There’s this momentum that hasn’t let up for two years. STORY DRIVE keeps pulling me forward, the anthology Voices Unveiled stretching out like a constellation, producers and animators and Full Spectrum Features orbiting in from across time zones, all of us piecing something bigger together. Then there are the entries themselves, little transmissions, experimental vignettes stitched with voicemail static. Somewhere along the way I realized I had accidentally filmed a feature-length diary, like my own archive wanted to reveal itself whether I planned it or not. And now I’m casting for a documentary about people living with chronic illness and autoimmune conditions, diving into another scale of reality.
I keep throwing myself into non-fiction. Maybe because it calls to me in ways fiction hasn’t yet. It feels like a light I can’t look away from, flickering with everything that matters: real voices, real conditions, real perspectives. I want so badly to slip into a genre-heavy space, to play in pure invention, but non-fiction keeps tugging me back. Even my freelance work, the stuff that’s supposed to be “just jobs,” ends up rooted in the journalistic. A PSA about Pennsylvania transit got me connected with assignments, and even that was born out of the same pull: showing, revealing, archiving what’s happening right now.
My imagination still lives in experimental art and animation. That’s the core of how I make. But my eyes keep landing on reality, and it feels impossible not to respond. I keep thinking, if I filter it through what I do, maybe someone else will see it too. Maybe someone will feel that flicker of recognition. Maybe someone will realize they’re part of the same conversation.
There’s this rhythm to it all: make, move, think, repeat. It doesn’t leave me much space to rest. Even STORY DRIVE, as Voices Unveiled reaches its completion, feels like it’s waiting for me to decide whether it stays paused longer, shifts, or grows. I daydream about expanding it, bringing in more animators, offering compensation, giving it structure so it doesn’t just begin and end with me.
But until then, I’ll keep making. I have to make. That’s the only thing I know for sure.