When my mother was on her earthly journey, she’d watch cooking shows back to back.
I was always a bit annoyed when I visited, wanting to change the channel from these toxically chipper people having nothing but fun cooking, not a hint of real life foibles in sight.
Well through out life, I’ve been taxed with taking care of myself. And being a bit of a foodie myself, the making of a dish would capture my attention from time to time.
These days I liken myself a very tasty cook, and it’s the chore I spend the most amount of time on.
So now, I willingly give cooking instruction videos in my feed a chance.
Which is how I found “Kay.”
Kay…. prepares the most exquisite meals… and characteristically does so through a darker lens than the vast majority of chefs you may encounter on social media. She is the Edgar Allen of bunch.
And most times seems genuinely taken with her process, not you.
Important because I want to think my own thoughts, and have my own experiences with what I’m watching. I don’t want to feel pressured to feel like the chef is a chum.
Her process is enough.
It’s already the best and highest bar for what it is.
God is so unexpected and incredible, I’m left speechless when touched by how much. Life is very sweet and bitter, at the present moment. I’m having profound upsets concerning my day job, ongoing upsets with my extended family, depressions that hit me like emotional tsunamis common place.
But when the holy spirit ushers in blessing, it is delivered like performance art. It’s surprising and will reach places that need a special kind of operation. And receiving these regularly these days, and soooooooooo grateful. I feel found in the dark, and get that tingly feeling you get when someone leans in and whispers, while being so close it’s like a caress.
Anyway, lately I had been grappling with the never ending storytelling training I’ve been exposing myself to. Grappling because what I value in storytelling is – a little danger. But thorough training probably wills that out, to some extent huh? I mean, I think about this alot, because I watch alot of content that seems so to the formula and predictable. You can guess at all of it, if you give it any thought. Which is fun, it feels familiar, like hanging out with an old friend…
But with everyone and their grand brother, cousin, best friend and his best friend, being a filmmaker these days, why would your content be chosen from the oceanic amount that exists? And you think, if it is, will it have any true effect? I personally want to tell stories that get underneath the viewer’s skin, climbs into the heart, finds a cozy spot there, remaining over time. Still, I want to be up to standard in my writing and directing, so I’ve been working on it.
But I’ve had these concerns, egging at me.
And to be honest what I like (REALLY LIKE)… in any art form, is a bit of chaos. Unpredictability. Smashing of the “standards.” Not leaving people in tact. I also… wanna attempt that…
Yesterday I went to a short play festival with some friends. Cool short skits as to be expected.
But there was ONE…. in a universe of its own. One that was… organized chaos. This playwright was in no way trying at definable goal posts in storytelling. His work had its own standard and had everything happening on stage all at once, was BOLDLY doing alot of the “wrong things.” BUT…it stood aside from the predictable “right things.”
The joy of that.
You felt released from the confines of a “play” and introduced into an EXPERIENCE instead. He had characters that were a little trope-y, dialogue that wasn’t always terribly exciting, and characters that were a little kitsch. A manner of displaying all of it that was uneven and messy. Sloppily done in fact.
From there… totally unique.
And such a lesson for the artist of any medium, to commit and do your own thing. Fully. FULLY.
Cuz he did, and his work was like a streak of light appearing out of nowhere, while standing aside from the rest of it.
I started checking out what it is to write a play because something I want to explore creatively, feels like it would make a better play.
However the challenge is, playwriting isn’t exactly my medium. Or at least not the one I’ve been working at. Filmmaking is.
However, after mom’s death, I’m loyal to nothing. Life is short. So if somethingpiques my interest, I’m on it. Who cares? We’ll all be taking a dirt nap soon, so why not try ALL the things that call to you now?
From now til December, let’s do the above and blog about what the results.
Game?
Okay, let’s explore: How our bodies transform, if we eatlike we love ourselves. What we will attract if we move like we love ourselves. How people will respond to us if we speak as if we love ourselves in as many situations as we can manage. How people will react to us in general, if we act like we love ourselves.
Except for the ultra and supremely self accepting – what do you think that is going to look like? If you have body, aging, confidence, or performance issues? How do you think your life might change if you add loving what you bring and how you’re bringing it?
I mean what if we change the context of what we’re doing? To loving every meal we eat?To loving our own unique brand of loving, loving our tastes, our expression, our dress, our carriage, loving our voice or our silence? Gifts or lack of them? To loving exactly what we are, as is, exceedingly.
So, notice where there is a lack of love for yourself, re-imagine the experience of that on the spot, watch what unfolds as you do, take count of the results. Record somehow. Continue on. Notice the next inner lip curling or sneer at yourself when you stumble onto something you don’t care for (again).
I dunno if I am qualified for this, but I think existing within some kind of structure might be good, at this point.
The more the hoopla around my mom’s death dies down, the more I do. It’s like the dust is settling in terms of everything.
I never realized it, but in my own kooky way, my entire life was devoted to pleasing my parents (even some of the rebellious choices). Where I live, the jobs I chose so I could pay bills, who I loved and how I loved them, all done in a way my parents would feel at ease with or proud of.
My mom thought I should give up the entertainment focus out of concern and my dad supported what she thought. But there’s no one to battle in that vain now.
So first I need to work on my motivation – zilch from the loss. See a grief counselor, which I am doing next week. If that helps, maybe I can buckle down and complete the last edit of the screenplay for Glo?
They see female significance, or a color aspect, and it spells amateur. Now add in the trans aspect and it hooks damn near everyone’s bias. So I think I’ll be getting no around every corner too, for a while.
But the word no, is funny. Rejection grows you, and the growth is multilayered.
It’s given me insight around the nature of bias and people’s reaction to a thing that disturbs them in the most microscopic but also in some larger ways (institutionalized bias). And let me tell you, that is its own study. Now whether or not, all that translates into anything interesting for a viewer, depends on my defining an audience, then shaping a narrative from that cloth (it rests in my ability to create a soulfully impactful piece from that nugget).
…is simply one that has been shown to them, time and time again, by those who wouldn’t know how to raise the bar, push it or take the damn bar out of there. So filmmaker becomes synonymous with white, male, hetero, American, subconsciously.
It’s called imprinting.
I’m not really offended by it anymore, it’s just what I have to deal with, when I say I’m a writer- director. Maybe not within the particularly visionary community on WP, but offline, and out in the world.
People either picture some bad television pilot with sucky jokes or Tyler Perry (and that’s coming from the generous bunch). Most people can’t even remember who the female directors are, beyond Nora Ephron and Kathryn Bigelow.
And those gals are white, so we’re back to the picture-I-don’t-fit again.
Even though, there are many black women directors. Many.
But, marginalization whether unconscious or conscious is something I live with everyday and on every level. So the emergence of it doesn’t get me down. I’m a black woman, so that means I’m a hyper sex kitten who always wants it or the asexual momma to the world, nurturer of the universe or badass off course. Nurse, counselor, teacher, secretary, insert any other profession people deem ‘safe’ or ‘reachable.’
Abstract artist, technician, business woman.
And that’s the direction I’m traveling, so fitting pictures or not….
I’ve collected a pile of experiences, insights and ideas I want to execute plus have the unique ability to get along with people so well, near every woman thinks I’m sort of a sister while an equal amount of men think I must want them. Yep you get along with them too well, you’re ready to jump their bones. Quite a funny assumption to see unfolding.
Anyway I hope to have changed quite a few views at the end of this, and on more than one level.
No asexuality, frozen heart, or visible crushes here…and I’m probably not going to be a medical technician. Though props to all of em’ everywhere.
Archaic Sugar 
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