I’m not sure this is how Gwyneth meant it when she was asked how she was feeling about the current climate, but I don’t feel anything either.
Because I feel everything.
I feel absolutely everything. As an empath and as an artist. Artists have a way of seeing the world. They take it in, hold it, wrestle with it, and then transform it into something tangible to share in hopes of connection. To make some sense out of it all. A beautiful yet painful existence. Especially when you’re unable to make sense out of… well… much of anything lately.
A therapist once said to me, “Jennifer, do you know what your problem is? You see through everything. The lies, the conditioning, the agenda being sold. That’s a hard place to exist.”
So yeah... I don’t feel anything right now—except numb. A defense mechanism, I guess.
I wonder if this numbness is just mine, though. Or is it our culture’s?
That little device. You know the one you’re probably reading this on right now. That tool of convenience that has now become a lifeline to almost everything. That unnecessary, necessary appendix.
And attached to that device—those platforms. The platforms that lured you in by sharing photos of old friends and fed you “connection.” That “connection” you scroll endlessly to find but instead has lead you to become part of the most disconnected society that’s ever existed. Disconnected from one another, the world and ourselves.
That platform- once filled with kids doing their silly viral dance videos- is now the single most essential tool that holds your very livelihood in its hands—well, its screen. Holding you by the throat to constantly pledge allegiance to the elusive algorithm gods while you dance for your supper. Turning you from the viewer into its very own product. And that product must be sold. Every. Single. Day.
So you log on and sell yourself neatly between footage of war, crimes against humanity, the latest vintage haul, a recipe, puppies playing with donkeys, and a course promising to help you gain nine million followers in a week. You scroll past atrocities in search of the perfect hook—because the hook matters, DAMN IT. And you’re reminded endlessly that AI, this “remarkable technology,” is coming to make our lives even easier than it is now.
Craving the days of those silly dance videos yet?
None of this is normal. I mean, we see that, right? What’s “normal,” and who’s judging anyway- but I think we can all agree staring at a screen all day, filming your life—not even the actual one you’re living—in the hopes strangers following you is not exactly the healthiest way to spend this one precious life you’ve been given. People sharing their utmost private moments, manufactured with just the right lighting, all in hopes of getting that follow. And why?
Because every tap of that Follow button is a sale of some sort and money- and well money= freedom. Freedom from the very hamster wheel you’ve been gifted with citizenship. You know that American Dream you’ve been sold since birth. The one where you dream big and then with enough hard work ANYTHING is attainable.
You sure about that?
In a recent post on Instagram, I spoke about all this. The death of cultivating a craft. When talent mattered and skill was admired, respected. How the disappearance of curation has been abolished—along with your self-worth. There is zero time to study a craft or nurture a talent. To make something terrible before making something beautiful. You know—quality, not quantity. It seems we’ve confused visibility with value.
On this particular post, I was met with this: “You need to make room for this new generation of creators and how things are done now. Get used to it, Jennifer. Things are changing. You’re just bitter because filmmakers with huge online followings, like the recent breakthroughs Obsession and Backrooms, were able to bypass Hollywood and make their films.”
Let me be crystal clear. I haven’t seen those films, and I’m not commenting on their quality. I’m genuinely happy for anyone who gets to make their work without gatekeepers. What I’m questioning is the story we’re being sold around it. That “EVERYONE, just go make your films now. F@Ck the gatekeepers”
These aren’t the first filmmakers to bypass gatekeepers and stop waiting for permission to make their films. Thousands of independent filmmakers have done exactly that. Me being one of them.
How’d that work out for the rest of us?
Did your independent film suddenly receive massive financial backing to actually get the film out to the rest of the world? Did someone write you a life-changing check for your next one? Wonder why?
My film, Fresh Kills, was made outside the system as well and went on to be critically acclaimed. Yet the biggest story around it was a what-not-to-do cautionary tale dragged through the press worldwide when I chose to sell my home that I’d mortgaged to fund it.
