My 12-year-old daughter plays the violin. She’s been taking lessons since she was 5, so she’s had a lot of practice. She’s lucky. She has an art form she loves and the means (a teacher, a violin, and time) to practice her art whenever she wants.
For me, like the majority of filmmakers, practicing my art is not so simple.
I’m one of the lucky ones. I had the privilege of going to film school. And I have the basic tools: camera, lighting, sound, and editing equipment; financial support; and time (though never enough) to practice my craft.
The majority of filmmakers today — the ones you’ll never hear of — are struggling artists. But unlike dancers, painters, or musicians, these artists cannot truly practice their art form without a crew of other artists and significant financial support.
I’m thinking about this today because of an email I received from an old college friend. We haven’t been in touch for years, but he’d seen one of my films, liked it, and wanted to congratulate me on pursuing my dreams. He also asked me a question.
He’d recently been to a women’s film festival and thought most of the short films were “total crap.” He asked me,”Why? I know there are great women filmmakers.”
My first thought was to list for him all the ol’ depressing facts of the industry that you can read more about here. You know, the Hollywood Old Boys Club refusing to support women directors and women’s stories and how good independent content gets lost in the YouTube world of a thousand cat videos a day. (Not that I am slamming cat videos. My cat is very entertaining.)
But then I started thinking about my work and how terribly crappy my first student narrative was. I was crushed at the time, but now I look back at it and realize how much I learned from making it. It was good practice.
So how does a filmmaker practice? Well you can get a job practicing one part of your craft — sound mixing, editing, cinematography, writing, lighting, directing, producing … Not easy jobs to find. You have to start at the bottom and even if you work your way up to actually using the camera (not just handing the DP lenses) you are still just doing one part of your art form.
The only way to truly practice your craft is to make a movie.
Let’s assume you don’t have a trust fund that allows you to bankroll production (hire everyone you need and pay for equipment and locations.) So first you have to hustle for the money. Artists love hustling for money. Not. Then, in today’s independent filmmaking world, you do everything. At least know how to do everything so you can collaborate with the crew you are paying (begging to work for free) to help you do everything. You write. You produce. You direct. You shoot. You edit. Then you have to market your own work. Artists love PR and marketing. Not. Then maybe you are lucky enough to get your work in a festival! And someone, like my friend or even me — I admit, I’ve done it — calls it total crap. Maybe it is total crap. Or maybe it’s just practice.
Imagine if it took you six months of preparation and editing, $10,000, and a 21-person crew working 12-hour days to finish one photo or to play one violin piece. That’s what it took me to make my second, less-crappy 15-minute narrative. The film is good for a beginner. I like most of it. Some parts not so much. Some stuff I am still trying to fix. Some parts I’m simply not experienced enough to even know if they are good or bad.
When it comes down to it, I just need practice.
All of us do. While the struggle to find and create opportunities to practice is daunting, accepting this truth makes me feel better. And it makes me less judgmental of the work of other practicing artists. It’s freeing to know that while we make mistakes, and sometimes make total crap, we are practicing. Practicing will never make perfect, but it will make us better. And for me, even if I never get great, the process of practice makes me whole.
So let’s all keep practicing and when we watch each other’s work, let’s think about what good practice we’re witnessing.
Practice. from Laura VanZee on Vimeo.