You know, my dad wasn't a photographer or filmmaker by

Opening Scene
The morning light spills through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the living room floor. The room is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the rustling of paper as Jeeny flips through an old photo album. The images are worn, the edges curling with age, but they capture moments frozen in time — faces of family, friends, moments of joy, and the occasional quiet sadness that can only be found in pictures. Jack stands by the window, a cup of coffee in his hand, his eyes distant as he watches the world outside, the busy street below a stark contrast to the stillness inside.

Host: The air in the room is heavy with nostalgia, a sense of time passing, and memories that have been captured but never fully understood. Jeeny stops on a particular photo, one of a family gathering, a group of smiling faces beneath a bright blue sky. The image feels alive, yet there’s something more — something deeper. Jeeny looks up at Jack, her eyes thoughtful, the weight of Bruce Weber’s words hanging between them like a thread.

Jeeny:
(softly, holding up the photo)
“Do you think photographs are a way of communicating, Jack? I mean, like Bruce Weber said, how his dad wasn’t a professional photographer, but on Sundays, he would take pictures of the family, of their friends, just to have a way to connect, to show affection. It was his way of speaking, even when words didn’t seem to come as easily.”

Jack:
(turning toward her, his voice low, reflective)
“I get that. Pictures have a way of saying things without using words, don’t they? There’s something about capturing a moment, freezing it in time, that says more than any conversation could. It’s like his dad found a way to make his family feel seen, even if it was through the lens of a camera, even if he didn’t have the perfect words. He didn’t have to be a professional — it was about the intention behind it, about creating a moment of connection.”

Host: The sound of the clock ticking softly on the