Welcome to Old Growth

Hey, Jackie here.

I chose the name Old Growth as a nod to the timeless wisdom found in old-growth forest networks. Like a mycorrhiza, I wish to spread my roots far & deep.

I dream of connecting with diverse systems and individuals, as we sustain one another with stories, wisdom, and nourishing art.

Growing up in the mountains of Topanga Canyon, my core childhood memories are mainly in relation to nature: from creating imaginary worlds in the towering shadows of Red Rock caves, to hundreds of hours spent running through the vast trail networks from noon ‘til sundown.

The world was an endless pool of possibility waiting to be discovered. This feeling that many were fortunate to have experienced in adolescence has become a rare phenomenon among children today, not to mention in adults (myself included). When we are able to detach from our glowing portals everything feels longer and richer, whereas upon re-entry they only accelerate.

The shrinkage of time has led to a general loss of wonder — much to the joy of technological thieves in the business of extraction. Our diminished attention spans open the door for more interruptions, and advertisements to stuff in.

Today, shareholders live in perpetual bliss, productivity’s soaring, and we’re connected by glittering arrays of fiberoptic cables lining the sea floor! Simultaneously, everyone’s on the verge of a fucking mental breakdown.

Cultural gatekeepers capitalize on this schizophrenic milieu across the media, hitting us with one apocalyptic scenario after the next. Sometimes it feels impossible to imagine a future daily routine that doesn’t involve scavenging for scrap metal in a nuclear wasteland.

Despite all of this, our world is more malleable and tender than we’re led to believe… amidst the chaotic entropy, glimmers of possibility can shine brightest.

“The long, dark night of the end of history has to be grasped as an enormous opportunity. The tiniest event can tear a hole in the grey curtain of reaction which has marked the horizons of possibility under capitalist realism. From a situation in which nothing can happen, suddenly anything is possible again.” - Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism

Now, let’s take a quick step back.

I've been a visual artist for as long as I can remember, darting through the world with a camera in hand, seeking glimpses of light and shadow to compress through a lens, immutably imprinting moments onto celluloid or conveying through the photosites of an image sensor. This sacred dance of connecting and physically reshaping the world will remain with me until the end.

Telling others’ stories, especially through documentaries and music videos, is a way of transmuting art from one dimension to another, while developing my personal style & craft alongside people I love.

But at the same time, these audio-visual art forms have allowed me to avoid the daunting task of writing. Sharing things from the heart just feels a bit too earnest, or straight-up corny.

Without ever attempting a blog, finishing a script, or taking fewer than twenty business days to return a letter of correspondence, it’s been a persistent blockage that ensures new ideas remain (at best) remixed into a project for someone else, or relegated to the margins of my tattered Moleskine. It’s hard enough to condense my thoughts in the first place — but with the currently accessible platforms, I’m stopped in my tracks altogether.

When I go to share my art on social media, the main consideration is how the network will react to it, and less about the quality of the work. This specter is both my “followers” and the medium itself. Especially on Instagram (post-chronological timeline), I’m constantly coaxed to maintain engagement by any means necessary. This fickle judge can either reward or punish me, depending on how, when, and what I share — an absurdly mind-altering pattern of abuse I’m certain many are familiar with.

Then there’s the content we passively consume…

Scrolling one day, I come across a post of Andy Goldsworthy’s ice sculptures. I pause to admire the beautiful scene on my phone’s HDR display.

Immediately after this post I’m hit with:

1.) a ketamine therapy ad (trés chic), and

2.) a shocking slideshow showing a certain military’s brutal “defensive actions,” seizing my body in abject horror.

Before I can take in this discordant moment of artistry pitted against unthinkable suffering (not to mention the mechanisms negotiating it), my index finger rockets up, and recursively embarks on a quest for palette-cleansing memes.

I feel trapped in these monolithic systems converging on everything I hold dear. Systems which can nourish or diminish my spirit, running on self-regulating code indexing the micro-reactions and ‘trends’ of hundreds of millions in real-time, comparing that against my historic data, then selling it right back to me in the form of “Sponsored Posts,” “For You” pages, etc.

It’s a lot to process. And you don’t need a CS degree to feel that something has gone (Adam Curtis voice) horribly wrong.

Just “another thirty seconds,” quickly turns into an hour I’ll never reclaim. It can feel ecstatic, soul-crushing, enlightening, hilarious, sexy, and shocking — all carefully sequenced of course for maximum impact. The gamut of human experience can now be micro-dosed straight from your pocket, free of charge.

