Light Games

Long before I began writing fiction, in spirit, I was a filmmaker. I grew up enamored by the golden age of Old Hollywood—captivated by James Dean, Dorothy Dandridge, and Marlon Brando. This early infatuation eventually evolved into a deeper study of film, beginning with "Citizen Kane," a masterpiece study of light I discovered in a high school photography class.

Dorothy Dandridge, circa early 1960s

The films of Elia Kazan became an obsession, followed by the films of Ingmar Bergman. I found myself haunted by the tumultuous portrait of Bergman’s parents’ marriage in "The Best Intentions.” My fascination with the filmmaker led me down the rabbit hole of his filmography: "Hour of the Wolf," "Through a Glass Darkly," "Scenes from a Marriage," and "The Seventh Seal."

Stills from Ingmar Bergman’s “The Seventh Seal” and “The Virgin Spring”

By the age of fifteen, my weekends were spent hunting through vintage clothing shops in Portland, Oregon. I would emerge with faded ball gowns from the 1950s, pieces that made me feel like the silver-screen icons I admired—women like Marilyn Monroe, Eartha Kitt, and Diahann Carroll.

Underlying it all was an obsession with light. I was—and remain—captivated by anyone who possesses the rare ability to either reflect light or capture it. Over time, I became a connoisseur of the visual languages of Kieślowski and Campion, filmmakers who are masters of illumination. I am still obsessed with light, still navigating the delicate art of both capturing and projecting my own.

Kirsten Dunst in Jane Campion’s Academy Award-winning “Power of the Dog”

Another Bergman still. On the right is his most famous muse, Liv Ullman.

This afternoon, out of sheer boredom and the strongest artistic impulse, I shot a mini film before my bedroom window. No makeup, just the natural glow of the sun, and a shadow.