Being a transcendentalist writer and filmmaker is a tragedy. The individual is compelled to explore some ultimate truth and express it to the point where it consumes most of his life. In a lot of ways, it’s like a drug addiction. His every thoughts are consumed by a desire that will make him do whatever it takes to re-live that deep and intimate sense of enthrallment he can only feel when he’s discovered an amazing way to make sense of a generation that has a cold and unknown future.
And of course, the transcendentalist can’t just walk away from it, because he know it’s his responsibility. And, if he’s good enough, he’ll be rich as hell, but what does money mean when it’s not backed by some higher purpose? Sure, he might be good enough to develop a cult following and enough popularity to get the nice media coverage, but will the vast majority ever change because of what he showed and told them?
The average feature length is about an hour and a half, which means that his movie will get about that much attention to millions and probably only change a few hundred thousand lives. That’s 300 thousand out of 7 billion people in the World. So, in the end you’re spending all of your time and effort to create a “master piece” that will only put a small check mark on the endless list of, “to dos” that culminate into the utopia we’ve dreamed about since the dawn of man.
A writer and filmmaker’s life seems to be the most useless job to have ever existed. It destroys the individual pursuing this endevour because the individual fools himself into believing that some how he’s going to change everything. And in spite of all the hellish things this individual puts himself through just so he can do next to nothing, when you take him and the millions of others doing the same exact thing into consideration…Well, then something magical happens.
Suddenly, a wave of old beliefs and ideas expand into new ones, flooding the social fabric into a new World order. They converge and feed off one another in a symphony of chaos. Eventually, no one can really pinpoint a beginning or an end. We simply transcend to a new plateau, culminating into a Neo-Renaissance. The act of the transcendentalist is deliberate. But the consequence is so foreign and unknown to him, he can never be too sure if he’s a blessing or a burden.
Nevertheless he moves along, because he knows is necessary. The transcendentalist is the silent agent moving the story of our lives; hiding in a dream within the social chaos; wandering onward with his tragic life.
And of course, the transcendentalist can’t just walk away from it, because he know it’s his responsibility. And, if he’s good enough, he’ll be rich as hell, but what does money mean when it’s not backed by some higher purpose? Sure, he might be good enough to develop a cult following and enough popularity to get the nice media coverage, but will the vast majority ever change because of what he showed and told them?
The average feature length is about an hour and a half, which means that his movie will get about that much attention to millions and probably only change a few hundred thousand lives. That’s 300 thousand out of 7 billion people in the World. So, in the end you’re spending all of your time and effort to create a “master piece” that will only put a small check mark on the endless list of, “to dos” that culminate into the utopia we’ve dreamed about since the dawn of man.
A writer and filmmaker’s life seems to be the most useless job to have ever existed. It destroys the individual pursuing this endevour because the individual fools himself into believing that some how he’s going to change everything. And in spite of all the hellish things this individual puts himself through just so he can do next to nothing, when you take him and the millions of others doing the same exact thing into consideration…Well, then something magical happens.
Suddenly, a wave of old beliefs and ideas expand into new ones, flooding the social fabric into a new World order. They converge and feed off one another in a symphony of chaos. Eventually, no one can really pinpoint a beginning or an end. We simply transcend to a new plateau, culminating into a Neo-Renaissance. The act of the transcendentalist is deliberate. But the consequence is so foreign and unknown to him, he can never be too sure if he’s a blessing or a burden.
Nevertheless he moves along, because he knows is necessary. The transcendentalist is the silent agent moving the story of our lives; hiding in a dream within the social chaos; wandering onward with his tragic life.