On Letting Go…

My time on Down and Yonder is coming to an end. That’s weird to type out because there have been many times where I thought I would never get to type it. Making a feature is enormously difficult, and there is so much that was out of our control, that was up to pure chance (cough *weather* cough).

And, like when anything comes to an end, the mind can’t help but race. I think about the community that welcomed us and allowed us the opportunity to make this film, and I think about how far we’ve come creatively in what can only be described as the quickest two years of my life.

However, it is two quotes in particular that have been looming the largest the last couple of weeks...

One is a quote by David Foster Wallace (twenty-somethings love to quote him all the time so please excuse the quick indulgence), and it goes like this: “If your fidelity to perfectionism is too high, you never do anything.” I like that, and it hits me hard every time I read it. To accomplish anything is to accept the imperfections and to move on is to let go...

Down and Yonder is not perfect. I’m enormously proud of it, and I sincerely believe you’ll be happy when you finally see it. We hope that we’re about to begin rewarding the faith you’ve shown in us the last two years. But it’s not perfect. No art can be because it’s not supposed to be. Humans are weird, messy beings so it only makes a certain sense that we create weird, messy things. Art is enormously humbling. Your imperfections in regards to your craft are frozen in time and preserved for posterity. And that’s okay. I’d rather it be that way. Down and Yonder is no good on the shelf. It’s better out in the world.

The other quote is from Leonardo da Vinci (that sounds SO pretentious as I type it out, but I’m only trying to attribute it correctly.... I originally heard it from George Lucas in regards to the Special Editions), and it goes like this: “Art is never finished, only abandoned.” That quote hits even harder than the last one because it’s not how we like to view what we’ve done. We like things complete. We strive to hear the dull thud of a shutting book. We like to walk away knowing that there’s nothing else we could have done.

But that’s not the way this works. You leave your projects. You have to move on eventually, keep living, and start breaking ground on the next one. You have to let it go (the end of “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade” has the best visual illustration of this idea and I can assure you that this will NOT be the last time I reference Indiana Jones on this blog).

I never watch our projects after we complete them. I’d like to, but I can’t. It’s too painful. All you can do is think about what you would’ve done differently. You cringe because you think one shot needs an extra beat to land a little bit better. You shut your eyes because the scene is not as dramatically lit as you envisioned. You mull over the dialogue, wondering how you would write it if you were somehow just given another shot at it.

But none of that matters in the end. It doesn’t matter because it is the end. All you can do is take a final look over what you’ve done and learn the lessons that need to be learned for next time. And then, in time, you will start again. You’re a little bruised, a little battered, but you’re very proud. And even more than that, you’re ready to get even better on the next go around. Even the fastest runner in the world wouldn’t mind shaving a few seconds off their mile time.

Down and Yonder has taught us a lot over the past two years. It taught us about writing, budgeting, scheduling, preparation, perseverance. But it still has one more lesson to teach us: how to say goodbye.

And, as Wally and Sugar Baby can attest, goodbyes aren’t so easy...