What It’s Like Making An Indie Feature

We start working before dawn. First ones to set are 1st AD, 2nd AD, UPM, catering. Followed shortly by our make-up artist and camera crew. The actors drift in. We’re on our third, fourth cups of coffee by 10am. Collectively, we look out for Jimmy, our 80 year-old star, make sure he’s drinking enough water, not losing his cane or his dentures, keep his sides printed at the largest font possible so he can always be working on his lines. His memory plays hard to get, which is what this movie is all about. We flashback to moments in his life as a child, a teen, a young man. We throw his FUNeral. We film his death. We all break down in tears. We laugh when he nonsensically replaces lines like “Remember what happened on Fourth of July?” with “Remember what happened in San Diego?” Jimmy laughs hardest of all. He waits for a quiet moment in the chaos to loudly ask one of his co-stars “Have you ever worked on a farm? Cause you sure know how to milk it.” We all applaud his wit, his stamina, his courage. Our camera department heroically sets up lights in the rain. Day players cycle through, a breath of fresh air when we’re exhausted. We have three on set creatures for emotional support: a cat, a bird, and a chameleon. We’ve got one week to go telling this story of a life, by telling the story of a death. Harold and Maude, we hope we’re making you proud. We’ll let you know when we find out what happened in San Diego.

www.moonmanormovie.com 

@moon_manor_movie

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Bleed Your Project / Achieve Bliss

Is there a better feeling than being completely immersed in a creative project?

Giving every shred of yourself to the execution of an idea. Breathing life into a story, into a dream. I love how the day-to-day self doubt, over analysis, existential dread falls way. You simply don’t have time to indulge in it.

Currently completely married to the creation of my first feature film, Moon Manor, co-created with my best friend of forever Machete Bang Bang. We co-wrote, and are co-directing and co-producing. It’s a coming-of-death story. It’s about a FUN-eral and the moon. And one very special human named Jimmy.

www.moonmanormovie.com 

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And two years ago at the same exact same time of year I was leading a 23 person crew onto a friend’s secret mountain ganja farm to direct my first significant work of length, Forever Flowers. Watching the teaser now I can still smell the autumn chill, still feel the exhilaration of waking up at dawn to call the shots, to crystallize a story that had been calling to me for years.

What will the next two years bring?

Sacred Shit on Moonfaze Films!

 

So honored to announce SACRED SHIT, the new short film by me and @machetebangbang, is the May official selection of MOONFAZE FILMS. In the spirit of pure collaboration we created each scene in the moment, pulled by whatever she or I were inspired to express, free from the usual film grind of scheduling and logistics. Thrilled this experiment in art-for-art’s-sake is being recognized by such a prestigious journal. And this week is Beltane, the day to honor life and earth energies, so get thee to www.moonfazefilms.com to watch it and read our feature and check out the amazing things these women are doing. 

“SACRED SHIT” is a vulnerable raw look into attachment and the sometimes impossible art of letting go. A portrait of the mind and it’s many manipulations, Sacred Shit is a reminder to look inward and seek light in darkness. To ask ourselves what is it that we actually hold sacred? Celebrating the eternal bond between two women, this film also encapsulates our innate deep need for connection and friendship. Some sacred shit indeed. A must see.”  -MOONFAZE FEMINIST FILM JOURNAL

 

What am I “About”?

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I just re-wrote the “About” section of this website, and it was the trickiest damn thing to do. I procrastinated doing it for so long, because what am I “about?” I’m constantly asking that very question, and it’s only very recently (like this year) that I finally feel like I have a point of view.

The personal bio section of everything I’ve ever applied for has always stumped me. You’re supposed to list your achievements in this part, right? But is that a real reflection of what you’re about, what keeps you up at night, what keeps you going? In part, yes. Our achievements are a reflection of our life priorities. But if I really want to share what I’m “about,” it’s human connection, finding comedy in the darkness, Nature, being self-expressed, taming the voice in my head, experiencing new cultures, challenges, kisses, and cats. Not the jobs I’ve had or the awards I’ve won.

