Over the past couple years, I have been humbled to be in a position to be asked for guidance on various projects. From how to build a pitch deck to giving crew referrals- I've taken joy in being able to help where I can. This has a lot to do with my own projects and the people who showed me in their own acts of reciprocal altruism that we all need each other to survive. One of the greatest words of advice I was given early on was to make the work personal.
A little over three years ago, my husband wrote a feature length script for a film called MONIKER. Written out long hand, meticulously edited and then typed out on a vintage type writer which I can still hear sometimes ringing in my ear. A gift for our first wedding anniversary, Clay gave me a dream role on more than one level. The lead character was Maggie - a woman dealing with trauma in her own right and thrown into a well crafted thriller. At the time, I wasn't sure I was up to it. Dealing with unresolved issues of my own I had grown into the habit of avoiding anything that -sorry if this sounds cheesy- made me feel. I was flattered nonetheless and after some serious convincing, Clay put the fate of MONIKER in my hands as not only Maggie but as the film's Director.
We jumped into the frenzy and started to stumble through "How do you make a film?" Coffee meeting after coffee meeting we met with actors, crew, potential investors and mentors. At one point I met with a wonderful indie filmmaker by the name of Jenn Wexler. I had met her over the years at various Glass Eye Pix events and was lucky to see her rise to the badass directress she has become. (Check out her feature directorial debut THE RANGER) Anyway, over kombucha in Dumbo, she offered up all I needed logistically to make a film but also a gem of true insight: make your projects personal.
After some contemplation I decided to take her words to heart and build my plan to make MONIKER its finest. I'd have to make something from me first. My hesitance from this feature and so many others was relinquishing control. What was at the heart of that? Layers. I needed to explore part of my trauma and, in that risk, free my desperate need for control. I put together THE SLIGHTEST TOUCH. Making this project a part of my journey in healing made it vital to my survival not only as an artist but as a person.
In making the film I spoke passionately because it was my passion. I was in a fever dream learning everything I could about filmmaking but also what it meant to me. The subject was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and the mission was to portray my voice and undoubtedly others like me. The visual medium would bring the deep feeling of stigma out of the shadows and into the light to offer, even temporarily, a sense of YOU ARE NOT ALONE. In embedding this feeling into the film from screenplay to edit to screening- I made it personal and followed through as a result.
Since the project's finish, the world vibrated the same. Overwhelmed and drowning in the wave of voices for change, I let my heart rest. For those who made the work, those who've seen it-- their feedback has been priceless. The fact that I made a work that meant something to me and that it could now mean something to them BLEW MY MIND. Family members becoming familiar with my silent pain brought us closer together. Friends and viewers being able to see themselves through the story made it all worth while. Not just as an advocate but as a filmmaker, I felt I had finally understood how to move forward.
In the time since I have been lucky to translate that feeling into projects that weren't always my own but certainly became it. Making work personal in front of and behind the camera brings an energy that I can only describe as simultaneously therapeutic and magical. Three films under the banner of my production company, Abandoned House Productions, have taught me different pieces of that same theme. Our slate ahead has me so excited to share those short film projects and the feature ones (including MONIKER and a not so secret other) that have been marinating all along. As I prepare to direct again very soon, I carry the urgency of Jenn's seemingly simple guidance. Make it matter to you and it will matter. Then you'll be like me, chomping at the bits to share about every story you make.