Blurry Truths

Looks are deceiving.

But, we’re all guilty of imagining what we’d like to see, who we’d like to be. We have control over these thoughts – that aren’t always fact-checked by the truth. We can make them sleek and slender. We can desaturate them and then fit them into glossy leather pants with just the right amount of lubrication.

Lies aren’t always malicious, mean devils with warts and thorns and bad breath.

Sometimes, a lie is just a little different than the truth. It can be a dream. We tell ourselves this blurry truth, in order to believe that people too can be better. 

At antique stores and vintage shops, there are those old pilings. Forgotten, lost or discarded postcards with written notes, sometimes journals with half-written entries or old black and white photos. It’s always cheap to grab a grand pile of someone else’s mementos. You can imagine what went on in the photos – he loves her, but she is still undecided…

You can read the little writings. And you can enjoy it – not for the truth, but for the story it tells. For the familiarity, you feel from the photos and the writings. The grand nostalgia of it all is textured with possible lies or perhaps unrecognizable truths? I wonder what people will guess when decades and decades from now they see my writings, photos, and art. Fast forward to 3023, and people will be guessing memories from Instagram captions of people long gone.

I never met my grandfather – my mom’s father Matthew. I only have a few photographs and a vague idea of him. Yet…my mom always told me one key detail. She would say that as a person, he felt like the song “Sister Golden Hair” made you feel. After hearing that, I felt like I could see him walk into a room, watch the energy that he filled the space with, notice where his eye contact went. That’s a first for someone you’ve never met.

My mom didn’t tell me how tall he was or how much money he made or how long he’d keep his hair cut. She gave me the essence of who he was – whether or not I’d have come to that conclusion if he had just walked through that door. 

My films are blurry truths - dreamier than actual life. Again, not malicious - just a kinder, more beautiful way to portray certain things. Upfront, you should know I’m a humanist - I believe in the most gorgeous parts of people – whether they’re real or not. I’m more concerned with what people want, dream, and desire than the realism of the room they wake up in or the job they go to.

This new diary entry series I’m posting, however, is like the back of a postcard you picked up from the vintage store. It was written in a moment, an experience…it tells a story. As controversial as it can be.

Notes From Set reflects the less attractive parts of being a director, writer, and artist. The truth can be distasteful, like ordering a dirty martini for the picture you can get out of it. Lots of sexy pictures, but who can finish the whole thing?  

I’m old fashioned - I carry a little black leather notebook that I fill with scribbled diary entries, directorial thoughts, storyboards, and occasionally a crumpled napkin from that café. 

As a beginning director, I wish there were fewer commercial videos (i.e. three ways to be the BEST music video director) and more …of anything else. I’m posting these entries once a week with accompanying photos that I’ve shot and edited  (shot on film because I too am tired of the iPhone chatter on the internet). 

While writing, I overheard Miranda from an episode of Sex and the City scream “I’m no Mena Suvari (American Beauty), but I sure am damn good in bed.” While reading these entries, keep that in mind.

And for those who have zero interest in directing (what are you doing on my page?), I hope you can still find something here. Remember directing and writing are just a way to capture humanity and our overall experiences. I’m not writing technical bits, but about the fodder I must extract from my mind, that has to do with career, life – oh, and everyone’s favorite – love.

Well, here’s the commercial bit (looking disgusted, swallowing the dirty martini I ordered), if you’d like to read more of these every week, write your email or phone number and you’ll get a little buzz from me. Don’t worry, it’s not personal, just some automated thing so I’m not completely alone here. 

So lastly, I promise to give you lots of blurry truths in these entries. They won’t be as sweet as candy, but damn there will be promise. You will see the glint of truth but will be reminded of a softer way to see. If a lie does slip in, I’ll make sure she’s great looking, so she can catch your eye and become something new… for all of us to believe in.

Manny Loves Cake, Hollywood 2022.

Faux Reel at Bar Lis, Hollywood 2022.

California pool day.

Outdoor Party, La Poubelle.

Ty Joseph, walking to an art show in Silverlake.

My Paris Apartment, Feb 2022.