Creation is a lonesome pursuit

AND WHY IT IS LONESOMER FOR SOME

When I think of the word “creation”, my first instinct is to expect the characteristics of “procreation”. Procreation: the process by which two beings get together to produce another being. As per scientific demonstration, creation entails at least two entities and can be sexual (humans, elephants, fish, ants, flowers…) or not (viruses and hosts).

There are only two cases to my knowledge when creation in nature happened solo:

• God, over six days of labour.
• Bacteria (binary fission)

Unfortunately, neither option is available to mere mortals like me: God, whether singular or plural is already taken and I cannot spontaneously split even when the temperature is right.

When it comes to me creating, it seems I am therefore condemned to be part of at least a pair: Lennon/McCartney, Laurel & Hardy, the Brothers Grimm, the Mamas & Papas, Kool & the Gang, or the 2,984 crew of Avatar.

On the surface, some art forms seem more conducive to solo production. Painting for example: once you have a frame, a brush and paint, you are off. In theory of course, because some paintings are collaborative, either for the sheer lulz (Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat), or because of the complexity of production (the Sistine Chapel, a team effort even if it’s known to be by Michelangelo). The only times other people are involved, and those characteristics are shared between all art forms, are upstream: to secure the material in the first place (patrons, funders) and downstream: to showcase and promote the art (distributors, galleries).

Other art forms or artistic projects, especially modern ones, seem inconceivable as solo endeavours: music production, film production.

In the late nineties, I remember being fascinated by “Beautiful Freak”, an album supposedly produced in a bedroom by solo artist E, tinkering away on drum loops and grunge guitars. As I was tinkering away in my own bedroom, with my massive investment of an 8-track recorder, it felt like solo music production had suddenly become accessible. Except as it turns out, Eels was not a solo project but a three-piece band. The album was not produced by one but three extra producers, all working with the considerable means of Dreamworks Records, founded by millionaires David Geffen, Steven Spielberg and Jeffrey Katzenberg.

The cost of technology has since considerably fallen and basic home studios are now available to the middle-class whose shrinking disposable income could still be allocated to beautiful musical pursuits if one was so inclined: but it remains that the sheer breadth of skills and expensive access to sounds themselves (as instruments, samples or engineering) means that collaboration is inevitable.

And in no other art form is collaboration more vital than in film. There is a reason why the film industry has developed the concept of a ‘credit roll’ early, and that isn’t just thanks to the guilds and unions: it’s because the cost of production and proportional range of roles and skills don’t fit on a card, a photo, or a small-type A4; it is so long, it requires animation over time; nine and half minutes for Lord of the Rings, though technically it seems the film with the largest crew was Iron Man 3 at 3,310.

When I decided to make a documentary about my roots in Madagascar and what had happened to the country, I knew from the start I wouldn’t make a film: I had tried on previous occasions to shoot, record and direct on my own, and unsurpringly, had failed fast. I don’t know of anyone who has ever physically managed to do so for an entire feature, however short. Camera-work is all emcompassing, very physical, as is sound recording. There are so many things to look out for that come in the way visually or sonically, especially out in the field, that one has no bandwidth to add the interview and facilitation techniques required to allow the subjects to open up and create a special moment. Of course one could entirely separate interviews from field filming, essentially only using the latter as B-roll, but that would make for a rather boring documentary. Or maybe not: if you have access to amazing archive footage, or an animator, both of which are so prohibitively expensive, you might as well get a large shooting crew in the first place.

So I opted for sound only, a podcast series. I have always been an avid radio listener, and still use an analogue radio in my kitchen. I adore audio documentaries and the very particular way they have of drawing you into another world, relying on a single sense; how vivid the visualisation becomes, how the room or car you are in fades away and the characters suddenly move around you in a way no documentary film could evoke. So I didn’t see it as a downgrade, but as a great opportunity to be creative within my technical limitations.

Or so I thought. Recording I was able to do, and apart from a couple of technical misshaps, I believe I managed to do decently. So far, solo work felt possible (I gloss over the support from local fixers without whom nothing could have happened, but that’s for another post).

What I hadn’t anticipated was how strong the need for collaboration would be once I came back with my (metaphorical) cans. I went through the motions of logging my audio, write my pitch bible, approach production companies and then it all stopped: once I got interesting feedback from a number of prod companies but ultimately no commitment, I realised I was on my own. Not just financially, but technically and creatively. And it is the latter that really affected me. It was a catch-22: any technical collaboration required money (who would edit or engineer for free?) and working with an independent producer always required money, which required a bid/grant writer, which requires money.

There is of course the argument that technically there is a lot I can do myself, thanks to aforementioned cheap tech and audio-editing software. Yes, I know how to do basic editing, even sound cleaning and if I did spend ages, giving overall sound consistency, not just audio levels but tone (a graal from where I am standing). That is almost not a problem, even if I know it is. The biggest hurdle, is going back to the harcore basic principle that all creation requires collaboration. And when one stares down the abyss on their own, with a crowd bleating “of course there are people interested out there” when the very culture and structure of the industry dictate that there would be none, is hard to go through.

Which is why reading about Nadine White taking a whole FOUR YEARS to complete her documentary film “The barrel children” about the Windrush generation, resonated so much. “No one is waiting around to hear about this, I promise you” was one of the shocking one-liners that summarised her experience. Because yes, there are structural reasons why some documentaries get made, and others don’t. Being a first-time black filmmaker would be one. Another, making a documentary about a “black” subject, i.e. one that is perceived to be appealing to a very limited audience and therefore, not bringing enough return on investment. Being a female director. Being working class. Some are protected characteristics in UK law, and therefore are protected in theory from discrimination. And while there are legal provisions to protect employment access, there is no enforced right to creative access.

What I share with Nadine: while I am not Black, I don’t identify as white either. I am white-passing, with the unique Blasian heritage of Madagascar mixed with European and Jewish ancestry. Like Nadine, I am a first-time female director, and like her though for other reasons (I am in-extremis British from recent naturalisation, but otherwise an immigrant or an expat, depending on the level of privilege you assume I inherited) I lack the support network that would give me access to people and resources.

Nadine was lucky to have her very talented cousin as a videographer and co-producer and later down the line, see a distribution opportunity through her day-job at the Independent. Other than editing (I only had access to the short version of “Barrel Children” here, edited by the Independent’s own Production Manager) and some late creative development input from two production professionals, Nadine and her cousin were on their own.

I take much inspiration from her achievement.

In order to keep moving after 12 months of creative stagnation, and with extremely limited funds, I decided to enrol Kirstie Henderson as my creative mentor: we talk fortnightly and review how I progress. She has what I call a “Northern’ directness which goes well my “forriner” predisposition and our mutual understanding of flux means we are flexible about how our relationship is likely to grow. In the meantime, she suggested I start this blog, to hold myself accountable to someone, by which I mainly understood: myself.

Because as George Benson and Whitney said it best: the greatest collaborator of all is inside of me.