(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Weight of a Tuesday
I remember a boy named Elias I met in a dusty village outside of Marrakech. He was sitting on a stone wall, his hands tucked deep into his pockets, watching the dust motes dance in the late afternoon heat. When I asked him what he was thinking…
(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Quiet Direction of Color
We spend our lives looking for the grand markers, the heavy iron signs that promise to tell us exactly where we stand or which path leads to the safety of home. We crave the certainty of arrows, the rigid geometry of instruction that keeps…
(c) Light & CompositionThe Weight of a Passing Word
I keep a small, silver thimble in my desk drawer that belonged to my grandmother. It is worn thin at the tip, a tiny crater formed by years of pushing needles through heavy fabric. It is a quiet object, yet it speaks of a thousand hours spent…