So rather than a typical bio, I interviewed myself instead. This seemed like an authentic way to lightly brag about my accomplishments, plus it’s so dumb when people write in the third person in a bio.

Me: You’re from Reno? That’s weird.  

Erin: I grew up in a town called Gardnerville nearby Tahoe, and went to college in Reno. I fucking love Reno so don’t say anything about it. 

Me: What’s LA been like for you?

Erin: Wonderful and terrible. For a while I had that job where I sat in a glass box in white underwear at the Standard Hotel. It’s like an LA rite of passage. I made my first vlog while I was in the box. Which got me fired, but they didn’t make me take down the episodes.  

Me: You just sat there? Sounds like a scam. 

Erin: I think it was “art.” The observer being the observed. 

Me: Sounds deep. 

Erin: I’m trying to frame it that way. 

Read the whole interview over in the “About” section. Obviously. And I’m curious your thoughts on this subject. How do you write your own bio? What are you “about?”

Still from “Omen 31” by The Loves

Catfishing life success.

When I got notice my script Forever Flowers had advanced at the Austin FF Screenplay Competition, I felt like I’d won the lottery. But being there in person a few weeks ago, meeting the writers who’d actually won, I felt dumb for how excited I’d been. But if you don’t celebrate the “no” that’s somewhat a “yes,” then aren’t you perpetually swimming in “blah”?

This picture is not of me. I don’t write topless, nor with a typewriter. I write in ugly sweats with a laptop that’s had a Pilates DVD stuck in it since 2013. But this is social media which is all about presenting the fantasy version of our life so yeah, doesn’t my ass look great in these jeans?

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Just some mundane thoughts.

I feel far from myself. And I know why. I’m not in my creative work routine. I often wonder if the secret to success is as easy as having a routine. A few factors are contributing to this distraction. Year-end duties like figuring out new car insurance, health insurance, possibly moving to a new place. But I know I can always write and post something, even if it’s a few lines. I get caught up in thinking it needs to be something really awesome to be worth posting. But maybe the mundane is the most interesting stuff we can offer each other in the blogosphere. So, my mundane:

–I’m considering moving out of my apartment. I’ve been here 5 years and it’s time for a change. But I keep running up against memories. Just now making chicken on my George Foreman grill, I remembered agonizing if I should get the grill with removable plates or not. It was $20 more, but would be so much easier to clean. Which got me thinking about how much I’ve changed in the five years I’ve lived here. I moved in poor as a pauper, $20 might have been $2000. I’ve gone through a lot here–breakups, hookups, surgery, dance parties, Koreatown Cabarets, tears and fighting, first kisses and last goodbyes. I have done a LOT of writing here. I wrote a novel here for fuck’s sake. I’m an eyelash away from leaving, but that also means leaving that all behind. Which I don’t feel totally ready to do.

–This year has been a rollercoaster for the creative projects. Had my series Johnny and the Scams picked up by a big studio, then dropped when the executive left the company. I started a new vlog and finished writing a thriller feature and co-writing an hour long pilot. Yet I feel totally unsatisfied. Soooooooooooooo many stories in my mind, battling to be told. Yeah, that many “o’s” on the “so.”

–I’ve started volunteering with WriteGirl, a rad non-profit that does creative writing programs for teen girls. I’ve been working with the in-schools part of the program, and every Tuesday we go to a girl’s academy in south LA and do poetry, journaling, goal-setting, this sort of thing with the girls. I’m endlessly humbled, especially with how smart and talented the girls are. Some of them write prolifically. I remember being that age, feeling like I had more emotions than I could possibly express.

–I feel like I don’t want to party anymore. I turn to wine and other mind alterers when I’m not writing. Because I wish I was writing so much I need to blast all thoughts out of me. So why don’t I just write? Bukowski, Hemingway, any ideas?

–I might get a kitten!

Those are a few mundanes things of my current life. Hope it slightly intrigued you, if just in a mundane way. Good bye.

