Don't get me wrong: enjoyable films exist. As a director, I have objections for this one — but its flaws are a different discussion.

What I truly appreciated — and realized I'd been missing — was its creativity in simplicity. Inspired by old fairytales and myths, it became a modern type of epic — recorded on film instead of clay, stone or parchment.

This modern fairytale spread through screens instead of word of mouth, becoming somewhat of a local legend — told by few, but still lingering as one of the echoing fables.

Theatrical acting and lyrical dialogue, magical set design with an epic structure — all in service of a story that feels timeless, yet inseparable from its medium. Legend wasn’t an adaptation or remake. It was an original myth, and I'd even call it an ode to fantastic myths.

That’s the spark I miss: the courage to createlegends from scratch, even if they turn out to be messy or divide audiences. The enjoyment of a work despite its flaws is what inspires critical thinking — and sparks creativity.

Most modern fantasy plays it safe with adaptations or franchises. When done with care, an adaptation's artistry can make a familiar tale feel new. But too often they're treated as safety nets — recycling old names instead of birthing new ones, narrowing the space for risks. What's missing is the leap of faith to sculpt original legends. That risk is what keeps the genre alive. And that's why Legend still feels alive to me, even decades later.

Of course adaptations can surprise and inspire us. Robert Eggers' Nosferatu brought out the same daring personality I long for: faithful to its style, with modern twists and tuns. But too often, what's released isn't risky — it's familiar.

A story doesn’t have to be flawless to matter. Sometimes it’s the imperfections that keep it alive, that give us something to think about long after the credits roll.

So I wonder — which modern films strike you as true myths, flaws and all?

— Attarte

This week's theme is Colors, which was decided by the oracle — "Wheel of Names". Despite the oracle's selection, we decided to choose colors ourselves: I picked the color red, and my friend, the color blue. Actually, it was me picking 'red' after my friend had announced her option. The reason behind my pick was to revisit one of the primary colors in narrative, through the medium of digital (phone) photography.

So, our beloved red — Hex: #FF0000, RGBA (255, 0, 0, 1) and so on — is not a color I am particularly fond of, but I am fond of different, darker hues of it. Despite my personal preference, red is associated with various situations or emotions, even with contradictory meanings to each other: from love, passion, and attraction, all the way to aggression, stress and danger or alertness. Although the intention of its symbolism can emerge out of various historical, cultural and psychological pools, most of us are able to differentiate and distinguish the meaning intended behind it — which also happens with narrative media.

This symbolic flexibility is why red can become such a powerful narrative tool.

Narrative media are vessels of meanings. You expect danger when a red triangle appears on the screen, and you expect a dangerous or violent scene to unfold when the lighting turns extra reddish. Creators use semiotics to their advantage, directing the mood of the story to their preferred outcome, delivering their message when the events of the plot unfold — the soul of the story. Even though signposting allows for an effective universal communication, symbols can change meaning depending on the context. The context may vary from personal meaning, to what kind of narrative medium you use.

When I take pictures, I try to capture subjects using a slightly different approach then when I prepare shots for a movie. I pay closer attention to color, shape and angle, and I'm more open to the unexpected ''photobombs'' in my frame. I like exploring the unpredicted stories that enter my frame. In my storytelling endeavors, I have come to many conclusions, but one keeps popping into my head: Through contradictions in any shape or form, meaning is highlighted and perceived more quickly — often becoming more complex in the process.

So, in my set of photos for this week, I found red in blueish backgrounds, objects that don't fit together co-existing in harmony, and stories left to be interpreted.

I'm curious: What stories can you pinpoint in my pictures? What kind of feelings do they project to each of us?