Exposing My Privates: Filmmaking as an Exercise in Vulnerability
When I began working on my first-ever film project, I started with a journal entry. The prompt we were given was simply to create a “Story of Self”: to make a film that expresses who you are in around 2 minutes. With very little experience with film and far more experience writing about myself, I decided that the best way for me to engage with an unfamiliar creative process was to start with something familiar. I sat down at my girlfriend’s kitchen table with a notebook and pen and began writing. But instead of the reflective, diary-like journal entry that I usually end up with, what made its way onto the page was more poetic.
What I found most surprising about this exercise was that I chose to write about my gender identity, something I haven’t really spent a lot of time reflecting on. At least I thought that I hadn’t. Turns out I’ve spent years silently contemplating all the experiences in my life that have shaped how I view my gender, especially moments that have led to agonizing remembrances of embarrassment. I think I initially decided to write about my gender identity because I thought that this type of project would be the push that I needed to finally think about myself in a way that I had always been too afraid to. When I finally opened myself up to the idea of exploring my gender, my story came pouring out; all the emotions I’ve kept locked away were finally ready to make themselves known.
I am actually still in the process of figuring out how exactly to describe myself. Am I non-binary? Trans? Am I ready to identify as anything other than what I always have? Do I need to? Even just the word, trans, evokes such a potent anxiety that I can feel it in my toes. A feeling I’ve mistaken for transphobia in the past, but now recognize as fear of that word being (accurately) applied to me. I’ve been trying to figure out why film was the push that I needed to dig into to this anxiety instead of pushing it away, and I think it’s because of film’s profound ability to make public what usually remains private.
For me, making my exploration of gender public meant making it real. Knowing that whatever I created was going to be shared meant I had to start thinking about how I want other people to really see me. It meant making my discomfort, embarrassment, pain, anxiety, and fear… visible. On film.
Finishing this project required that I accept vulnerability as part of the process. This hurdle was not something I anticipated coming into a filmmaking class. I thought I’d feel behind when it came to working with cameras and editing software and lighting and microphones and all the tech-y stuff. Although I’m still very much learning how to film and edit, that’s actually something I really enjoy. The challenge of learning something new has been the most exciting part for me. The hardest part of making a film so far has been figuring out what it is exactly that I want to share and putting together a coherent story about it. The fact that I was also using this project as a way to explore myself certainly put more pressure on me to make my story “right.”
Something I learned in this process is that the final product you end up with will not necessarily be what you originally planned for it to be. Sometimes things go wrong or don’t end up looking the way you planned them to, and you don’t have time to fix it so you just have to roll with it. Usually that kind of thinking is fine with me. But this was my story, and that made me so much more conscious of where things could go wrong. I had to trust myself to put something together that would feel true to my story. I had to be vulnerable to discover the story I wanted to tell, but that vulnerability was still there while I was filming, editing, receiving feedback, and ultimately sharing my film with my peers. There was never a moment when I felt I had overcome this feeling.
Having finished the project, I’m now thinking that anyone who lets someone else tell their story probably feels this way. Everybody wants the filmmaker to “get it right.” That pressure is always going to be there. I had the benefit of being the one telling my own story, but others don’t always have that decision-making power. Whatever vulnerability I had to accept within myself to get this story out, the only person I was really wrestling with was myself. When someone else tells your story, there’s vulnerability, but there has to be trust as well. If I were to let someone else do my Story of Self project about my gender identity, I would want it to be someone that I trust; someone who knows me well.
This project made me realize why building relationships is so critical when making films, especially when your goal is some form of social change. The topics are often heavy and difficult to talk about. The idea of sharing a personal story about some kind of injustice or struggle is not always something people are into. Sharing that story with a stranger? With a million strangers? Not likely. But if you build trust with that person or group, if you know them and they know you, the idea of sharing a personal story in a film might be a little less scary.
It’s my view that film, distinctly from written storytelling, creates more than just an emotional intimacy with the subject. You actually get to see and hear them as you learn about their story. The added sensory input makes the story feel more real to me than any article or nonfiction piece I could pick up. I think this is what makes film a powerful medium for sharing important and timely stories, but also makes the process of creating a film more emotionally strenuous. The more I reflect about the Story of Self project, the more I think that anyone who aspires to be a filmmaker should try making a film about themselves first, just to understand the emotional impact it can have. I know that as I progress in my career, I will look back to this project as a reminder of my values when it comes to filmmaking. I’m hoping other artists engage in projects that require them to be vulnerable with themselves, and that it helps them see why building relationships with people you hope to collaborate with is so important. Before inviting others to be vulnerable with you for the sake of a film, you have to understand what it is that you’re asking.
This piece is part of a series written by college undergraduates enrolled in off-campus study programs through the Higher Education Consortium for Urban Affairs (HECUA). HECUA programs offer students a chance to think deeply about the issues that matter most, and we’d like to share a piece of that experience with you. Every student post on the HECUA Medium page considers a theory or reading that intersects with that student’s lived experience. For more information about HECUA programs, click here.
