In December of 2009, after graduating from college, my wife and I took all of our savings that we put aside over a one year period and traveled through Asia and Europe for eight months. We walked through Angkhor Wat at sunrise. We traveled through northern and southern Thailand by train. I got ritualistically tattooed by a monk using traditional yantra practices. I helped interpret in Thai for a French director who was documenting orphans who live in the slums along the train tracks in Thailand. We hiked the Himalayas in Nepal for three weeks. I jogged and dodged cars and animals in Kathmandu (I’m a religious runner). We ate crepes in France and soaked in as many Parisian museums as possible. We went to Madrid and stood in awe before Guernica. We saw stonehenge and other ancient burial mounds. We hung out in cafes with my sister who lives in England and got to know my nieces and nephew. We listened to jazz on the streets of the Czech Republic and visited Kafka’s grave on the anniversary of his death. We visited cemeteries in nearly every city, paying respects to Georges Melies, Apollinaire, Max Ernst, and others.
In between, I went to Cinequest Film Festival for my experimental documentary “The Sonosopher.” Before driving from Utah to California, I felt strong inspiration that I needed to get in the car and drive to Tarkio, Missouri, where my little brother died of SIDS and is buried. I did. I shot a 4 minute documentary on 8mm, using an audio interview I recorded with my mother two years ago where she talks about how I interpreted his death as a two-year old. This will be my first short documentary to roll out in the next few months. No one in my family had visited the grave in almost eighteen years.
My wife and I both work in media. We have formed a little production company named OHO Media that, so far, has only produced one film to completion. The other day while I was at a local video equipment store, I looked through their stock and thought about how we are too broke to purchase any of it. Soon after, I realized that, with the money we spent over those eight months, we could have easily purchased all of the equipment we needed and formed a substantial production company that could sustain itself for a long time. We could have rented office space. Maybe picked up some clients. At the very least, we would have the beginnings of a small production company.
I don’t regret it.
I see two different investments at play: one is more tangible; It makes sense on paper and can be clearly shown on resumes and, in my case, on IMDB. The other is abstract — it’s what I would call an “investment in sensibilities.” I feel deeply the changes that have occurred inside of me over this year. I have seen my work change. I think differently. I feel differently. I wrote this while I was in the mountains:
“I am running after elusive antelope. Mostly mirages, disappearing into the labyrinth of my will. I never catch them, but the residue of the chase becomes fuel for the next day. I feel movement, even though I do not know where I am headed. But deep within, I feel a sense of confidence that anchors me. I am either being guided or I am a naive fool.”
I am not sure that there is any kind of lesson in this post. I’m not really encouraging doing the same thing that I did. I can’t argue convincingly that my work will get any better or that I’m any more enlightened from the journeys. What I am saying is that I can feel the investment in my chest and that, from my experience, the line between the practical and impractical blurs at a certain point. The college degree I worked so hard for seems impractical to me. The trip I just recently returned from seems completely rational.
Now I am back home and building a company from the ground up. We are in the stages of editing two documentaries (one about a man who provides for his family by picking recyclables out of public trash bins and one about the subculture of Thai cowboys who emulate American cowboy lifestyle). I am learning about social media, transmedia, and new distribution techniques. The future of documentary film is uncertain, as is my own. I am optimistic and excited about my next films and next steps.
Time will tell if people want to watch my documentaries. I hope they do. Not because I want to be famous or have people adore my art (I have mostly found the exhibition part to be excruciating so far), but because I want to communicate. I want to spread stories and touch people. I want to inspire and promote the good. I want to critique the bad. I see the last eight months playing an integral role. We’ll see if I receive a return on my investment.
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