Today hav­ing just arrived home after a long trip, I decid­ed to take a break from doing the laun­dry and catch­ing up on emails to open up a box from Gren­del Books on 18 Ire­land Street — even the address sound­ed mag­i­cal. I found a beau­ti­ful­ly wrapped lit­tle book, padded in bub­ble wrap and tis­sue paper as if it was a pre­cious object. It was a small lit­tle paper­back that fel­low film­mak­er Stephanie Castil­lo rec­om­mend­ed I read and that I had ordered before my trip.

Bring­ing poet­ry into the film­mak­ing process.

Some pas­sages in the first few pages felt as though the author were talk­ing direct­ly to me — address­ing my fear of nev­er catch­ing up with things, my guilt at lay­ing aside bill pay­ing to dis­cov­er a lit­tle gift. I’m sure the whole book is full of wise lit­tle gems and I will refer to it often.  Here are a couple:

” If you are too choosey about the spaces you vis­it, you may miss Inspi­ra­tion Point.”

“Every film is a voy­age into the unknown.  You set out for great India and arrive at a very small island in the Caribbean.…I have nev­er begun a film, how­ev­er well pre­pared, that did not prove to have a life of its own and lead me to a region where I did not expect to go.  What safaris!  What nar­row escapes! The maps can lead direct­ly to quick­sands and the jaws of drag­ons.  Yet some­times the end of the trail may be quite near King Solomon’s mine.”

Thanks to Stephanie Castil­lo (vet­er­an Kauai film­mak­er) for rec­om­mend­ing I read this.  It comes at a time when I feel a lit­tle buf­fet­ed by the winds and, hav­ing just giv­en up my part-time job, fac­ing a future full of unknowns.  It’s heart­en­ing to know that it’s part of a process every film­mak­er faces.