Lessons Learned From a Virtual Screening and From Life
Life has a strange way of testing you right after you claim you are ready for anything. My last blog post was all about meeting life where you are. I didn’t realize I was setting out a welcome mat for the universe to say, “Alright then, show me what you’ve got.” I like to call her the Weaver, because she has a way of stitching our stories together with a golden thread that runs exactly where we least expect it.
The Weaver weaves the stories of our lives.
The Weaver with luminous golden thread
Virtual Screening No. 2: Chaos, Comedy, and Community
We held our second virtual screening of Golden Wings on October 26. Our first screening had about four people in it, so I was fully prepared for a very quiet sequel. But then things got chaotic from the start. I had my production coordinator, Jonah, with me, and thank goodness for that. He became my lifeline.
Everything was working perfectly until I made Jonah an administrator in Google Meet. For reasons still unknown to mortal humans, that simple action changed the room link entirely. Suddenly no one could get in. Jonah had to dig into the problem and eventually discovered the cause. We scrambled to resend the new link to everyone, already fifteen minutes behind schedule. Frankly, I was shocked anyone waited around, but somehow the turnout was larger than the first screening. Just for the record, every single person who attended the first screening came back for the second. That alone felt like a small miracle.
My biggest fear was reliving the audio nightmare from the first screening when no one could hear the film. I pushed play, and for a moment I thought history was repeating itself. Then I remembered the tiny hidden button in Google Meet that optimizes sound. Once I clicked it, the audio finally behaved. Crisis avoided.
We did not get to have the Q and A I promised. My mother had trouble signing in, and I was so focused on getting the screening to work that I forgot to open the floor for questions. I simply thanked everyone and wrapped it up. Not my finest moderator moment, but the film played beautifully and that mattered most.
Even with the chaos, there was something special about watching people watch this story together. That is the magic of cinema. The communal experience. The sense that everyone is sharing one heartbeat for a moment in time. I will always treasure that.
Life Steps In: Loss, Grief, and a Broken Tibia
A few days later, I learned that my sister’s husband, Brian, had passed away. It was the kind of news that drops your soul straight through the floor. He struggled deeply with addiction, and the terminal solitude of that disease eventually took his life. I loved him like a brother. Even with all the complications and heartbreak, I loved him.
To make matters more surreal, I found this out an hour after leaving the emergency room myself. I had suffered an epileptic seizure that resulted in a spiral fracture of my tibia. I do not recommend that experience. Zero stars. The universe really did come for me from every direction at once.
I needed surgery, and my doctor, Dr. Cepkinian at Dignity Health in Glendale, was extraordinary. The surgery went well, and I am now the proud, unwilling owner of a titanium rod in my leg. The nurses were wonderful, and fate even placed one of my mother’s former flight attendant friends in town to help me navigate every appointment. She found me a free wheelchair, a walker, and helped get me situated. I do not question serendipity when it arrives. I just accept it with gratitude.
Done broked mah leg
What My Sister Is Facing
Meanwhile, my sister Hannah and her three children were thrown into the deep end of grief. Abigail is 14. Henry is 10. Leah is 9. These kids are remarkable human beings, and losing their father has been devastating. Hello.
To make everything harder, every financial account was in Brian’s name. Hannah has no access to anything until the probate process moves forward, and no one knows how long that will take. She is suddenly navigating grief, parenting, paperwork, and financial limbo all at once. It is cruel and clinical to force a grieving family to deal with this much bureaucracy.
My mother stepped up immediately. She paid the $2,200 cremation fee because she was the only one who could. She should not have had to, but she did, because that is who she is. If you have seen my documentary, you already know that about her.
The Fundraiser: Announcing Support for Hannah and the Kids
In the middle of all this, I decided to do something concrete.
I launched a GoFundMe for Hannah and the children.
Within hours, the donations poured in and covered the entire $2,200 my mother paid. It was one of the most humbling moments of my life. People cared. People stepped up. People acted fast.
But this is only the beginning.
Hannah still needs support to keep the kids stable through the holidays. Bills, food, school expenses, clothing, car payments, insurance, grief counseling, and simply the cost of moving forward in uncertainty. Our goal is $15,000. Every dollar will go directly to Hannah. My brother, who is a tax attorney, is setting up a small family trust so everything remains clean, transparent, and focused on the children.
