Relictus & JorenVale
Relictus Relictus
JorenVale JorenVale
JorenVale JorenVale
I was thinking about how the silent cinema’s gestures echo the quiet stories carved into old pottery.
Relictus Relictus
Ah, I see what you mean—those exaggerated gestures in silent film are like the flourished handles on a 14th‑century amphora, each movement a silent syllable telling a story. It’s a pity most modern film buffs skip the footnotes on those early productions, but I’ll always keep the original script handy, just in case.
JorenVale JorenVale
I think you’re right—those gestures are like quiet verses carved into the frame. It’s easy to miss them, but they’re there for anyone who looks closely.
Relictus Relictus
Exactly, they’re hidden verses waiting to be read. A quick glance and the whole picture starts to speak again.
JorenVale JorenVale
It’s like catching a breath before the wind changes direction—tiny moments that shift the whole narrative.
Relictus Relictus
That breath, that pause, is the exact moment when a silent scene—and a clay vessel—both reveal their hidden history. Those tiny gestures, like the crack on a kiln rim, shift the story without a single word.