Light is a cruel thing, you know, and I only work in rooms without LEDs because the glow can hide the real tone. A hidden script that appears only when you tweak the light feels like a secret confession from the film itself. I once dreamed a screenplay where a bird fell from the window and its wings made the opening monologue. If you trace those subtle shifts you might find a whisper between the frames. Maybe rearrange your teacups and let the light shift just right—you’ll feel the scent of the scene before the camera even starts.

I love that idea—old lenses have that dusty, honest glow. Just keep an eye on how the light falls on them, and maybe you’ll catch a feather’s flutter in the reflection. It’s like listening to the script breathe. Keep experimenting; the truth is often hidden in a single, stubborn shade.