Prose vs. Screenwriting; photos with @b4flight

Last night was the final night of my short story writing class. It was through UCLA Extension and thus on the UCLA campus, and all summer I greatly enjoyed traipsing about the brick buildings pretending I was still in college. There were some excellent writers in my class and the instructor Colette Sartor was phenomenal, she gave excellent feedback and is a lit star herself. Writing fiction prose again after the last few years of screenwriting was like taking a long bath after…hmm…shit I need help finishing the analogy. A post about writing and I can’t even write. Irony. An attempt to redeem myself with the first paragraph of a story I wrote for class:

My uncle Jack lived in a tiny stone house in the beach town of Trancoso, Brazil. The house sat between two extra tall palm trees, and on the afternoon the medics delivered me to his house, Jack was waiting outside, leaning against one of the trees, smoking a cigar, shirtless and as broad-shouldered as my father had been. He’d set up a corner of his house for me, with a reclining chair to accommodate my injuries. Jack helped me get comfortable, offered to make me an avocado milkshake then realized he was out of avocadoes, then sat down across from me and blew a few smoke rings into the air as he said: “I’m glad you’re here, Silver. It’s been too quiet since Matilda died. Look at you, Silver, a grown woman. Guess I wasn’t expecting that. She was my bird. Matilda, I mean.” My uncle Jack smiled at me then, tears shining in his honey brown eyes. It was the first time we’d ever met.

In the last week I also did a photo shoot with the radical b4flight in downtown LA. I love downtown. All the street art and little cafes, skid row and cool architecture. I greatly enjoyed traipsing about those brick buildings, pretending I was an urban hustler, or at least a famous Instagram model.

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Really though, prose and screenwriters, help me finish the analogy?

 

I stopped doing the Box videos because they fired me.

Last week, I saw myself on the big screen for the first time. I didn’t realize until it happened that it was a moment I’d been waiting for my whole life. Even more radical was the fact that the screening was at the famous Chinese theater in Hollywood, and the piece I had in the festival was an episode of Girl Behind the Glass, something I’d written and created in addition to being on-camera. A surreal experience to be sure, and one I could get used to.

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Along with this new milestone, the evening also marked the death of the project. Girl Behind the Glass was the series of videos I filmed as a Box Girl at the Standard Hotel, a performance art installation in the hotel lobby featuring a live model in a glass box going about whatever she feels like doing for all the world to see. I had submitted in the webseries category of HollyShorts Film Festival and by the time I was notified of my acceptance, the series had been put on indefinite hold.

In short, because I told the Standard about my lil guerilla series, hoping to collaborate with them, and their response was to fire me.

I’d loved being a part of the guests’ experience at the Standard. I’d inherited the gig from Beth, who was a Box girl for about a year before me. It was the weekly gig that got me out of my writer’s seclusion and into the glamorous buzz of Sunset Blvd. I finally lived the reality of “If only I was trapped in a box I’d get so much writing done.” And I did. I wrote the pilot of Johnny and the Scams in the Box. I also sketched, painted my nails, caught up on emails, pretended I couldn’t see people seeing me, took selfies, and ultimately — started filming myself.

My vision for Girl Behind the Glass was to create a next-era variety show, featuring clips of artists from around the world, musicians, painters, photographers, hosted by a girl in her white undies in a Hollywood glass box. I pushed myself to finish writing, filming and editing within the four hours of my Box shift, making it a practice in trusting my first creative instincts. I experimented with mediums I’d been itching to explore, like spoken word and video art. I was able to incorporate Machete’s desert video Sleepwalking into the episode that screened at Hollyshorts, so her work got the big screen treatment as well.

Finally, to put it plainly, the Box gig made me feel sexy. And interesting. I’d usually take my comp employee meal in the 24-hour Standard diner after my shift, work on whatever I’d been writing in the Box, have Beth meet me for a milkshake (best in LA!), or just observe the other patrons, who didn’t recognize me with clothes on. Look at those who’d been looking at me. A few times I was asked to model for the official photograph of that month’s installation for the Standard website.

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Erin Granat Standard box copy

The only thing we couldn’t do in the Box was sleep, though sometimes I got dangerously close. The biggest risk was being too comfortable, forgetting altogether I was on display. Once I remember spying a hair my razor had missed behind my knee and plucking at it, then realizing this wasn’t an attractive activity for the crowd gathered in the lobby.