Here is the link if you would like to help or share it with someone who can:
Final Thoughts
This has been one of the hardest seasons of my life. I am physically limited by a broken leg, emotionally cracked open by grief, and spiritually humbled by how many people have stepped in to help my family when I cannot. It is easy to feel helpless when life hits you in every direction at once, but I am choosing to meet it where I am, even when where I am feels wobbly.
To everyone who has shown kindness, shared the fundraiser, donated, emailed, or simply held us in your thoughts, thank you. You have no idea how much it means.
And to anyone reading this for the first time, welcome. This is our journey right now. It is messy. It is painful. It is real. And we are moving through it together.
If you can help Hannah and the kids, thank you.
If you can share their story, thank you.
If you can hold them in your heart, thank you.
With love,
Caleb
Official Selection: Palma Film Festival and An Accidental Revelation (Copy)
In a Parisian elevator in 2005, my impatient ex-boyfriend couldn't wait thirty seconds for my camera shot. Seventeen years later, that footage opens my documentary screening at the Palma Film Festival while he's still struggling to pay parking tickets. Sometimes creative vindication arrives in the most deliciously ironic packages.
An accidental portrait of an artist as young man:
A 2005 elevator video from the Eiffel Tower in Paris captures more than a moment—it freezes youthful ambition amid confinement and a vast skyline. The sepia tones lend a nostalgic, cinematic feel, highlighting the tension between limits and possibilities. This unplanned glimpse reminds us that true portraits often emerge spontaneously, quietly preserved by time.
Official Selection: Palma Film Festival!
Wow, we're an official selection at the Palma Film Festival! I'm so excited and honored. I can't believe this happened. I've submitted to so many festivals in Spain, and this is my first one that actually accepted me. It's like the universe was telling me, "Just wait on Spain until you can have your premiere in your hometown."
The Exquisite Timing of Creative Vindication
In the cramped confines of a Parisian elevator circa 2005, I adjusted my camera settings while my then-boyfriend performed his one-man show titled "Impatience as Performance Art." His persistent refrain—"Hurry UP, what are you DOING? Why are you taking so LONG?"—provided an ironic soundtrack to what would eventually become the opening sequence of Golden Wings.
Little did either of us know that this mundane vertical journey would ascend into something far more significant: footage now screening at international festivals while he languishes as a barely employable shop boy in Madrid, occasionally texting to borrow money for parking tickets he can't afford to pay. The universe, it seems, has a particularly delicious sense of comedic timing.
There's something almost mythological about watching someone who couldn't spare thirty seconds for your creative vision now trapped in the amber of retail mediocrity, perpetually short on both patience and parking meter coins. Meanwhile, the very work he dismissed travels freely across borders, speaking to audiences in languages neither of us knew at the time.
As Golden Wings makes its debut at the Palma Film Festival without me (my tibia and its new titanium companion send their regrets), I find myself contemplating the strange alchemy that transforms rushed moments into lasting art. How the very act of refusing to hurry—of insisting on your vision despite the chorus of sighs and eye-rolls from those who lack imagination—becomes its own form of resistance.
Perhaps there's no greater creative validation than outlasting your critics. Or, in this particular case, outlasting a relationship while your ex outlasts parking meters.
The lesson, if there is one? Trust the glacial pace of your process. The ones tapping their watches rarely make history, but they do occasionally make excellent cautionary characters in your director's commentary. And sometimes, if you're particularly fortunate, they even help fund your next parking adventure—one borrowed euro at a time.
The Palma Film Festival logo
An elegant palm tree with swirling fronds, symbolizing gentle wind. It stands behind a minimalist sea wall, both in silver-gray tones against a subtle gray-silver gradient background, conveying timeless elegance and coastal charm.
A triumphant symphony of the French National Anthem, La Marseillaise, sweeps in as a whoosh transitions us to bold typography: Paris. 2005. Spring.
Captured on a grainy, damaged home movie camera, we find ourselves inside the Eiffel Tower’s elevator, steadily ascending from the iconic cashbox below. A flicker of darkness briefly cloaks the view, revealing, for a fleeting moment, the Eiffel Tower sparkling against the night sky. Amid the glass reflections inside the elevator, the faint silhouette of a young man holding the camera appears—almost ghostly, caught in time.
As the scene brightens, the music shifts gracefully to Clair de Lune, unfolding a breathtaking panorama of Paris’s West Bank. Voices of fellow elevator riders fill the air with awe and wonder at the stunning vista.
