Reality Check.

So last night I had one of those sporadic thoughts run in and out of my brain that left quite an unsettling mark on it’s way out.

It was something along the lines of: “Why am I so deeply obsessed by cinema, something that by definition, isn’t real?

Now I know that the term “real” itself is incredibly broad by definition, but you still get what I mean.

Why, instead of stopping in a park to smell the fresh grass, might I prefer staring into a perfectly-framed grassy landscape of a Miyazaki film?

Am I not comfortable with my own “reality”? Is it a deep-set internal malfunction with my own perceived consciousness I might not be aware of? Am I in the Truman Show?

In times of these strange existential crises, it can be relatively common to find a form of consolation in very close proximity. This happened when later that night I was playing around with my camera and realised I could pull focus on my bedroom mirror. Being shot on my iPhone, these images hopefully can get the point across:

The idea of it just being the camera’s sensor still focusing on the real object, just bouncing light off the mirror sits perfectly fine with me, but I still felt compelled in the beautiful act of finding depth inside a reflection.

Neither of the two images above are technically “real”, but they are still just as prone to teaching us as much about life as their physical counterparts.

Just like when you develop feelings for another person, or find beauty and awe in glorious natural landscapes: in the split-second moment of first contact, you are only purely experiencing it. It’s only afterwards when you can make sense of your emotions that you can come to the conclusive reasoning that the experience was deeply significant to you in some way.

Only in reflection.


Space-Time: Frame-by-Frame.

“Our entire experience of time is constantly in the present: and all we ever grasp is that instant moment.”

“What we all experience as the flow of time, really may be nothing more than an illusion.”

motion picture

“A sequence of images of moving objects photographed by a camera and providing the optical illusion of continuous movement when projected onto a screen.”

Maybe not an exact tautology, but the closest I’d like to think we’d get. Looking forward to travelling into the fourth dimension.


It always comes back to Before Sunrise. Less than three years ago, Richard Linklater’s 1995 indie romance broke my heart and simultaneously reassembled all the pieces, but with a nice new coat of paint.

I could rant forever about the film: it’s a film that rewards multiple viewings even just to soak up each individual scene. One scene in particular stands out as a favourite of mine, and is probably one of my favourite scenes of all time.

Jesse and Celine, having already spent half a day in Vienna together, wind up in close quarters together in the listening booth of a record store. I couldn’t believe how powerful the scene is, and yet so wonderfully subtle.

The music; the lack of dialogue; the unbroken take; the physical performances; the shot itself: they create an incredible intimacy which, every time I watch it, drives me absolutely insane in the best way possible.

A short film in itself, It’s the scene I’m incredibly jealous I didn’t make.

I can still buy a plane ticket to Vienna though.

Watch for yourself:


Looking back at my life, and what brought me to where I am today, I can’t really say that I ever had one of those holy cinematic moments that made me drop everything and think, “Heck, I’m going to become a filmmaker”.

It was a bit more organic than that.

I grew up in Canberra, playing guitar and dabbling in drama in high school. I never really viewed myself as an “artist” in any sense, but I loved the feeling of making people laugh. Who doesn’t.

It wasn’t until Year 11 when my band broke up that I had to find a new creative outlet (sounds more dramatic than it was). At this point I had always loved watching films, so it was a relatively easy transition to enrol in a Media class. I was lucky enough to have a teacher with a passion for film, who also taught us to shoot on Super 8mm.

And that was that. The spark was lit.

Editing 8mm film by hand was a dream and a nightmare combined.

I don’t think it was an accident however: I think it happened at a time when I was ready to explore everything I loved – but on an entirely different platform. Film had always amazed me: though at the time, I probably couldn’t articulate why. It was seemingly the perfect combination of visuals and music – and how together they could create a completely immersive experience. For two hours at a time, I could suddenly fall in love, be in the other side of the world, or I could travel 70 years into the past. I’d like to think I might’ve always just had a small void inside me that could only be filled or expressed through cinema. There was a wordless catharsis that spoke to me – and I suppose it just felt right to want to learn the language.

My love for film continues to blossom: what might’ve started as instinctual, has developed into the very fibres of my DNA. It literally changed my life. Nowadays, as soon as someone even mentions the word “movie”, my eyes light up like it’s Christmas day. Scrolling through imDb until 4am in the morning, I see the power film has to shape both society, and human consciousness in general.

It’s the closest thing we have to space-time travel: I can’t imagine doing anything else.