For me, being the girl in the Box was the sort of artsy, edgy, sexy cool gig my inner Gardnerville girl had always wanted. Along with signing up at Central Casting and being hit on by a slimy producer, being a Box girl is almost a rite of passage, the “ingenue in LA” thing. The gig was validating, literally “be seen, not heard” which felt good in some twisted, objectified way on my nerdy, over-thinking writer’s brain. I did things I never do, like wear black thigh-highs with a bowler hat and shop at American Apparel (for my white undie “uniform”). I also thought the concept was really cool. So simple, just a girl sitting there, but so riveting. Watching a human be a human. Tilda Swinton started sitting in a box at the MOMA the same week I started at the Standard.

You get the picture that I loved the job. So you understand my disappointment when I shared my guerilla webseries with the hotel and they not only didn’t want to collaborate with me, they fired me. At first they said the videos were cute, they just had to make sure I could be filming. They’d “get right back to me.” They never did. Then they took me off the schedule. No explanation, just a stone wall. I was seriously bummed out.

My hunch is it was a legal thing, but I’ll never know. The gig couldn’t have lasted forever, I’ve climbed new rungs of the Hollywood ladder and it’s better to say I was a Box Girl than I still am. At least I went out pitching an idea I believed in. And I certainly had fun. Coming up with the title of the series was hilarious (Hot Box? Fox in a Box?), and once I ran into Josh Hartnett and friend in the lobby and had pizza and beer with them. The show has a life on YouTube, and I’m glad my first big screen moment came out of it. By the way, HollyShorts absolutely rocks, those guys are doing more for emerging filmmakers than anyone out there. The night of my screening I also loved the film Join Us, by writer/actor Brooze Lenzi. It’s about cults, in a way you’ve never seen. Check it out, stat.

I’ll always have those moments when I first hopped into the Box for the night. My shift was 8pm – midnight, and a DJ played in the lobby starting at 9pm. But the first hour was quiet, Zen-like. It was like being hermetically sealed in a fish bowl, or a diorama at a museum. “Observe the 21st century twentysomething female!” And I reflected on my life as such. What was I creating right then? Who was I loving? For much of that year, my life was a series of boxes — the Standard box, hundreds of boxes of books for my non-profit job, the mysterious box that kept popping up in a script I was writing. It’s now tempting to write a wordplay on living “outside the box.” But I won’t, because you get the idea. I do miss being a part of the art, and the vanity validation of it all. But it’s good that I’m out of the box. It’s easier to breathe out here.

 

The small moments that make a life.

Lately I’ve been listening to Chet Faker, reading about detachment, and trying to buy a car. Five months in Los Angeles sans vehicle has been 90% bliss (no parking tickets! snoozing on the bus/train/Uber/Lyft!) but it’s getting impractical. My heart wants an ’84 Wagoneer or ’78 Mercedes but living in Koreatown has seeped into my blood so I’ll probably get a Hyundai.

Tuesday I had a very good call with the studio that’s developing one of my projects (more on that soon) so I celebrated by doing my laundry then smoking some Maui Kush then journeying to the Last Bookstore in downtown for an impromptu photo shoot with a muse in the labyrinth of books upstairs (literally a labyrinth/maze of books…go there). Then I ate steak.

Yesterday I took myself on a writing date in Los Feliz. I worked on the rewrite of Johnny and the Scams and sent producer-y emails about the new pilot I co-wrote with the director Kris Krainock, called Fantasy Inn. It’s a creepy role for me and will probably freak you out. I ate an ahi tuna wrap at Fred 66 and then an entire plate of sweet potato fries. I sat in the same booth as the first time I went there, for my first meeting with my first literary manager when I first got to LA. I remember I wore a black blazer from Ross and pointy red shoes.

