meant rather than who was playing it. The pictures, unclear and abstract, became vessels of feeling rather than documentation of faces. Like ancient murals whose meaning must be pondered rather than seen, they invited listeners into a conversation with the unseen. The theme, not the image, was the truth.

Consider, for instance, the art of Pink Floyd’s “The Dark Side of the Moon.” The cover, a simple prism refracting light, reveals nothing of the band’s faces—but everything of its theme: transformation, perception, and the infinite spectrum of human experience. It became one of the most iconic designs in history, precisely because it focused on an idea, not on identity. The viewer is not told what to feel, but asked to explore what the image means. In this same tradition, McCready’s design approach honors the timeless principle that art that withholds itself invites the soul to enter.

Beneath these words also lies a deeper human teaching. Life itself, like great art, is not always clear. Often we stand before moments we cannot fully see or understand—where meaning hides behind the fog of uncertainty. Yet if we learn to look beyond the surface, to seek the theme rather than the image, we begin to perceive the harmony beneath chaos. McCready’s words thus speak not only to artists but to all who live: Do not despair when clarity fades. Seek the pattern. Find the purpose.

And perhaps this is what he means by “by design”—that the obscurity was not an accident, but a mirror of truth itself. In creation, as in life, what is hidden may be what is most important. The wise do not demand that everything be seen; they learn to trust that meaning can live in the shadows. For often, it is through the veiled image, the unspoken word, the incomplete melody, that the human heart finds its own reflection.

So let the lesson be this: create and perceive with depth. Do not fear mystery; let it be your teacher. When you make art, let it breathe—leave space for others to find themselves in it. When you see art, or when you live through confusion, look for the theme rather than the picture. The truth of life is rarely seen head-on; it is felt in layers, discovered in the quiet spaces between what is shown and what is left unsaid.

For in the end, as McCready teaches, it is not the face of the artist that endures, but the idea that lives behind the art—the unseen current that connects every heart that dares to look deeper.