One Can Make a Difference (7 page)
Art does not happen until the viewer allows it to happen. If the viewer can observe in the work an investment of time and struggle for meaning, then there is a trust in the content. A simple pencil drawing can become the greatest tool for change in the world if it puts life before art. Art is a way of slowing time down, not speeding it up; it is the nature of art to be about progressive change, to grow alongside social justice struggles. There are very few great artists in history who we can say side with the ideology of fascism.
SUSAN COHN
A Focused Lens on Life
When Susan Cohn was pregnant, she decided to make a film about the birth of
her daughter, Annabel.The result,
The Baby Shower
, became an award-winning
documentary. Bitten by the filmmaking bug, Susan founded Jalapeño Productions,
and went on to film
Green Fire: Lives of Commitment and Passion in a Fragile World
, which highlighted ten women who were granted environmental
excellence awards by the United Nations Environment Programme. She has never
stopped making films. She is also an author whose books include
Green at Work: Finding a Business Career That Works for the Environment
and
Finding Your Way with an MBA
. Her orientation is social justice and the creative arts,
interests that have led her to be a board member of the Alaska Conservation Foundation,
a foundation that works to conserve the ecosystems of Alaska and keep its
communities sustainable and vital, and to serve as a policy advisor on Design Arts
funding for the National Endowment for the Arts.
What started out as a little diversion has blossomed into a most satisfying
occupation. Susan Cohn's curiosity has not only taken her behind the camera
but has opened countless other eyes and allowed filmgoers to accompany her on
her exploration of unfamiliar worlds and other people's thoughts and cultures.
Susan belongs in the book for proving that enthusiasm is sometimes all you
need to develop a lifetime's journey.
T
hrough documentaries, I believe that voices from underrepresented peoples or subcultures that have value but no feasible platform can come to life. And that all of society can benefit from such exposure.The more we can increase our knowledge and understanding of one another, the greater chance we have at being happy and productive. I tend to pick my subject matter based upon what I'm curious about, where my own questions are leading me. For instance, when I became pregnant with my first child I made a documentary about my baby shower. I came to realize that, yes, there are streamers, frilly dresses, and silly games involved, but beneath that there's a ritual of wisdom being passed down; that women steadfastly gather to help the mother (in this case, me) find grounding, peace, and strength in her new life. They do so by sharing their stories, stories of joy and stories of sorrow.
I'm also particularly drawn to individuals who are struggling to make a positive difference in this world. Early on, I made a documentary for Environmental Weekly (PBS affiliate distribution) about several women who'd been granted environmental excellence awards by the United Nations Environment Programme. More recently, I made a documentary about Richard Nelson, an activist anthropologist who's working to save the Tongass National Forest in Alaska. After college, I lived in Alaska teaching the Inuit people about organic gardening, so once more the draw to the subject matter was personal.
One of the most enjoyable and most bizarre documentaries I've made involved ultraruns. This is a modern marathon, where people run 100 miles in thirty-six hours or less. The elite runners do it in less than twenty-four. I found them fascinating: How did they train their bodies to endure such a grueling race, how did they train their minds, did they eat as they ran, were there bathrooms along the trails, did they run straight through day and night? Luckily, my former husband was one of them! So I brought along my camera and a crew to several key races and found a way to answer my questions. I often have no idea what the ending of my films will be, but here, additionally, I wasn't even sure of what I was going to say. It was only through delving into the subject matter and trying to understand these people without judgment that the film came alive. I still receive e-mails about
Running Madness
. While sometimes thinking these runners are nuts, people are nevertheless inspired by the power of the human spirit.
I began making documentaries after writing my first book. Writing requires a lot of time spent alone, and although my book sold well, I felt that I wanted to stretch my artistic capacity into a visual medium. I had taken photography classes at the International Center for Photography in New York City and knew I had talent at framing and giving life to objects, plus after so many months shut away in my room, I thought a more collaborative environment would be fun. Friends in the business told me not to go to film school but rather to hire good people to work with me and, in a sense, apprentice to them. I took their advice, and for
The Baby Shower
, my first documentary, I hired filmmakers from NYU and a consultant who worked on feature films.All in all, I invested about $5,000, whereas film school costs about $40,000 and that's not including the money it takes to make a film! Together we created a documentary that went on to win at festivals and obtain distribution. This got me started. And with a bit of luckâand let me emphasize luck has a lot to do with everything in this business, along with connectionsâI was able to build my career from there.
Nowadays, documentaries can be made cheaply with the advanced technology available. And with highly watched Web streams such as YouTube, film-focused organizations like Witness (an international human rights organization that provides training and support to local groups to use video in their human rights advocacy campaigns), and the continually blossoming film festivals around the country, the odds of having your documentary seen have never been greater. These new communities create forums for better communication and a wider view of the world.
I believe in the old adage that if you change the mind of one person you can change the world. This isn't to say that documentaries should only be made about conventional social injustice. They can be about anything from some peoples' obsession with cats to mermaids to the use of scent in Proust's novels, whatever the filmmaker chooses. If it's done with intentionality, passion, and curiosity, it will impact the audience and encourage greater insight and empathy for one another. It's this increased kindness toward each other, based on increased knowledge of any aspect of human nature, that will bring about profound change.
