We were sitting in a beautiful kitchen while our daughters played upstairs, sipping tea and telling each other true things about or life. She was a professor at the NYU Film School. (Of course she was.)
And then there was that dreaded moment--she asked what I did.
And I told her.
And then she did something I never expected: she got excited, and intrigued. Here I was, right in her kitchen: a self-taught artist.
I took him to lunch, hoping for some advice. It was one of those moments when your dream still feels fragile, like just one un-believing person might kill it.
We were new friends, and I still couldn't even tell him all I did. I vet people slowly, I said. If I tell them one thing I do and they don't freak out, then next time I might tell them another one.
But I was clear: to bust out the whole laundry list at once would make me sound like a lunatic.
Today I was telling him just one: I wanted to make a short documentary film.
And bless him, he had no idea where I was coming from or what skills I did or did not have. And yet he did not look too dubious when he said, Are you shooting it yourself?
And then he gave me a tutorial on DIY film equipment options (and saved me over $1000).