The Encampment Diaries – June? No.

June? No.


I don’t know if anyone is aware but the year 2020 A.D. is kinda a shit show. It’s sorta fucked in every conceivable way. Having worked backwards on a calendar I have realised it has now been over 100 days of locking down.Even with the brief flirtation with stepping out the front door to grab shopping from a family member’s car, this is over double any other at-home-no-trips-outside experience of my life, and whilst I’m not in any unique position, the mental decomposition is one that is both frightening and breaking. We’re all in this situation to some degree, yes. We’re all in this scary horror human existence where nothing makes sense and everything’s getting worse. But trying to find reasons to get out of bed, to type, to perform, to be creative whilst never leaving 4 walls is tough.

Not impossible, thankfully, as in the past few months I’ve managed to start work on one script, work on a few outlines and show bibles, and prep/plot and draft out a short with some friends. That’s, at the very least, something. But then there’s the foreboding situation of the film that’s sitting in pieces on a hard drive. I’ve yet to push my ability in art to a place I’m happy with, I’m scared to touch the assets already existing, and the dread of ‘what’s the point’ looms large.


What is the point? To complete a creative endeavour, alone? Film is meant to be a communal creative experience. One person becomes two, four, twenty, fifty, one hundred people with their minds and hearts putting in ideas and thoughts and fingerprints to evolve a concept into a beautiful reality that at once can explore and enhance humanity. Art as a singular experience is wank. To share, to explore, is the point. And sitting at home, wanking, is not what I ever want to be doing, certainly not for over 100 days. I must push to do more. But others, I wish, would strive to include more. I’m alone. I’m lonely. I’m beyond broken, and I wonder if this should ever end, is this irreversible?

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