Realising the Dream

Thoughts on the artist's journey, reciprocity, and tending to the garden of creativity.

With film work, there is always a brief period of relief upon completing a project which feels like a huge weight being lifted. It doesn’t last long, but for a moment there is a chance to decompress, embrace empty space and see what the moments of stillness might bring forward.

A few days ago I published the most recent film for the Serra storytelling project which I began earlier this year. This story was an idea that was a long time in the making, lying dormant since I first met Lars and Denise from Wild Forest Garden while I was still living in Alentejo.

We met at a time when many of us were looking for clarity in the midst of the covid-era, a time where our foundations were shaken and for one reason or another, we found a sense of respite in the vast spaciousness of the Alentejano landscape.

A concept was created and seeds were planted, eventually sprouting in the form of Serra’s most recent film: Wild. This was the culmination of a gradually evolving friendship that was tied to a desire for greater ecological purpose in our lives. These are still the early days but the instinctive recognition of “there is something here, I just can’t quite articulate it yet” is now beginning to find expression.

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My decision to embark on this journey with Serra was born primarily from inspiration and connection with Portugal's mountainous landscapes — but it was also catalysed and accelerated by frustration from previous projects which I had worked on last year.

I’ve been calling it “the creative’s struggle” — the desire to produce work that is genuinely meaningful and artistically fulfilling, contrasted with the tension of still needing to exist in the world, to manage financial responsibilities, to say yes to projects that I would honestly rather so say no to, and navigate the unforgiving terrain of modern capitalism and its associated fallout.

This relationship to work is something that I've been reflecting on deeply in recent times. I remember reading a book by Joseph Campbell, the legendary scholar and mythologist, in which he talked about the important difference between your work and your job.

To paraphrase, he described your job as being what pays the bills, and your work being your larger purpose and mission in this life. In this instance, the job enables you to do what you really desire. The ideal outcome is for your work to sustain you entirely but for some people this may not be possible.

That being said, I don’t see any other way at this point. I recently discovered a quote from Werner Herzog, the legendary German filmmaker, who when working deep in the jungle in one of his earlier films described:

“If I abandon this project, I would be a man without dreams and I don't want to live like that.”

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What I've realised through this project is that to give yourself to your own work requires a large initial input in which you will often need see any immediate yields.

It's similar to growing a garden. The largest effort comes from the beginning, where it is necessary to cultivate the right conditions in which life can flourish. The weeds must be cleared. Compost must be added, and at a certain point the rhythm of careful tending and maintenance will bring a return in the form of vibrant and nourishing crops.

The crucial point is that the organic process cannot be rushed. Synthetic fertilisers may be sold to appear as beneficial, but the sensitive and invisible microbial life will suffer. There are no shortcuts. It’s the difference between the labour of a job and a labour of love. One is counted in euros per hour, the other cannot be measured. That which cannot be measured has innate value that transcends our economic paradigm.

But how do we handle this in our current socio-economic crisis? To put so much time and energy into something with no guaranteed return is certainly a privilege. One that I've been reminded of as I have been torn between what pays in purely financial terms and what pays in genuine creative fulfilment.

For this I don't yet have an answer, other than to do what is necessary to get by until the garden can offer enough sustenance and nourishment. Or as Lars referred to in the film, to give unconditionally as nature itself does, and trust that the laws of reciprocity will deliver the gift back to you.