"So, like, what are you?"
I stare awkwardly into my glass. The music is too loud, the drinks are too expensive, and the man behind me is 20 minutes into a heated debate on the ethics of killing baby Hitler.
I’m silent for a moment. She clarifies,
You're in film, so like… what do you do in film…?
Yeah, um. I'm a director. I mean, I direct stuff.
She’s looking at me like I haven’t finished my sentence. The kind of pause that gives you no choice but to keep talking.
And I produce too, so I guess I'm a producer?
And I take photos, but I do that cause it’s fun, not cause I’m a photographer.
And I write. Same reason. I mean, I do it all cause it’s fun. Not cause I am something.
So you're, like, a filmmaker?
Uh, sure.
Do you consider yourself an artist?
My friend says filmmakers are storytellers, not artists.
And you agree?
Not really, no.
So you do consider yourself an artist?
The guy behind me has gotten louder. Apparently his friend has “misunderstood the fundamentals of existentialism.” Across from me, she raises her eyebrows, and I wonder which of the many possible answers to the artist question will get us off the topic fastest.
What do you mean by artist? Like, what’s even considered art these days?
You’re being difficult.
True.
Sorry.
So… do you have a website?
Yeah, of course.
So on your website what do you say you are?
The guy behind me topples backwards out of his chair and the beer ejects from his glass in a spectacular, glittering arc, and it is by this miracle that I am saved from the embarrassment of admitting that my ‘About’ page is blank.
I watch her eyes follow the beer, up and up and up to an impossible height, and then down again, toward its inevitable hardwood doom.
I was born in Jersey, raised in Minnesota, molded in the fires of New York City, and am now cooling in the rains of Portland, OR. I'm a graduate of NYU Tisch School of the Arts and a lover of clouds, mountains, and good color contrast.
If you must know, I'm a director, producer, and writer. My production company is called rubbertape.