One of the themes running through Time is Art: The Frequency of Love is the idea that human energy needs somewhere to go.
We can direct it toward music, art, movement, ideas, connection, building, learning and creating. Or, when we don’t have an outlet, that same energy can begin looking for somewhere else to land.
Drama. Overthinking. Resentment. Distraction. Conflict.
Unused energy gets weird. The energy doesn’t necessarily disappear.
It gets redirected.
Today, while sitting in an editing session working on The Frequency of Love, we watched a scene we filmed years ago. It was a tarot reading I gave Rome. We had almost forgotten how revealing the conversation was.
During the reading, Rome began talking about his relationships and something he was starting to recognize in himself: he had been moving from one relationship to the next instead of directing that energy into his music.
He said it years ago. And today, sitting in the edit room, we heard it differently. Because now we can see the larger arc of his journey.
At its core, this is a film about an artist trying to understand the forces that have shaped him. Being abandoned by your mother leaves a wound that doesn’t simply disappear with time. For Rome, it became part of the way he understands love, relationships, himself and the world around him. And as we followed him, we began to see how deep those wounds had effected him.
Before the third act, Rome comes to a realization: he has been repeating relationship patterns that aren’t serving him. He has been putting enormous amounts of emotional energy into relationships instead of directing that energy toward his music and his creative purpose.
What’s fascinating is that he already knew something was happening when we filmed that tarot reading. But recognizing a pattern and actually breaking it are two very different things. That’s the question we leave hanging for Rome—and for everyone watching the film:
Will he break the patterns that aren’t serving him?
Because awareness is only the beginning. We can understand where our patterns come from. We can trace them back to childhood. We can recognize the ways we’ve been repeating them. But eventually, we have to decide what we’re going to do with that awareness.
Where will the energy go now?
For Rome, that question leads back to music. To creation. To his voice. To the possibility that the very energy that once kept him trapped in cycles could become the energy that helps him transform.
A wound can become a song. Confusion can become a question. Anger can become movement. Grief can become a painting. And this is where our role as filmmakers became something more than simply documenting a story. The camera created a space for Rome to see himself. Through conversations, music, memories, synchronicities and moments of reflection, we were able to hold up a mirror—not to tell him who he was, but to give him the space to discover it for himself.
And hopefully, by watching him look at himself honestly, the audience gets an opportunity to look at themselves, too. Because Rome’s story isn’t only about Rome. How many of us have poured our energy into relationships, distractions, conflict or patterns that we already knew weren’t working? How much creative energy gets buried because we’re too busy trying to fix something—or someone—outside of ourselves?
What could happen if we redirected even a fraction of that energy toward creating something?
A song. A film. A business. An event. A garden. A new relationship with ourselves. A different way of living.
As we sat in the editing session today, watching a conversation Rome had years ago, we were reminded that filmmaking is its own exercise in directing energy. Years of footage.
Thousands of creative decisions. Storytelling. Music. Color. Doubt. Breakthroughs. Setbacks.
And somehow, all of that energy has to become something. We keep shaping it. We keep questioning it. We keep cutting away what doesn’t belong. We keep following the story until it reveals what it wants to become.
Maybe that’s the deeper lesson underneath Rome’s journey—and underneath the process of making this film.
Energy wants to move. The question is: Where are you going to put yours?
As we move toward the finish line with Time is Art: The Frequency of Love, we’re realizing that sometimes the most healing thing we can do with everything we’ve been through is make something from it.
Don’t let your energy become a crisis. Give it a canvas. Give it a poem. Give it a song. Give it a purpose.
Create something with it.
Time is Art: The Frequency of Love — coming 11/11/2027.