The Hidden Frame

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  • The Woman Who Refused to Be Seen

    The Woman Who Refused to Be Seen

    I just watched a documentary about Vivian Maier. I can’t tell if it moved me, disturbed me, or both. There’s something haunting about it : not because of the mystery around her life, but because of how much she reminds me of a version of myself I’m trying not to become.

    She was a nanny who spent her life taking photographs. Thousands of them. Street scenes, children, strangers, moments no one else noticed. And then… she kept them to herself. She refused to be seen, interpreted, exposed.

    Now that she’s gone, her work is everywhere, books, exhibitions, commentary. People are making meaning out of her silence. She’s become famous for something she never tried to share. She never got to explain herself. And the more I watched, the more uncomfortable I felt.

    I’ve kept so much of what matters most to me locked away in notebooks, drives, scraps of digital memory. Not out of laziness, but out of fear. Fear that the world wouldn’t get it. Or worse, that it would get it wrong.

    I’ve told myself I was waiting. Waiting for the right moment, the right maturity, the right structure. But the truth is, that’s just another version of hiding. “Not yet” becomes “maybe later,” which becomes “never.” That’s the real danger.

    And somewhere in that hiding, I’ve compromised. I’ve softened my voice to fit other people’s expectations, mentors, friends, systems I didn’t believe in. I’ve edited myself to be more marketable, more agreeable, more survivable. I’ve even bent my vision for money. Not in big ways, but in subtle ones. Just enough to not feel clean anymore.

    Watching Vivian’s story made something very clear: she never sold out. But she also never shared. And now, she doesn’t get to. Others do it for her. That’s the tragedy. Not that she wasn’t recognized, but that she never got to recognize herself in the world.

    I don’t want to follow that path. I deserve to be seen…

    I don’t want to have folders full of thoughts and no one to read them because I waited too long, polished too much, or died before I hit “publish.”

    So maybe this is a turning point. Maybe this small piece is me choosing to be seen, on my own terms. Not to be famous. Not to be right. But to take responsibility for the voice I’ve been carrying around like a secret.

    Photo credit: Self-portrait by Vivian Maier. Courtesy of the Estate of Vivian Maier / VivianMaier.com

  • The man who had no purpose

    The man who had no purpose

    I always thought I had to find my calling—my purpose—somewhere, somehow.
    A deep connection to everything…
    Looking outside, looking within…Always chasing the shiny object. But at night, when all is silent, the gold shines no more.

    All around me, people have dreams—or at least seem to. But for me, this remained a mystery. How can someone dedicate their life to a single purpose, passion, or job? How do you decide that this is what you’ll be doing for the rest of your life, day in and day out?

    I could never answer that deceptively simple question our math professor asked: “Where do you see yourself in 20 years?” I churned out some made-up answer about pleasing God and being a man of faith. Talk about soft indoctrination… Yet, I was surprised that most of my classmates had clear ideas—mostly revolving around financial success, yachts, and luxury. But me? Even now, I can’t picture my future self.

    If you had told me in high school self that I’d be writing for TV, directing movies, and living from my art, I would have laughed in your face. And yet, even now, I don’t feel that what I’m doing is my calling. I never dreamed of being a filmmaker or a screenwriter. My future was always a question mark. I even tried creating a vision board, but nothing ever seemed to fit.

    Maybe that’s because defining the future feels like putting walls around something fluid. The moment I try to commit to a single vision, I feel trapped. Why be something when you can be everything?

    Lately, I’ve been working through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron, and one question sent me spiraling: “What did you wish to accomplish as a child but haven’t yet?” That’s when I realized all my “dreams” and “personalities” were shaped by everything around me. I never truly had a dream—only fleeting, romantic entanglements with concepts, ideas, and different ways of living.

    That’s the price to pay. The universe doesn’t like empty spaces. Leaving my “dream” case empty means it gets filled by everything around me, and that can be painful. Maybe it’s also fear—fear of committing to something. Or maybe the real question is: do I need a singular purpose at all?

    Today, I’m nearing 36 years of existence. I’m already living in the future I once struggled to picture. Half my life is over. Maybe it’s time to define my purpose, or maybe it’s enough to keep exploring.

    The burden of life is that it’s up to us to define its meaning—but that demands radical honesty. Am I ready for that?

    As we step into 2025, that’s what I wish for myself and for you: May we live with intention. May we embrace the unknown. And most importantly, may we find happiness, however it chooses to reveal itself.

  • Storytelling, Mystery, and Meaning: The Path to Creative Mastery

    Storytelling, Mystery, and Meaning: The Path to Creative Mastery

    Creativity is not a straight road—it’s a labyrinth. A chase. A haunting.

    We are told that mastery lies in technique, in method, in the careful arrangement of structure and skill. But mastery is more than a formula. It’s an initiation, a constant confrontation with the unknown. It demands that we surrender certainty, embrace chaos, and carve meaning from the void.

    And in this pursuit, three forces emerge: storytelling, the esoteric, and personal identity. They are not separate. They are the same impulse, refracted through different mirrors. If you can grasp this, you will not only create—you will transform.

    Storytelling: The Alchemy of Meaning

    We tell stories not because we know, but because we seek.

    From the first myths whispered around firelight to the narratives shaping our collective consciousness, stories are maps of the unseen, tools to decode existence. Some follow classic structures—the Hero’s Journey, the Three-Act Structure, Freytag’s Pyramid. They give form to the formless, turning raw emotion into something tangible.