The ascent continues, rising ever higher until, at the summit, a blinding white flash blankets the screen. Edith Piaf’s haunting final notes of La Marseillaise echo, closing this intimate and poetic journey through the heart of Paris at springtime.
Learn more about the project at Golden Wings official site.
When Your Opening Shot Reveals More Than You Expected
Golden Wings started as a nine‑minute student project filmed on a Samsung S20. It grew into something wider, deeper, and far more personal. The footage I shot in that elevator predates the project by fifteen years.
That moment, in retrospect, was cinematic déjà vu. The shot I insisted on keeping—despite my then-boyfriend’s sighs—
"Hurry up, what are you doing? Look at him. Are you listening to me? Why are you taking so long?”
That shot became the first frame of a film that would tour global festivals and win multiple awards.
For a personal look behind the scenes, visit my blog: [indiedocjourney.wordpress.com][1].
Under the velvet cloak of night, the Seine River glistens as elegant barges glide serenely downstream. Their soft lights dance upon the water’s ripples, creating a rhythmic glow. Behind this liquid ballet, the Eiffel Tower sparkles brilliantly, adorned in a dazzling display of lights reminiscent of a festive Christmas tree. The Parisian skyline hums with romance and timeless magic, inviting you to lose yourself in this luminous nocturnal dream.
Time Capsules and the Strange Honesty of Old Tech
The grainy aesthetic of early 2000s DV tapes—blooming whites, crushed blacks, and lens flare artifacts—has come full circle. What once looked dated now feels soulful, akin to the resurgence of VHS aesthetics in modern film.
That reflection in the glass reveals a younger version of me: earnest, focused, unaware of the future audience his footage would one day face. The camcorder itself, a now-obsolete Sony MiniDV, was part of a movement of filmmakers finding voice through analog constraints.
Tools of the Trade
Sometimes the smallest tools create the biggest stories. This pocket-sized Sony captured footage that would travel from Paris to Palma de Mallorca, from student project to international film festivals. The filmmaker's accidental cameo was always there—just waiting for the right color grade to be seen.
A Film That Grew Beyond Its Original Design
As Golden Wings evolved, it absorbed oral histories, American Airlines Uniform, and handwritten letters into a broader generational narrative. The accidental self-portrait remained the quiet heartbeat of the intro.
It’s easy to believe a filmmaker remains behind the camera. But every story told, especially in documentary, is colored by the person choosing the frame. Werne Herzog] once said, “Documentary is not the truth, it is the filmmaker’s truth.” That line lives inside this image.
The video opens on a sun-dappled patio of a seaside restaurant in Majorkin Bay, summer 2005. The camera slowly pans out, capturing a vibrant tapestry of life against the dazzling Mediterranean backdrop. Golden sand stretches along the shore, dotted with sunbathers lounging under colorful umbrellas and children scooping up handfuls of ocean-brushed sand. Yachts of all sizes bob gently on the crystal-clear turquoise water, their sails fluttering lazily in the warm breeze.
Beyond the beach, elegant hotels rise with sun-warmed facades, their windows reflecting the endless blue sky. The atmosphere hums with the soft murmur of waves mingling with the distant buzz of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional call of a seabird. Locals and tourists mingle effortlessly—couples strolling hand in hand, families picnicking, friends chatting animatedly—each frame bursting with Mediterranean allure and timeless holiday bliss. The whole scene glows under the golden afternoon sun, a pure, unfiltered slice of coastal paradise.
The Ongoing Conversation With Our Former Selves
That image of me—young, curious, persistent—starts a quiet conversation between past and present. He didn’t know about the screenings, the festival laurels, or the press. He simply wanted to capture a moment he couldn’t yet name.
This is what creative documentation becomes: not just memory storage, but memory re-evaluation. Roland Barthes’ Camera Lucida comes to mind—a photograph is a “certificate of presence.” This one just took 20 years to reveal itself.
A vibrant burst of confetti cascades across the screen, shimmering gold and crimson, as bold, celebratory text pulses in bright neon: "Congratulations! You've received yet another selection on FilmFreeway!" Below, the festive logo of the Palma Film Festival glows against a backdrop of twinkling fairy lights and palm fronds swaying gently, inviting you into a moment of pure cinematic triumph and joy.