HIS HOLINESS THE DALAI LAMA
Don't Worry, Be Happy
Tenzin Gyatso, His Holiness, the fourteenth Dalai Lama, is the spiritual and
temporal leader of Tibet. He is believed by his followers to be the manifestation
of Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion. He was born into a large
farming family in the province of Amdo in 1935, and is said to have been
watched over by a pair of wild crows, considered a potent omen. At the age of
two, he was recognized as the reincarnation of the thirteenth Dalai Lama when
regents from Lhasa organized a search party that led them to his village, based,
as Tibetan tradition dictates, upon a series of visions and signs.The men tested
him by placing some of the thirteenth Dalai Lama's relics on the ground in
front of him. At the sight of the objects, the child cried, “They're mine!”
In 1950, at the ripe old age of sixteen, he was called upon to assume full
power as Head of State, due to China's increasing military threat. Before he
was out of his teens, he was entering into talks with Chairman Mao, and later,
in hopes of finding support for his country, with Prime Minister Nehru. By
1959, he was forced into exile, having to cross the Everlasting Snows on foot
and at risk of being shot, after the Chinese occupation of Tibet. I was living in
New Delhi at the time and can remember that there were suddenly Tibetan
refugees everywhere. Our dinner-table talk was of the revered man who considers
himself “just a simple monk” (he went on to win the Nobel Peace Prize).
Over the years, I grew to admire his advocacy of respect for all sentient life, his
belief in altruism and unlimited compassion, his championship of harmony and
understanding between different religions, and his view that all of us desire the
same things: happiness and freedom from suffering. One reason, and there are
many, that it is a delight to include his essay in this book is that he is a joyous
person. And a very practical one. He points out that there will always be suffering
and that if a situation is “fixable,” there is no need to worry, and “if not,
there is no benefit to worrying.” He smiles and laughs because he knows he is
doing all he can and that fretting serves no purpose! His contribution to this
book is perhaps the most succinct and important message of all.
C
ompassion is one of the principal things that makes our lives meaningful. It is the source of all lasting happiness and joy. And it is the foundation of a good heart, the desire to help others. Through kindness, through affection, through honesty, through truth and justice toward everyone else, we also ensure our own benefit.
The necessity of love and compassion is the real basis of my religion, my simple faith. To put them into practice within a secular framework we don't need a temple, church, or other building, nor any complicated philosophy. Our own hearts and minds are where we work, while the only doctrine we need is compassion. So long as we put this into practice in our daily lives, so long as we have compassion for others and conduct ourselves with restraint out of a sense of responsibility, there is no doubt we will be happy.
PIERRE DULAINE
Helping Children Find Their Feet
If you have seen the documentary film
Mad Hot Ballroom
, or the feature
film
Take the Lead
, starring Antonio Banderas as Pierre Dulaine, you have
some idea of the impact this gifted dancer has had on children in the New York
City Public Schools system. From shy bookworms to cocky delinquents, when
children discover that they can move to music and start enjoying the experience,
a transformation is often in the works despite their fierce initial resistance.
Pierre, who until recently had been on the faculty of the Julliard School
at Lincoln Center and the School of American Ballet, knows this because he
experienced this same thrill himself, transforming from an awkward teen into
a world champion ballroom dancer. Now he passes on this profound joy to
children who might otherwise have only hung out in the streets or gone home
to sit in front of the TV, who might never have discovered that their feet have
wings, that they can win at something, or that winning isn't all that counts on
the dance floor. His program reaches and teaches approximately 21,000 high
school children every year. I love Pierre's story because his enthusiasm to teach
is what makes the world go round, and not only under that magical ballroom
dancing globe.
I
was born in the Middle East, in Palestine. After that, I lived in Jordan, and then Lebanon, then off my family went to Birmingham, England. I was a very shy child, very timid, and to make matters worse, other children were quite mean to me. They picked on me because I spoke with an accent, which they mimicked. But it was in England, when I was fourteen years old, that a school friend and I started taking lessons at the local dance studio. I was no good at dancing whatsoever, but something stirred inside of me and I loved it. So I persevered.
One day, I went to my very first professional dance competition, and I was awestruck by how wonderfully these professional couples danced. I clearly remember saying to myself that I would become a world champion dancer one day. And eventually, at the ballroom in Blackpool, England, I did. In fact, I won four times, starting in 1977 and including the “Duel of the Giants” at the Royal Albert Hall in London. My mother told me that I couldn't become what I wanted to be, a full-time dance teacher, because it would be too unreliable. She was nervous because we had been made refugees twice in the Middle East, so I can't blame her for worrying that this wasn't a “real” job.To please her, I tried working in an office, in accounting of all things, and I hated it. I became a hairdresser for a short time, but my sights were set on dancing. So, in London, at the ripe old age of twenty, I managed to get myself a full-time position as a dance instructor in a studio. It was difficult at times to make ends meet, very difficult, but I made it my profession, and I haven't looked back.