    But structure alone is nothing. What makes a story endure is what lurks beneath—the unspoken, the unsaid, the weight of the unscripted moment. The breath between words. The silence after the final scene.

    Characters are not chess pieces to be moved along a plot. They are haunted echoes of something real. They must want, they must break, they must transform. Their scars must tell a truth so visceral it becomes our own.

    A well-crafted story doesn’t explain. It doesn’t resolve. It lingers, like a half-remembered dream, reshaping the way we see the world long after the credits roll.

    The Esoteric: The Unseen Architecture of Creativity

    Every great artist, knowingly or not, taps into something beyond themselves. Some call it the muse. Some call it intuition. Some—those who seek deeper—call it ritual, archetype, or initiation.

    The esoteric has always been entwined with creation. The ancient alchemists saw transformation as both a physical and spiritual process, turning lead into gold not just in matter, but within the soul. This is the artist’s journey—refining raw experience into something luminous.

    Astrology, numerology, sacred geometry—these are not superstitions. They are codes for mapping human consciousness, patterns woven into history, art, and time. Even the best filmmakers and writers intuitively build worlds upon them, using cosmic rhythms, hidden symmetries, and archetypal figures.

    Jodorowsky used Tarot to structure his films. David Lynch’s narratives feel like waking dreams, pulling from surrealist and occult traditions. Kubrick layered esoteric symbolism into every frame, crafting films that demand decoding.

    To ignore these forces is to create in one dimension when there are many.

    Personal Identity: Becoming the Work

    Creation demands sacrifice. Not in the melodramatic sense, but in the subtle, everyday erosion of self into something greater.

    In an age where branding is inescapable, many mistake it for art. But personal branding isn’t about crafting an artificial image—it’s about unearthing what was always there and presenting it with clarity. The most powerful creators are those who don’t market a persona, but who embody an idea so fully that their work and existence become inseparable.

    You don’t find your voice. You strip away what isn’t yours until only the essence remains.

    This means being radically honest—about what moves you, what haunts you, what themes thread through your existence no matter how much you try to escape them. Your work is a mirror, and if you don’t recognize yourself in it, neither will anyone else.

    Mastery Is a Threshold, Not a Destination

    The pursuit of creative mastery is not about arrival. It’s about crossing thresholds, over and over again.

    Mastery is not comfort—it is standing at the edge of your limits and choosing to step forward anyway. It is resisting the urge to smooth out the rough edges, to make your work digestible, to cater to trends rather than carve your own path.

    The true test is this: Can you sit with the uncertainty? Can you create not for validation, but because the act itself is the answer?

    If you can, then you are not just a creator. You are an architect of meaning, a mythmaker, an alchemist of the unseen.

    And that is where true mastery begins.

  • The Art of Symbolism in Storytelling: Crafting Emotionally Engaging Narratives

    The Art of Symbolism in Storytelling: Crafting Emotionally Engaging Narratives

    Symbolism is a storyteller’s secret weapon, a subtle yet powerful tool that can transform a narrative from a simple story into a layered and emotionally engaging journey. It’s the art of using symbols—objects, characters, settings, colors, and even actions—to represent deeper meanings and themes. When used effectively, symbolism can create a rich tapestry of emotion and meaning that resonates with readers on a profound level.

    Understanding Symbolism in Literature

    To grasp the full potential of symbolism in literature, think of it as a secret code. Just as notes in a musical piece convey specific moods, symbols in literature carry distinct meanings that resonate beyond their surface representation. They add complexity to storylines, allowing for a greater exploration of themes and characters while evoking emotional responses and stimulating the imagination.

    Symbolism isn’t confined to tangible objects; it extends to characters and settings as well. A dark forest might symbolize fear or uncertainty, while bright sunlight could indicate hope or enlightenment. This use of symbolism enriches the narrative texture, offering readers an immersive experience akin to interpreting a complex piece of music.

    Symbolic Traits in Characters

    Characters in a story can become compelling figures that resonate with audiences on a deep, emotional level through symbolic traits. These traits, often depicted through symbolic clothing or colors, create layers of meaning that subtly influence the audience’s perception and understanding. For example, a character always wearing white might symbolize purity or innocence, while another always seen in shadows could represent secrecy or danger.

    Environmental Symbolism

    The setting of a story can also serve as a powerful symbol. Landscapes and locations can mirror the emotional state of characters or the central themes of the story. A desolate, run-down location can symbolize the protagonist’s despair, while a bustling city might represent the complexity and chaos of modern life.

    Visual Metaphors

    Visual metaphors are another form of symbolism where objects, colors, or images represent abstract concepts or themes. A recurring red rose might symbolize love or passion, whereas the color red could also symbolize blood, death, and violence. These visual metaphors can be particularly effective in film and television, where the visual element is at the forefront of storytelling.

    The Impact of Symbolism on Your Audience

    Symbolism engages the audience by encouraging them to think beyond the literal sense of your storytelling. It’s like a puzzle waiting to be solved, keeping them hooked and engaged as they try to decipher the hidden meanings. By associating emotions or ideas with specific symbols, artists can evoke these feelings whenever the symbol appears, creating emotional depth and resonance.

    In Conclusion

    Symbolism is an essential element of storytelling that, when used thoughtfully, can elevate a narrative to new heights of emotional engagement. It’s a technique that requires finesse and a deep understanding of both the story being told and the audience it’s intended for. As a writer, embracing the power of symbolism can help you craft stories that linger in the minds and hearts of your readers long after they’ve turned the last page. So, the next time you sit down to write, consider the symbols that might enrich your story and connect with your readers on a deeper level.