SONNENSCHEIN


April was awful for everyone.

Winter dripped and dragged all through the month. We trudged on through a kind of seasonal purgatory, our heads down, not looking at one another. We were afraid to look up and not see the signs of spring we were promised, owed.

Now there is hope. People are crowding patios. Pulling their bicycles out of the garage. You always forget how astounding it is that the sun barely sets in summer. It tricks you into believing there are more hours in the day.

I read that David Byrne has an office in Manhattan that he bikes to every day. I invented a version of that for myself by taking a desk at a co-work space downtown. I created a little altar with small portraits of heroes. The people working around me are young and driven. Already I feel safer at home at the end of the day, like the spectre of work isn’t perpetually glaring down at me. I can just be. It is a good home. I am lucky.

I saw Gianfranco Rosi’s film Fire At Sea the other day, after hearing my friend Kyle talk about it at every Q&A for the last six months. I think seeing that film is helping me fall in love with making movies again. Everything about filmmaking has seemed so hard lately. Hard to convince people to care enough to make it, harder still to convince them to see it. And but here’s a man who simply finds something that interests him, that he thinks is important, and goes and films it by himself. There is something so pure and wonderful about that. There is a point at which filmmaking (or video production, that bizarre world I am often adrift in as I scramble to make $$$) becomes so mired in logistics and email that it abstracts completely and seemingly loses any connection with the original intent of what you’d hoped to capture. I think I’ve spent too much time beyond this point lately.

Yesterday, for the first time in over a year, I set up my camera with the intent of making something simple. It is not the best camera in the world. Nor am I the best camera person. But I stood there behind the lens and talked to my dear friend Ella while she told me stories. She was doing the dishes and the sun was coming through the kitchen window so that it created a slash of light on the oven behind her, and it was better than anything I could have planned or made with a 100 person crew.

Until next time:

Dylan – Edmonton, AB

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