There was a particularly discouraging afternoon when I took my place in line among scores of others to present my proposal for a measly $300 grant. I’d brought my own projector, assembled a 16mm sample reel from rejected lab prints and faced what felt like disparaging and hostile questions from this Brooklyn arts organization.
Soon after, reading in bed on a Sunday night, tears started leaking from my eyes. I’m not a person who cries easily, but the steepness of the cliff I was trying to scale and the difficulty of the challenge was suddenly clear. “What is it, Annie?” I answered Mr. Green with sobs and more and louder sobs, eventually losing all control. “What am I supposed to do? Give up this idea of making a feature? Should I try to get a job at an advertising agency and make a lot of money? Or have a bunch of kids? I can’t take it anymore! I’m getting bitter! I’m stuck!” Mr. Green put his arm around me and I cried myself to sleep, confused. I felt broken.
And that night I had a dream that changed my life. I was in a low-ceilinged kitchen right out of the 1950’s. There was a witch in the kitchen, her hair was wild and she was intense, pointing a long skinny arm and finger off into the distance. She was forceful: “Don’t stop now! You’re almost there!”
I woke the next morning with a new confidence. Suddenly I could take the big and little steps to get going. And that message from the witch carried me through the next four years it took to make this film.
As I write this, I’m still scratching my head over the fact that the power came to me after a total breakdown and surrender. It was only after letting go of all my self-discipline, strength, force, will and control that I had the clarity and felt the confidence to do the job. That it was in allowing myself to be overwhelmed by the utterly corny and embarrassing fact of ’feelings’ is a lesson I’m still trying to learn today. (to be continued)
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