Sergei Parajanov made films the Soviet system didn't know how to categorize. "The Color of Pomegranates," his 1969 masterpiece, has no conventional plot — it moves through symbols instead: pomegranates, birds, sacred relics, ritual. Soviet authorities couldn't read it, so they arrested him twice and sent him to labor camps. He came out and kept working. The films survived everything they threw at them.The front holds a single frame: his eyes, cut from a strip of film. A director reduced to the one thing censorship couldn't take from him — the way he saw.The back is memory itself, broken and held together. A hand pressed over a face. A mirror cracked mid-reflection. Faces layered until they blur into one. Nothing here resolves cleanly — it's assembled the way memory actually works: in pieces, some sharper than others, all of it still whole enough to recognize. Fragments of Memory, worn.