I went to Skylight Books next and became instantly devastated at all I haven’t  written and all I haven’t read. I purchased Tom Robbins’ new memoir Tibetan Peach Pie then dreamed about writing a blog post about purchasing it, which you’re reading now. A quick look-a-roo in a vintage store uncovered a reversible sheepskin vest/purple jacket thing for $34 that’s so radical I just broke my oath to never blog about clothes.

As I took a Lyft over to Machete’s I thought about Paije’s dearly departed cat Zaazu, wondered if my grandma made it back to the gym this week, and fought an urge to travel somewhere internationally. Just clean your room, Erin. Then you won’t feel so restless. I got to Machete’s and hugged her for the first time since Lightning in a Bottle, which was an otherworldly swirl in the electro-hippie lake bed dreamland that crushed so hard it deserves it’s own post (my favorite sets were GoldRush, Pumpkin, Little Dragon, Quest Crew, Tokimonsta, Gaslamp Killer, sunrise Random Rab and our camp Bok Choy which for those lovely LIB nights was the most fun party on the planet). I’ll try to write that post. Yet I find, as always, trying to write about a festival experience is like (you know I want to say “catching lightning in a bottle”)…really hard.

Machete saw the vintage-purple-vest-jacket-thing and freaked because she’d almost got it herself for LIB! Now we can share it. We watched the rough cut of a short film she directed, then took her dogs on a walk. As Dexter (the puggle) did his bizness and Ninja (the min-pin) sniffed a flower, Machete commented that recently she’d stopped rushing around so much, and found she felt much more at peace. In my head I sang the lyric from the 2003 Nelly song “Pimp Juice” You ain’t from Russia, so bitch why you rushin’. But I didn’t say sing it out loud because it’s kinda weird I remember it. Instead I breathed the warm, perfectly breezy night air of Los Angeles in June, and said “You and me, we’re going places.”

Beyonce is my friend…and other things on my mind.

Last night I was up til 5am on a spiritual journey, the details of which I cannot reveal. The lessons were large, the wisdom at times overwhelming. So to take a breath I’d like to share a few small things that have been on my mind:

  • I recently did an apartment redesign and put oil lamp sconces up on my living room to create a wall of light. I was imagining how cool and dramatic this would look, but now that they’re up, the shadows from the scones are the most interesting part about the design, dancing along the walls like dark birds…because sometimes in life the shadows are as beautiful as the light, ya dig?
  • I feel like if I met her, Beyonce would be my friend.
  • Last week I paid WordPress $3o for the No Ad Upgrade, so there won’t be advertisements on my blog. This is my forum for expression, and I’m not going to commodify it so someone else can make a few bucks.
  • Lately I’ve been putting into action several self-improvement desires I had at the new year. All’s going well, except I wonder what I will face when all my excuses are removed?
  • From one of my favorite books, A Survival Guide for Landlocked Mermaids: “Duality dwells at the heart of all truth, so dance with your inner paradox” … “Yearnings are the navigated states of the visionary and precede the sojourn to fulfillment” … “An open heart is seldom lonely”
  • This is my living room redesign, and the red heart hug pillow I got at IKEA. I like that the friendly squishy hug is the first thing I see when I come home. A few times when I’m lonely I’ve put the pillow arms around me and it was just as good as a human hug.

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ARTGASMS: A mysterious party & James Blake

Happy Monday, star seeds.

I had an inspiring weekend…spent Friday night watching an artist I admire paint a massive mural on a wall. We hung out til 3am in an empty parking light under a street light, goofing around, doing improv spoken word and trading ideas. You could hear the bass and trap from a busy stretch of bars just a few blocks away. I felt happy that I’ve finally figured out I’m more content being weird with the artists than I am getting drunk with the masses. Maturity: 1 point. Here are some Artgasms, to get your week started right.

The beginning of a short story I’m writing:

We held the event on Wednesdays. The day started around 2pm, when we’d wake up and not get out of bed. I’d reach for my velvet money clip into which was pinched three hand-rolled cigarettes. I’d look at Jett and say “The sun is up, buttercup.” We’d smoke and share a watermelon juice, then fuck til 4pm.