The Film That Keeps Traveling While I Stay Still
The film is now screening in Palma de Mallorca, a city that shaped me. I studied there, learned Spanish there, and found my creative compass walking its narrow streets. But I'm grounded—literally. I'm recovering from a fractured tibia with a titanium rod, confined to a couch, watching my film travel without me. To experience the documentary wherever you are, visit gwingz.com and stream it directly.
The Memory of a Mallorca Cove
In a future video, I'll share footage from a quiet cove near Deià, Mallorca—limestone cliffs, turquoise water, and the sound of students laughing in five languages. It was a secret place between classes, where ideas quietly expanded. For creatives visiting Mallorca, check out Fundació Miró Mallorca — a place where visual and memory-based storytelling collide. Now, decades later, the film returns to the island that taught me to listen closely.
Discover the breathtaking beauty of a hidden cove on the island of Majorca during the vibrant summer of 2005. Crystal-clear turquoise waters gently lap against pristine white sands, framed by rugged cliffs and lush Mediterranean greenery. Sunlight dances across the sea, inviting you to unwind in this tranquil paradise where time slows and nature's charm takes center stage. A serene escape captured in a moment of warm, timeless bliss.
The Shot That Continues Without Me
The truth is, we can't follow our work everywhere. Sometimes it enters a room we cannot. And that's the beauty of storytelling—it travels without permission. Someone will sit in Palma's CineCiutat, see the elevator reflection, and meet the version of me I never introduced.
That moment is now theirs.
I finally saw him.
He was always there.
I simply hadn't looked closely enough.
The unedited Version of my trip up The Eiffel Tower elevator.
FAQ
Q: Is that really you in the elevator shot?
A: It is. I never noticed it until now—which feels wildly poetic. Like my future self had already photobombed the past.
Q: Why include accidental footage in a documentary?
A: Because accidents tell the truth. There's no polish, no pose—just raw intent. That's where the magic often lives.
Q: What's next for Golden Wings?
A: The film continues to screen internationally. I'm exploring releasing additional archival footage on my blog and potentially crafting a follow-up visual essay.
Q: Will you be returning to Mallorca soon?
A: As soon as this titanium rod and I are travel-ready. That cove's waiting.
Q: Where can we watch the film now?
A: Easy—gwingz.com. It's up and streaming for the world to find their own reflection in it.
When Life Meets You at the Wrong Courthouse: A Tribute to Speech Coach Mr. Burns
Mr. Burns, as we so lovingly called him, was my speech coach in high school. He was a legend in my life. I would spend every day after school with him, weekends too, all those tournaments where he taught me to walk into any room like I owned it. There were often times when I would see him more than I would see my own parents.
He built his lessons on simple truths: look good, look like you belong. Believe in yourself, believe in others, and always come with an attitude of gratefulness and humbleness. Don't let what other people think about you affect what you choose to do in life.
But his real motto, the one we all carried with us into every round, was simpler: "BUST OUT." Bust out of prelims, bust out of semifinals, bust out into finals. Make them remember you were there.
](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6657cd3cfe3d866e6cfb6106/b9e26462-fdaa-490d-a23c-9686ae0bd5d8/20151008_121041.jpg)
1994: Baby's first headshot.
The year I met Mr. Burns
⏰ URGENT:** Screening registration closes in 24 hours!
Final spots: Oct 26 @ 4:30 PM PT / 6:30 PM CT / 7:30 PM ET
One of the central ideas behind Golden Wings is that life meets you where you are. It all depends on your mindset about how you choose to greet it, which is a challenge for all of us.
That truth has followed my family for generations. My grandfather created the Boeing 747 training program, never knowing his daughter would one day serve as one of the first flight attendants on that very aircraft. My mother chose to go to rehab to save her life and her career. I chose to live freely and openly after being outed at sixteen.
Life keeps showing up, ready or not. It asks who you are in that moment and how you'll answer. Sometimes the answer is just showing up, even imperfectly.
This week, life showed up with its whole damn circus.
Between preparing for Sunday's screening, juggling my day job, and (because apparently I needed more character development) taking Meta to small claims court over my hijacked Facebook account, I was already at my limit. I did all the prep work, organized every paper, put on my best suit. The confidence to wear it like armor came from years of speech tournaments with Mr. Burns: State finalist, Nationals competitor, thank you very much. I showed up thirty minutes early at Stanley Mosk Courthouse.
Standing there in that suit, wearing the same confident posture Mr. Burns drilled into me through countless weekends of competition ("Look good, look like you belong"), I discovered my case was actually in Beverly Hills.
