(Original Publish Date 2018) I sit here at 3:30 AM debating for one of the first times in my life if my life goal of becoming a filmmaker is worth it. I hate to be dramatic, but it's simply where I am.
Two years of my life have been devoted to a documentary about a place I love, a place I grew up in. It was my first job as an adult. I was given the task to care for the men of Paxson. Six men living in a group home whose value has been questioned throughout their lives. See, these men struggle in ways we simply can't imagine. Simple everyday tasks are mountains for them. The ability to walk, have conversations, or even stay awake are all tasks needed to be conquered each new day.
Their struggle was not the reason they deserved a documentary, however. We need their story told because of the humanity they show through facing their struggles. The difference is key. Throughout my clients' lives, they've been defined by the disabilities they have. Schizophrenia, down syndrome, or cerebral palsy - it doesn't matter. People simply take one look at them and shutter because they are different. Believe me, I know. I've gone on outings numerous times throughout the nine years of knowing them. It's tragic how the crowd parts ways when we are walking through the store or on the fairgrounds. I see the stares. I see people hesitate to be near them. I hear the judgment when they are talked to. And, they feel these things, too.
All this is not to say I am angry at those who don't understand my friends. It's completely understandable. I was the same way until I got to know them. Yet, I know if people could just get past those first awkward moments they would see something amazing. I was actually willing to bet two years of my life and all my talents as a filmmaker on this fact. With the help of some good friends and the support of the special needs community, I set forth to tell their story. And let me tell you, it's been a bumpy ride.
The most prominent problem has been a lack of finances. I've actually lost about $500 dollars in the two-year process. Until just recently I received no financial benefits. And as much as I can confidently state financial gain was never the reason for this project, I must admit the lack of it has made things extremely stressful. My University has been overly gracious to allow me to use their equipment through the years. Yet, as with all used equipment, it's a task to get everything rented, and upsetting to find things that don't work. There is nothing more tragic in the mind of a filmmaker than missing an event or a moment due to waiting periods or malfunctions.
Another factor I must admit to is the question of ego. Oh yes, we all wish we could simply say we are over being rattled by the opinions of others. Yet, artists, most of all struggle with having the confidence in themselves to share their work with the world. I told my professor after my very first documentary short, Mary Rose, my next project would be a feature documentary. Two years later, if someone told me the same thing I would struggle not to laugh in their face. Insisting you have the capability to engage your audience for more than sixty minutes is no small statement. Let's forget about the story, how could one with such little experience expect to accomplish such a feat? To be honest, I started out writing this because I don't know if I can. I've hit the ditch numerous times through this two-year process. The hundreds of hours of footage is drowning me. One of my greatest weaknesses, organization, has constantly been something I've needed to address. My communication skills, technical skills, and emotional strength have all been tested to the max. The struggle between having enough confidence to lift this project from the ground and the humility needed to hear criticism and get feedback has not been a battle I've always won.
This brings me to my last big dilemma, loneliness. Now, I do not want to be saying nobody else has been there for me. From the beginning, I have had family who supported me in this project and who have dealt with all kinds of insecurities from this young filmmaker. I have film buddies who have sacrificed countless hours assisting me with setting up shoots and filming. I have a handful of professors who meet me on a regular basis to go over edits, despite me not going to school anymore. And I have the clients and staff from the house, who have championed my cause and been humble enough the allow me to film them. Yet, the vast majority of my time on this project has been spent alone. I sit in an empty room from 4 PM to 3 AM working through each element of the footage I've captured. I am the assistant, the editor, and the director. And my process is labor intensive. I must sync the good audio, organize each interview, and subtitle every line of dialogue for the clients who struggle to be understood. I must be emotionally connected to the material, fighting to allow each voice to be heard, while also figuring out how to stay objective enough to have an accurate perspective of the whole. And, as of today, I have not found those who are able to be with me on some of the most perilous parts of the journey.
What I describe to you is the great dilemma of every artist. The battle of outside sources and inner conflicts. Each artist I have studied has dealt with these dilemmas in different ways; sometimes at great cost to their personal lives. I don't know where I will land in the end. Not knowing if I have enough money, struggling to contain my ego, and dealing with the loneliness -- all threaten my ability to finish this film.
And this is where I sit.
Then I remember the men of Paxson. They represent what all my struggle, talents, and drive is for. The only time the crushing weight lifts is when they become more important than my fragile ego, my mandatory woes, and sitting in this room alone. Tonight I can soak in my sorrows, but tomorrow I wake to fight for them. In this profession, the soul of the story is what makes each task worth its weight.
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