I’d get up and sweep our apartment, while Jett stayed in bed. He’d begin choosing who got the invite based on a system of social credit only he understood, then he started making calls. In between calls I could hear him scribbling in a notebook, and I knew he was revising the rules. 

I loved listening to Jett, the way he spoke, tough-guy twang coated with a cadence all his own. I didn’t always agree with the rules. I thought guests should be allowed to just observe the first time, but Jett was adamant everyone partake. “Go deep or go home,” he liked to say. I think that rule prevented some worthy people from getting involved. But I didn’t have much time to think about it. Our wait-list was already four weeks long, full of philosophers and candy kids, scientists and celebrities. Psychedelic warriors all of them, brave in their quest to lift the veil.

A music video I love … “Retrograde” by James Blake … the video is eerie and abstract, song is insanely beautiful:

 

Hope you have a good week, everyone! What’s inspiring you these days?

NEW GIG: I’m an editor at You, Me & Charlie!

Excited to announce I’m now a contributing editor at You, Me & Charlie, a website that’s all about discovering new artists, musicians, and creatives. Check out my first article here (currently on the front page!): http://www.youmeandcharlie.com/listen/artist-to-watch-iamamiwhoami, on the crazycool Swedish multimedia project iamamiwhoami. I’m also going to paste in the article here, because I want to. 

ARTIST TO WATCH: IAMAMIWHOAMI
AUTHOR:    
DECEMBER 19TH, 2013

A beguiling mix of electronic music, performance art, and savvy viral marketing, iamamiwhoami is the multimedia project you’re about to fall in love with (if you can learn how to say it). The brainchild of Swedish artist Jonna Lee and her longtime producer Claes Björklund, iamamiwhoami has been very busy since their first YouTube upload in 2009: at least two albums, 20+ music videos released in “real time,” sneaky marketing tactics (like keeping Lee’s identity shrouded in secrecy and sending MTV a package with lock of blond hair, a piece of bark, and a pictogram of the six animals featured in their first six videos with the question “Says what?”) awards, tours, and even their own record label–To Whom It May Concern.

The sound is ambient, a dance-y blend of synth and trip hop. The true entertainment value is iamamiwhoami’s live performance. I saw their U.S. debut at September’s Symbiosis Festival. Lee wore a giant coat covered in fur and danced in front of a white screen, the lights playing at her silhouette, her white-blonde hair like flying around like a sorceress. Her dance moves were borderline dorky, her energy captivating.

At its core, iamamiwhoami is what can happen when creative minds embrace the publicity potential of the internet, like the live concert they streamed for three hours from a forest on their site towhomitmayconcern.cc. Check out these cross-genre Swedes and watch their video for “play” below. You’ll be glad you did.

www.towhomitmayconcern.cc
www.youtube.com/iamamiwhoami

I’m Jew-ish (Part 1)

Last Thursday was Thanksgiving, and for the first time in 125 years, it was also Hanukkah. This mash-up of American tradition and Judaic celebration is a good representation of yours truly, a girl whose dad is Jewish and mom was culturally Christian. Thus, I’m Jew-ish.

I could relate to the centerpiece decoration at our feast, pilgrim figurines situated under a Star of David, a mixture of two cultures. I enjoy being a hybrid. I’ve celebrated both Passover and Christmas every year of my enitre life. I’ve equally loved Christmas Eve church services (if I’m honest it’s the candles during “Silent Night” that keep me going back), and the parsley dipped in saltwater during Passover (to symbolize the tears of our ancestors in slavery). I love the story of baby Jesus being born in a manger to remind myself to be humble, and that  upon mentioning the Ten Plagues during Seder, we poor wine out of our glasses ten separate times to demonstrate that we will not raise a glass to the suffering of the Egyptians, though they did our ancestors harm.

I gain wisdom from the stories from these religions, but my relationship with God has been a separate journey. More on that in future blog posts.

I want to write a series of posts on being Jew-ish, perhaps on my faith in general. To start, here’s some backstory, a piece I wrote on my trip to Israel via Birthright, a free ten-day trip to the Holy Land any Jew under the age of 26 can take.  Matador Travel published the article, and I’m still very proud of it. Read it here.