Getting my unceremonious continuance until January 8th, perfectly dressed for the wrong venue, I actually laughed out loud. Here I was, using everything he taught me: the preparation, the presentation, the presence. Just in the completely wrong place. "45 years old,an I can't read a fucking summons," I thought. "Mr. Burns would absolutely love this."
Mr. Burns: The coach who taught us to BUST OUT
Mr. Burns was a a TRUE MENTOR to me and many others during our formative years.
He was a legend in my life. I would spend every day after school with him, weekends too, all those tournaments where he taught me to walk into any room like I owned it. There were often times when I would see him more than I would see my own parents.
1997: Tournament Weekends
Why Mr. Burns Changed Everything
Mr. Burns reshaped lives through simple truths:
- Half of success, is looking the part.
- Believe in yourself and others
- Lead with gratefulness and humility
- "BUST OUT" of limitations
But his real motto, the one we all carried with us into every round, was simpler: "BUST OUT." Bust out of prelims, bust out of semifinals, bust out into finals. Make them remember you were there.
The Results Postings of Doom (Or Joy)
He wouldn't discriminate against anyone. If you came to him and told him you wanted to be on the team and were willing to work hard and put in the effort, he would have you. And if you did the work and listened to his advice, success followed. If you believed in yourself, then he believed in you.
That spirit shaped me. He taught me that you don't have to compromise who you are as a person to become successful. Leading with your unique abilities will get you far. It took me years to learn that lesson, but it's one that still guides me every time I step onto a set, into a courtroom (even the wrong one), or in front of an audience.
The best part of all the hard work.
Mr. Burns was taken at only sixty-one. Life meets us where we are, and I know he was thinking about his kids when he went into hospice. He sent my mother a message before he passed, asking her to tell "the kids" he loved them.
I know he meant my sister and me, but also every student whose life he touched. I know that in his final moments he was still cheering all of us on. Its both heartwarming and heartbreaking.
Robyn Stewart’s First Headshot July 2025
He created a culture of belief and belonging. We were all rooting for one another, and he was rooting for us. That's a rare kind of leadership, and it's the kind that stays with you, whether you're placing at Nationals or showing up at the wrong courthouse in your best suit.
One thing that breaks my heart is that Mr. Burns will never get to see Golden Wings. I know he would have loved it. He loved my mom. They were close and continued to be close throughout the years. He would have been proud of her story and the way I tell it. He was a storyteller himself, and I think he would have recognized the same spark he always tried to light in his students, that same "bust out" energy he taught us to bring to every performance.
This is one of the reasons why I decided to start doing virtual screenings, because I felt like not enough of the people I know and love have gotten to see it yet. So this Sunday's virtual screening will be in his memory. There are still a few spaces available if you'd like to come.
Caleb Mills Stewart, director of Golden Wings
If he could speak to me now, I know exactly what he would say: "Hey, you've got a screening on Sunday. You don't have time for any of this. And next time, double-check the courthouse address, but good job on the suit. Now get moving. You've got work to do. BUST OUT."
So I will. Because that's what he taught me: to keep showing up, to meet life as it meets me (even at the wrong courthouse), and to keep working toward something that matters.
Thank you, Mr. Burns. Godspeed. You taught me that legacy isn't about titles or trophies. It's about how deeply your voice keeps echoing in the lives of others, even when they're lost in Beverly Hills, wearing their best suit, fighting trillion-dollar companies over their digital existence.
Gregory Thomas Burns 1964-2025
*Author's Note**
This Sunday's Golden Wings virtual screening is dedicated to the memory of Mr. Burns, my beloved high-school speech coach and lifelong mentor. His belief in preparation, gratitude, and authenticity shaped who I am as a filmmaker and as a person. Every frame of this film carries a trace of what he taught me: to tell the truth, to show up with heart, and to meet life exactly where it meets you. Even if that's the wrong courthouse.
⚠️ LAST CHANCE
Registration closes TONIGHT at 4:30 PM Pacific
Oct 26 @ 4:30 PM PT | 6:30 PM CT | 7:30 PM ET
Frequently Asked Questions
Who was Mr. Burns and why honor him?
My high school speech coach whose "BUST OUT" philosophy shaped Golden Wings. He taught that authenticity beats perfection—a lesson vital to the film's message.
