Adinah Dancyger, Director
Interview by Jesy Odio
Photos by Faye Tsakas
As a quotidian exercise to test her patience, in a year during which time stood still, director Adinah Dancyger has been filming trees. So much of the world’s activities have ceased, that sometimes it feels like the only thing that is still bustling are the leaves in the wind. So, she has found solace in trying to capture the invisible process of carbon dioxide being turned into oxygen.
But don’t be deceived: while the film industry has been as inert as a freeze-frame, Adinah’s career has continued to charge full speed ahead, perhaps aided by her preoccupation with motion. Her Sisyphean short film Moving won the Grand Jury Prize at Slamdance; she released a quartet of music videos with Okay Kaya; and to top it all off, she released “Generation 9,” a documentary on Parsons’ Fashion and Design program. Adinah says she moves slowly, but it sure doesn’t look that way from the outside.
How do you feel about starting a project?
I absolutely love starting projects, at least in my head, which leads me to starting too many at once and then having to reel it back. I try to imagine the entire life cycle of the process and decipher if it seems interesting enough and if it is worth it. When a project does pass my weird test and I begin to reach out to people who start coming on board, the energy begins to expand and I’m always surprised and jittery at that point. I become much more extroverted than I normally am. Energy is ping ponging all about and it feels like it's on this never-ending incline.
And what about finishing a project?
Finishing a project is one of the hardest feelings I know. The excitement and connections you make during the trajectory of the experience is so profound but you don’t have the chance to understand until it has gone away. I get wildly sad when projects are over because endings are so hard. That’s why starting a project must feel the way it does.
Behind the scenes of “Moving”, by Daniel Arnold.
What is your relationship with time nowadays?
I have absolutely no concept of time other than that I’m moving way slower and it’s moving way faster. I constantly wonder when it was the last time I did xyz or saw x person. I was just in a project that felt like one month physically and nine months emotionally. I can’t remember where I was prior to its start. Having been a freelancer for longer than I can remember, structured time and creating a schedule have always been a point of contention because of the amount of will you need to focus and own that self-regimented guide you’ve given yourself, but this past year has made that even more needed, yet a little harder to do. I just read this answer over and sound extremely confused! I’m doing alright I promise.
Have you found a technique that works for you?
Free writing, meditating and doing things with my hands whether that’s baking weird things or reorganizing stuff so to look at your space in a new way helps offset the brain power of filmmaking and writing. Making things that have no external reward that can be done in short periods of time. I have always struggled with this idea that filmmaking and being a functioning human being were in opposition to each other, and to a degree I still find this true, but as of the past year I’ve been exploring how to make this feel less untrue.
How do you reconcile the professional and artistic sides of being a filmmaker?
It’s tricky—how to preserve what’s yours and what you don’t want to give. And the only thing that sets you apart from anyone else is you as a person. And if you are giving away all your uniqueness and all your tricks to the man, you’ve completely lost. The labors of love are the most pure spaces. You’re doing that because you want to. Nobody is asking you to do this. Life will go on if it’s not made. You have to create this reality, this delusional vision for yourself that this is so important that it has to be in the world.
So you try to compartmentalize your creative pursuits internally.
I’ve been trying to create these identities. There is my creative identity, forever-changing, constantly evolving, and there is my more-or-less commercial identity. And I try to separate my brain so they don’t touch each other because I don't want them to. I have a heart for narrative. The projects I hold most dear are so fragile; they can be stolen.
MOVING, 8MIN. 16MM. FILM STILLS. DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY: MIA CIOFFI HENRY
How do you find the line between being inspired by, borrowing, or stealing ideas from other creatives?
All of our ideas are drawn from memories, experiences, and it’s all cyclical. I feel like in school I thought too hard about how to be special and then I was like “whatever.” All I know is all I know and I’m gonna try my best. If only filmmaking could become more habitual, like painting or drawing. It would be easier to see it as a process.
Right, and narrative films have price tags and the market has an opinion about their value.
Filmmaking is so hard and expensive. I used to say that all the time and people would laugh at me. I’m really trying to figure out how to not destroy myself each time. I don’t think good work means that you have to kill yourself for it. The masochism of filmmaking really comes out of this endurance test. You think the harder you push yourself, the better it will be. Why don’t we make this the most peaceful and enjoyable experience instead? I think there must be a way to make filmmaking less destructive. You want it to feed you life, not take away from your life. My non-film friends don’t understand my sense of time. When you’re writing, you need your own time and space and it’s erratic and sporadic.
Do you recall what was Adinah like as a child?
Adinah as a child was like a goat—full of mischief, just wanted to run around, and snack all the time. She really didn’t like the way jeans felt so she exclusively wore sweatpants. Also had a couple entrepreneurial ventures, one of which was to take lollipops from her parents’ deli and resell them to her friends at school.
