Stash Capar: A Few Of My Favourite Things
Plural Films' director Stash Capar shares his birthstones, his books and his beautifully sentimental desk.
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A lot of my work, both as a commercial director and as a feature screenwriter, centres on timeless themes of family, childhood and coming of age.
I never realised, until doing this exercise, that my workspace basically commemorates my own family, capturing a variety of amazing stories across generations and continents, all through objects on my desk.
I’m sure the space has subtly bled into my work over the years, without me ever realising it.
The Birthstones
On my desk sit two amethysts representing February birthdays, my one-year-old son and myself.
There’s also a January garnet for my daughter, and a turquoise for my wife, whose birthday is in December.
I like the way they all sit together, each stone being very different visually, but part of a greater whole.
Interestingly, prior to my son being born, it used to be just a single large amethyst.
Then one day my daughter, who was two years old at the time, accidentally dropped it, breaking the stone in two, one larger piece and one smaller one.
It ended up being prophetic as days later we found out we were having a boy, who, like me, would have a late February birthday.
The smaller piece that broke off from the larger one became my son’s stone.
The Children’s Artwork
My kids love painting and I love their creations, which are hung up around my workspace.
Sometimes, when I’m deep in work, I like to sit back and look at them.
I’ll see different things, sunshine through clouds, the profile of a witch, a majestic bird, depending on my mood that given day.
It helps me put myself in the mind of a child.
The Framed Family Photos
I have two contrasting framed family photos on my desk.
One was taken in 1939, the other in 2025.
The old one is of Zenon, my maternal grandfather.
At barely 18 years old he was grabbed off the street by either the Gestapo or the SS, and sent to Nazi Germany where he became a forced labourer for a well-known German luxury auto manufacturer.
In this picture, Zenon is wearing prisoner coveralls and his numbers around his neck.
He’s malnourished and clearly not doing well, but there’s a resilience in his eyes.
Zenon survived and went on to have a very meaningful life.
I wouldn’t be here had he not.
Beside Zenon, I have a framed photo of my three-year-old, Maya, at her first dance recital.
She goes to pre-ballet at a very serious dance school.
Upon hearing that her school was going to put on a performance of The Nutcracker, Maya, at not even three years old, insisted on auditioning.
She was accepted and after weeks of rehearsals I went to see her live onstage as a little angel.
She was a good foot shorter and two years younger than anyone else in the troupe, but performed amazingly.
I was so proud of her.
My wife, who was backstage, managed to snap this picture.
Having these two contrasting photos, Zenon in a labour camp in Nazi Germany, and Maya at her first ballet recital in our little beachside city in the United States, puts me in a very thoughtful space.
It captures the absurdity, beauty, tragedy and everything else that is part of life.
The Japanese Treasure Box
I have a beautiful hand-crafted antique jewellery box that my wife found at a random estate sale.
I keep my silver jewellery, which my wife made for me, inside, as well as some old historical coins given to me by various family members.
There’s an old Tsarist silver ruble from the mid-1800s that a grandmother left me, and a 1,600-year-old Roman coin with the face of Marcus Aurelius, given to me by my parents.
Whenever I reach into the box, something magical that carries sentimental value comes out.
The Japanese Treasure Box
I have a beautiful hand-crafted antique jewellery box that my wife found at a random estate sale.
I keep my silver jewellery, which my wife made for me, inside, as well as some old historical coins given to me by various family members.
There’s an old Tsarist silver ruble from the mid-1800s that a grandmother left me, and a 1,600-year-old Roman coin with the face of Marcus Aurelius, given to me by my parents.
Whenever I reach into the box, something magical that carries sentimental value comes out.
The Pile Of Old Books
My father is an avid book collector, translation: hoarder.
He grew up in an environment where many books were censored at best, outright banned at worst.
Because of this, he takes great pride in his home library.
Ever since I was a child he would leave me copies of obscure European tomes.
As an adult I picked up his habit, slowly building a home library via thrift stores, and always having a pile of half a dozen or so books on my desk.
Whatever sits on top I’ll read, usually late at night.
That’s Hegel’s theory of dialectics at the moment, which I like to reread every couple of years.
The Window
Through the little window I can see our raised garden beds.
We have kale and collard greens year round.
Tomatoes, peppers and bok choy in season.
In the heart of summer we get mangos from three fully grown trees, and very recently we planted a little lemon and a lime tree too.
Every afternoon I can see and hear Kendra and the kids watering the plants and playing.
It’s a great reminder to take breaks and spend time with the people who matter most, rather than just capturing or constructing those moments for the camera.
