Life is a movie of countless frames

To direct: to point direction
Direction: position or manner to follow to reach destination
Destination: goal, aim, final place of intention

Co-director: Someone who directs a project together with another
Project: piece of work, art, fruit of a labour
Another: A person other than the original person, proof that human beings are sociable, not meant to live in isolation

Co-direct my life with me. May every frame have both our signatures imbedded, that every viewer sees the fruit of the labour that is my life.

Rhema: For out of you will flow rivers of living waters, that shine ever brighter into the darkness.

B/W, all over again.

Isn’t the combination of black, white and an astonishing burst of colours so damn beautiful?
I love how words paint the pictures in our minds, and then when you think you can’t imagine anymore, there you have it, the picture, all perfect.

My canvas on its easel board.

This is the canvas I have in my hands.
What goes on it, I can determine.
And I don’t want to be mildly entertaining.
I want to be thought-provoking, and dream inspiring.

Nabokov said he was a “painterly writer”.
I want to paint with words, all sorts of them.
Like colours on a palette, I am painting with words that are mine.

Like Mosaic Tiles

Shards of glass,
Scratchy and unsmooth
Fragmented into asymmetrical shapes
Smashed without an obvious purpose
Lying still on the ground
A huge array of varying materials
Diverse hues in all possible colours
Small, large, long, thin,
Like broken marble and uncut diamonds
They stay silently, unaware
What a mess it seems, no direction
No reason, meaningless
Individually insignificant like a pile of broken parts
Yet one of the most
Beautiful types of art
Found in the museums, palaces and sky ceilings
Are precisely made with these
Fractions of a whole
Taken from everywhere
Incomplete and fractured
Randomly chosen and found in the same situation
Somehow placed side by side
In the large canvas
Unsure of how they fit in
Yet they all do somehow
Because there is no single spotlight
But a common theme spun with a single thread
Of unity and delicate homogeneity of differences
Curious angles different sizes
Wavering degrees of positioning
Placed adjacent, one next to the other
Whole in their incompleteness
Fitting in where otherwise they did not
Like broken bits of a jigsaw
Overlapping where the other lacks
Up close it makes hard work
To understand their meaning
Their purpose uncertain in the myopia
Of short-lived vision
Yet tilted back
Pushed a little further away
Viewed like the earth from the moon
The sum of the parts
Make an equation fall into place
The sea of fabricated materials
Follow a pattern
Of their own
Their beauty lies in their imperfections
Breathtakingly captivating
The ultimate result is theirs to own