So what’s the difference here?
It’s not JUST that I was a female going around the system and every YouTube creator popping off into filmmaking seems to be the same gender, age, and race. No. It’s that they had something I just didn’t and that’s the point I’m making here.
Followers. They had millions and millions of followers.
So are these creators’ works, with enormous followings, so much better than anyone else’s? Or is it that they had the attention and support of their following, which made them viable enough to be seen? I mean work hasn’t been judged on the work alone for decades. I get that. But now, if you don’t have a large enough following, you’re not even in the game.
And how do you get those followers? You guessed it—getting on those platforms and selling yourself. Constantly. Making YOU the ultimate product. So, the “go make your film” leaves out a huge part of that sentence “but first go get a following on our platform’s”.
A truly diabolically brilliant business model if you think about it. Every artist, every person, must work for the platform, the NEW GATEKEEPERS, first before they can even begin to work for themselves. And they do that by making CONTENT.
That word. I hate it with every fiber of my being.
Ironic that a word that also means, “I’m content.” Satisfied. Present. At peace. Is now most know for something manufactured, scheduled, and monetize. Something that steals hours of your time and your life.
Which is why I left for a while. To Paris. Here there is a capacity to see life, art, beauty, respect it and find pleasure in it’s ordinary moments.
Here in, The Rebellion Journals: In Search of a Full Meal, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Search for the simple pleasure of living again. Not just trying to survive in the US.
Some days my search is about finding the best flea market items. Others, it’s the best matcha, the best gluten free bread, a perfect fig, art I haven’t seen or shaded spot in a quiet garden. Or a random street that gets me lost for hours and yet- I feel at ease. Mostly I’m searching for myself, for my words again. I’m a person of endless fight and hope. But lately….
One thing I did not expect to find when seeing America from this distance was shame.
America- you look exhausted. Like a guest on the final moments of a Jerry Springer episode after the last fight dislodged your wig. It’s not cute. The ideals, the ideologies, the land, the brokenness and its people- all pushed beyond their limits- seem in a frantic frenzy to “make it all great again”. All while the ship sinks deeper and deeper everyday. Yet consumerism soars and capitalistic greed reigns supreme. And the churning out of more and more content gets lonelier, emptier and more desperate. I’m saying this as someone who is also speaking about myself here. What we HAVE to do in order to exist, endure, live and make art- is just heartbreaking to me.
As I said the good ole American Dream hasn’t been a real tangible thing in decades and it shows in the very fabric of our culture.
Which brings me to dancing.
I was told by three different women in a span of 3 weeks, that “no one wants to hear women complain” when speaking about my social media presence. Full stop.
There’s so much I’d like to say here- like: if you’re not complaining about our world right now, you’re part of the problem. And women policing other women is truly one of my very favorite things... (sigh) but I’ll stop there.
It’s true-complaining doesn’t help anything though—movement does.
So, while out on one of my in search of walks I happened upon a little girl dancing all by herself. When a woman in the distance yelled for her the little girl stopped dancing for a moment and then took off running in the opposite direction. Her perfectly pristine pink girly dress, with dirty sneakers that told another story, flowed in the wind along with her long dark hair. This burst of vibrancy on this otherwise gloomy slow Sunday stopped me in my tracks.
Later that same day I stumbled upon two other little girls-also dancing. Around the same age and again, all by themselves. Again, it stopped me.
I realized what I was mesmerized with was their raw, unapologetic, uninhibited, unburdended freedom. None of these girls had been made aware of their “limitations” yet within their gender and the world. They were just dancing. Not for someone, not to look cute, not for your approval, an algorithm, a follower, a trend, an outcome or even for any applause. And certainly not for their supper. They were just dancing. Simply because they heard music.
And that’s what I’m searching for..
A time when I created. Freely without approval, agenda, and simply because it called to me.
And when I danced….just because I wanted to.
The Rebellion Journals: In Search of a Full Meal — Entry #2
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