With nothing holding these systems back beyond resolution, refresh rate, bandwidth and processing speed, our spirits get absolutely pummeled daily by this illusory meta-reality of infinite choice, which is feeling increasingly lifelike.

Last December I took a leap into the unknown and published my first photo book, Surreality. This project examined my evolving relationship to the world especially around the pandemic era (which we’re still in), largely mediated through our devices. Pulling together years’ worth of screenshots, candid street scenes, and medium format landscapes, it provided a tangible way to communicate these otherwise very intangible feelings.

It felt incredible to share something that I could freshly experience through the eyes of friends, family, and strangers each time they thumbed through the pages and reacted to specific things, prompting questions and deep discussions.

Obsessing over something this personal, and then releasing it into the world (to be perceived in ways fully outside of my control), sparked a level of creative focus and freedom I had never felt before.

As a curious human creating and exploring art constantly, I crave a place to openly share what’s at the forefront of my imagination, on my terms.

I want to extend my voice outside of the social media din, where for years I’ve felt intimidated to break the mold set in place by algorithmic reinforcement.

Unencumbered by engagement analytics and constant FOMO, this is a place where we come together around ideas — not competition in a frantic mental state. Friends can directly engage in the comments/email, or just anonymously check in every now and then.

I foresee a not-so-distant future where our masochistic, habitualized checking of content slop gets replaced with personal rituals of connection and exploration — at our own behest, and on our own schedule.

Wherever we decide to take things from here will send massive ripples downstream. As we enter this new era (yippee!), I believe it’s up to us NOW rather than later to set the example for future generations in a world of increasing precarity.

We will need an intentional rekindling of imagination, genuine curiosity, and a much slowwwwwer pace of life. We should also thoroughly re-examine deeply-engrained, harmful concepts such as superiority and ownership.

We can use technology to further understanding and equity — but it should never come at the expense of our liberty.

The importance is remaining fluid in expression, yet rock-solid in spirit.

In her article The internet didn’t kill counterculture—you just won’t find it on Instagram, Caroline Busta shines a light on the emerging movements of a new generation who are reclaiming the counterculture movement in digital “dark-forest zones.”

In this world one “forages for content or shares in what others in the community have retrieved rather than accepting whatever the platform algorithms happen to match to your data profile.” These include podcasts, message boards, private forums, encrypted messaging apps, and Substack.

“We can imagine collectively held physical spaces reclaimed from empty retail or abandoned venues hosting esoteric local scenes, a proliferation of digital gangs in dark forests who hold secrets dear, and a new desire for closer connections made between people while rejecting the platform’s compulsion to “like and share.” - Caroline Busta

I love this visual of us apprehending modern technology as futuristic revolutionaries repurposing the discarded remains of capitalism, like gutted malls and parking lots (as many already have), and turning them into communal spaces for good.

It isn’t perfect, but it gives me something to work with.

Let’s venture into the dark forest together.

Now, at the precipice of twenty-six years and fully immersed in the big ol’ city, I continue to seek my peace through adventures in the wild — be it cycling through Griffith Park on foggy mornings, backpacking in the Sierras with homies, or simply going for a neighborhood walk without headphones.

I’ve picked up some useful tricks along the way for easing my dependence on screens, and I look forward to sharing them here.

Amidst the indeterminate Freelance Creative Lifestyle®, one must find their grounding routines if they wish to stay sane. I can’t say I’ve uncovered all the answers yet, but I do know that life tends to feel a lot better with nature, community, and creative explorations.

With Old Growth I’ll be sharing exclusive mixtapes, BTS from upcoming projects, film tutorials, algorithm-avoidance life hacks, essays like this, and some surprises in between. Thanks again for joining me on this voyage.

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Now that you made it through the ramblings…. go outside! Visit an old-growth forest near you! Sit in silence for an hour and do nothing! Call your mom!

Right now I’m almost finished editing a documentary on an artist who works in light, water, and sound. Super illuminating stuff. I’ll share some snippets of what we’ve cooked up soon! Can is playing through the speakers, and my body feels hella toasty thanks to drip coffee & wool sock technology.

I’m SO excited to build this community from the ground up, and to keep shouting into the ether as its winds howl heavenward all around me.

~ Jackie 🌱

(P.S. if you want to see some of my latest film projects, head to vimeo!)