The Beginner’s Vantage and Advantage
Some Substack housekeeping items before we launch into today’s reflection.
First, there’s been a lot of brouhaha about AI on Substack, so let me start by saying, I use AI to help me write emails and social media posts – like the email to the management at the hotel where my jewelry went missing, or the many social media posts I dread posting but are necessary to get audiences out to see my short film. Sometimes, I run a piece through for spelling and grammar, but other than that, everything comes from my head, my heart, and out through my own hands. All of my guests who are featured in this Substack write their essays from their respective human brains as well.
Second, there are different schools of thought on whether or not you should charge folks to read your Substack essays. I am of the school that if you require me to pay to read your stories, then I won’t. I don’t like feeling hijacked when I start a story, but then cannot finish it unless I pay up. I get it – it’s a source of income for some. I myself have made a whopping $561 in the last year from people volunteering to support this Substack (thank you!) I myself subscribe to several Substacks, but do so because I want to back the writer, usually a friend. Aging Fearlessly will always have a free option, but if you want to do a paid subscription, thank you in advance. Enough with the housekeeping - let’s move on.
Last week, I did a week-long immersive cinematography and directing workshop at Maine Media College, a renowned photography and filmmaking school. It’s a magical place that attracts serious professionals and highly experienced teachers. It even attracted a highly experienced teacher as a student in my class – a professor at NYU in the MFA film program. She and I were the oldest in the class, and we were so happy to have each other.
I went because I wanted to learn more about lenses, lighting, camera movement, exposure... things that cinematographers speak about. On my first short film, SAVERIO, I was repeatedly told, “Don’t worry about the shots. That’s what the DP is for.” (DP is short for Director of Photography.)
They were right, but something about that advice never sat well with me. I felt like I was missing out on a shared language. As a director, I know what I like when I see it, but knowing what I like and knowing how to communicate what I want are two very different things.
So, I finally said, Fuck it. I’m going to learn.
There were eight of us in the class. Five were in their twenties, one was in her thirties, and then the other woman who, like me, was considerably older. I loved that we were two women who had already accumulated decades of experience, but we were both still willing to take a leap of faith and walk into a room and say, essentially, help!
(our studio for the week, photo by Gail Segal)
When it comes to lighting, lenses, F-stops, and all the math involved in understanding the implications of cinematography, I’m a goner. To say I felt like a beginner is an understatement. We were learning things at an absurd pace. Most of the students could already operate a camera. I kept my distance from it like it was a black widow spider. Thankfully, there are lots of people who geek out on that stuff; it’s just not me. I’d probably have more luck defusing a bomb.
But that didn’t really matter in the end. Our teacher, Patrick Cady, has spent thirty years working as both a DP and director in film and television. He had an almost bottomless supply of tips, tricks, stories, and hard-earned wisdom. He was also wildly enthusiastic about his craft, and there is something contagious about being around someone who is still deeply excited about what they do. It infused me with many feelings, but especially determination.
The culmination of the workshop was to make a one-minute film. We were paired in teams, and Adam, my assigned partner, happily took the DP role (thank god!), so I could direct. The exercise was simple: take a randomly assigned adjective and come up with an idea to shoot a film about it.
The execution, however, was complex: create a look book, build a shot list, location scout, cast, production design, costume design, sound design, edit, and then present it. The actors were basically given to us, though we did have to do a coin toss between teams and make do with whomever we got.
The prop/costume shop was a shambles, so at 10 p.m. I drove down a very windy, dark road to reach a Walmart eleven miles away. No one looked at me funny at Walmart when I loaded up on twenty cans of chickpeas, four dresses, two pairs of men’s cargo pants, and little white socks.
The next morning at 8:30 a.m., we hit the ground running. What was great about working with Adam was that I could describe the feeling I wanted and even suggest some angles or shot choices, and he knew what I was talking about. He was also excited to share his ideas. This alone made me feel like I got what I came for. We had another team of two, Eliya and Eddie, and they helped with sound and lighting, and in turn, Adam and I helped them with their shoot later that day (first time for me doing sound!)
(me doing sound for the very first time!)
I love the micro film we made. It was far from perfect, but it represented risks, experiments, challenges, and a vision. Here it is in all its glory for you to see, because it’s not gonna be on the festival circuit, I can tell you that. Can you guess the adjective we were assigned that inspired this film? Feel free to share your guess in the comments below.
(STILL HOME, a one-minute film)
I walked away from that week having learned many things, but two stood out: The first was how much I don’t know, and the second was how much I want to know, which are not the same.
For a long time, I believed that if I hadn’t learned something by a certain age, I had somehow missed my window. That I was supposed to be established by this point. To have figured it all out and be an expert by now.
My husband said to me the other day, and I’m paraphrasing, “I feel so bad that you missed out on all those years of creativity.”
“I don’t,” I said. “What if during all those years I got burned out, or got burned, or lost my passion?”
“That’s true,” he said.
Then I added, “I truly think it was supposed to happen this way. I’m more appreciative, more determined, more filled with life experience.”
He liked that answer, but I didn’t say it to let him off the hook. I really believe it.
I guess that’s one of the great privileges of getting older. There’s no deadline for curiosity or learning. Plus, being a beginner at something does not mean you’re not accomplished at other things.
So, of course, now I’m curious about something you’ve been wanting to try. Is there a class you’ve been eyeing? A language you’d like to learn? An instrument you want to play? Share if you dare in the comments below. Seeing it in writing can bring you that much closer to realizing it.
There’s nothing anyone is too old to start.
Just say, Fuck it.
BTW, the FILTHY MILFS podcast is gearing up to return with Season 2 this September! Do you have ideas for guests you’d love us to interview? We welcome your suggestions. Meantime, catch all of Season One wherever you listen to podcasts, and follow us on the socials to keep up with your favorite MILFS!
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