⏰ Screening registration closes TONIGHT at:
Oct 26 @ 4:30 PM Pacific | 6:30 PM Central | 7:30 PM Eastern
→ Claim Your Spot Before Midnight
What is Golden Wings about?
A true story of intergenerational resilience: my grandfather's Boeing 747 legacy, my mother's recovery journey, and my path as a gay filmmaker. Embodies Mr. Burns' truth: "Life meets you where you are."
Explore more on my filmmaker blog.
How did Mr. Burns influence your filmmaking?
He taught me storytelling is about authenticity, not perfection. Just as he had us "bust out" of prelims by being uniquely ourselves, Golden Wings shares raw family stories to inspire others. See his classroom legacy:
A retro style logo featuring the film title and an AmericanAIrlines 747
A Win in Sweden: Norse Gods and Hot Rollers
The opening scene features my mother, Robyn Stewart, preparing for her day with meticulous care — winding her hair in hot rollers. At first glance, it’s a simple act of routine, a nod to elegance and grace. But through the lens of the award and the festival’s Nordic heritage, I saw it differently. The smile she wears, so subtly defiant, reminds me of Thor — the Viking god of strength, protection, and the storms she weathered over decades flying for American Airlines.
Headshots of Flight Attendant, RObyn Stewart and film director Caleb Mills Stewart. A candid photo of Henry Stewart. (botom left) A satirical depciction of the Norse God, Bragi.
The first shot of my documentary features my mother getting ready for a flight in her cinema verité style. I chose it instinctively (a quiet moment of intimacy and routine). But this week, I received an unexpected email from the Swedish International Film Festival (SIFF). Golden Wings: Fifty Year Flight Path had been selected as a winner in their 46th edition.
When I clicked the March 2025 Winners page, I realized something I hadn't seen before. In that same frame, placed just below the mirror, is the prayer card from my father's funeral.
Without knowing it, I had opened the film with a quiet altar to grief, dedication, and memory. They featured that exact frame on their winners page. When I noticed it, I got goosebumps and my eyes instantly welled up with tears. I was thankful not only for the award but for the self-realization.
I unknowingly opened my film with both of them.
A woman and the man who stood beside her for decades. He was still there, frozen in time and watching her get ready. He's been doing that for every flight in the decade since his return to Valhalla. (sorry, I had to)
In that moment of revelation, I imagined the Viking god Bragi. There he was with his golden-winged helmet and mighty harp squeezed into a middle seat on a transatlantic flight. He would be there grumpy but he would still serenade his new travel buddies. I envisioned him guffawing at my accidental symbolism and blessing the whole thing with a nod.
This was the hardest shot of the film for me. Why you ask? My mom did not want me in the bathroom getting shots of her without makeup or without her hair done.
The day we filmed something in my gut kept telling me I needed to get this shot. It was the one shot I had already made a storyboard for in my head. And I was politely told no five or six times before she finally relented. I assured her this was a student film no one would ever see (I genuinely believed that at the time.)
Filmmaking (if you are lucky) is essentially a medium of accidents. Sometimes they kill your production, other times they are happy ones that reveal the duplicitous nature of this art form.
This film is still coming together and I continue to make happy accidents. As my mom approaches her 75th birthday and 55th year in the sky...
Okay I'm just going to say it. This happy accident was no accident at all. It was my dad. Saying he's been here beside me as well. Since the beginning of this filmmaking journey.
He's quietly keeping watch over me just like he does for my mom.
Not to put too fine a point on this ghost dad helps his son make a film thing but about 2 minutes after I sent Anne my email I got this response:
This film touches the hearts of many. It creates joy and happiness. This resonates with audiences from all walks of life. It's making people's days one heart at a time, reminding us of the power of kindness, love, and togetherness. Merry Christmas in July everybody!!!
🎬 Learn more about the film and the people behind it:
Bragi Q&A — Sundance Meets Runetech
Bragi: Golden wings are not merely for gods or Valkyries... A title worthy of saga.
Bragi: The filmmaker, though mortal, composed a ballad through his lens. So yes, I flew coach—harp and all—to attend.
Bragi: Cinema vérité is the forge of truth. No illusions—just real life.
Bragi: It is an altar of memory. Not a prop—but poetry.
Bragi: Aye. Grief sings the deepest notes. The film? A hymn for those who remain.
📽️ Final Words from Bragi
“To all storytellers: Keep the lens honest, the heart open, and the harp tuned. For every frame carries a whisper from the gods — if you know how to listen.”