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgivukkah, see you at the next one–in 77,798 years.

Happy Thanksgivukkah!

Something sweet, and something sexy.

Here’s something sweet, and something sexy.

SWEET:

I love autumn, but who doesn’t? Over the weekend, I sat on a porch surrounded by trees that are changing colors.  Yellow leaves and shelled acorns covered the porch. I picked up some of the acorn shells and put them on my fingers. This make me feel childlike, which is always good.

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SEXY:

I made the front page of Arsenic Magazine! I’m the girl writing on the typewriter (what else?) in their video manifesto, shot by Bang Bang Productions. Arsenic is a dope alternative mag devoted to breaking the rules. And you know I love that.

“Use Arsenic as your avenue of expression. We have no ulterior motives, no copies to sell, no reason not to share the real hot shit we discover through you.  Arsenic strives to eliminate judgment, empower our readers, and spotlight individuals who are strong and crazy enough to follow their hearts and do it their way. Today is the day to stop eating the bullshit being forced on you, to lash out, and wake up to this new way of magazine.

 Arsenic Magazine, it’s your magazine. We just help you run it.”

– The Arsenic Manifesto –

http://www.arsenicthemagazine.com

What’s sweet and sexy in your life?

My Food Stamps Manifesto, OR, How far will you go for your art?

You might judge me for posting this. What follows is an email I wrote to Beth while applying for food stamps. It was a very low point for me, inside my mind, my heart, my wallet. I legitimately needed assistance, but my decisions alone had led me there. When I decided to leave my nice steady job doing social media for a non-profit so I could lead the “artist’s life,” (write a book, write a movie, film that movie), I wasn’t truly prepared for what I’d done to myself. Financial instability is normal in your early 20s, forgivable in your mid-20s, and bordering on pathetic in your late-20s. At any point I could cash in my college degree and get a big-kid job, but I’m stubborn. I dream big. They say “You can’t do that” I hear “Prove to us you can.” The three or four less-than-part-time jobs I juggle that cobble together a less-than-livable income means I have freedom and time. Sweet time, the essential ingredient in any creative output. For my writing, I’ve forsaken security, “success,” and at times, sanity. I doubt myself daily. “I might be in the gutter but I’m looking at the stars” is on repeat in my mind. Maybe I’m just an entitled child of the Nineties. I don’t propose an answer, I’m just offering a glimpse at my reality. Maybe I should amend the question: How far is TOO far for your art?

Hello Beth….I am writing you this from the food stamps office of Los Angeles social services, Glendale branch, where all signs are written in English, Armenian, Spanish and Cantonese. I love the diversity of L.A., that never wears off. Im sitting here eating my humble pie and feeling more amongst my peers–the down and out surviving day to day real folk of this city–than I did at the indie music fest i worked over the weekend with the faux dirty hipsters with their complicated haircuts, practiced air of indifference, overdosing on urban outfitters and drunk on smart phones.

I am so relieved something like social services exists…I came straight from a credit counseling appointment in which i was informed i can’t afford credit counseling. Ha! Irony!  I am in an income drought and the bar job i killed myself over bounced both their paychecks to me. I have $40 for the next 5 days, which makes it a good week. So i do legitimately need these food stamps. But i was given every advantage a person could want in this life, a happy home, college education, my health. Does it make me an asshole to now be needing this help, or strong for facing my truth and reaching out? i can’t/won’t ask my dad for help. I can’t/won’t go on dates for dinner, because that’s just casual prostitution, trading my sparkle for filet mignon.

The most positive outcome of these last few months in the hard scrabble is I’ve come to view the entertainment industry in a new way. Those nights i would come home from the bar, depressed and exhausted, i found the only relief from my thoughts to be in watching movies. And i didn’t want complicated, artsy fartsy high-minded narratives, but to laugh and be entertained.

I look around this social services lobby and see my audience. I don’t want to make movies for privileged white kids living in fashionable disrepair, for art school graduates and their 10 friends, for snarky internet critics and their need to produce content (negativity sells).

I want to uplift and engage these souls here at social services, not because being poor is noble, but because they deserve relief from the misery that is modern life. You know me, id love to have them over to my place, make them a snack and roll them a joint, but i can’t do that (not enough parking at my apartment/too broke for weed)…but i can plot stories for them, let them live inside magical kingdoms and see the shores of foreign lands. We need to remember THAT’S the power of making films: moving images delivered to those who would otherwise never see/feel/experience what we caught on camera.

When Hollywood makes schlock, slasher flicks, super heroes, video games come to life, they’re making it for these souls. But “entertaining” doesn’t need to mean “dumbed down.” High-concept doesn’t need to be low-soul. Lets strike the balance, make stuff for the film school students AND the immigrant mom of 5 sitting next to me, wrangling her kids in 2 languages.

And lets get ourselves some vegetables at the store, because hopefully Im going to have food stamps when i walk outta here, and I’ll be dammed if i use them on processed meat, refined sugar and the other fake foods I’ve been eating for years, which has kept me contained as an American robot, another cog in the happy meal wheel.
And need to go be in nature, where nothing is rushed, and the moon waxes and wanes, because perfection is the harmony of both darkness and light.
–Erin

Should I pick one creative medium?

Want to bottle it/want to burn it/want to love it but haven’t earned it.

I wrote that phrase a year ago to describe the feeling of my different creative ideas noodling through my brain, clamoring to be expressed. I keep returning to the phrase, because although I’ve gotten better at channelling my ideas into projects, they still threaten to consume me.

A big problem is that I’m equally passionate about writing, filmmaking, and being on-camera. Breaking it down even further, I love the depth and freedom of prose, but have the most fun screenwriting. I love producing, really pulling a project together, but know ultimately I’ll want to direct for full creative cohesion. I still want to be the heroine/ingenue on-screen, but know I’m more of a comedic character actor.

It’s a good problem to have, being lit up by multiple mediums. But I’m dividing my creative energies, and to get anywhere I need to laser focus. But there are lots of successful “slashies” these days, Lena Dunham, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg, David Lynch, Sam Shepard. So do I really need to pick just one?

I’m also just back from a camping and music adventure, been sleeping under the stars with the electro hippies. I’m always grumpy when I have to return to the grid. Always questioning my life and the choices I make.

The adventure was called Symbiosis, and many magical events transpired. I witnessed the first ever iamamiwhoami performance in America, she’s a Swedish multimedia artist and absolute inspiration. Saw my first Butoh dance performance, it was bizarre, chilling, terrifying, mesmerizing. I got a massage for my danced-out muscles, at the end I opened my eyes and realized I’d met the bodyworker a year ago in Bali. Leaving the fest, I picked up four hitchhikers, the kind of professional travelers who move through the world without money or a plan. An hour down the road I got tired and we all took a nap in the grass in front of a church. Two kittens appeared, my spirit animals. Cats always appear to keep me company.

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Sunrise set at Symbiosis, found this card in my bra. No idea how it got there. Keeping it.

Out at the fest it doesn’t matter what medium I’m pursuing. No one’s pursuing anything other than that night’s good time. Good friends, good music, a good buzz, a good life. All that matters is sharing a flashlight with my neighbor a few tents over, if the line for breakfast burritos is too long, that we’ll meet stage left if we get separated.

I stayed in this past weekend, since getting home. Working on these different mediums, listening to James Blake, letting his creative output dance with mine, reading through old notebooks, because reading old stuff is important, it’s staying in the swirl, the place where ideas are born. Muse/use absorb/be born. Writing at night is my truth. I like to take breaks and go outside, observe the electric streetlight competing with the moon.

I’ve been thinking about this blog, that I don’t want it to be generic, bland, or afraid to offend. It grinds my gears to reread something and find my writing is general. I do this when I’m suffering from I-want-everyone-to-like-me-itis. I don’t dig deep, I go for the easy out. Oh shit. Blogging is a whole other medium, ain’t it? And so I return to my original question, because sometimes this blog is a forum to set forth ideas, and sometimes it’s a place to receive answers. What do you think? Should an artist pick one creative medium?