I wonder why I can’t reflect on things when I’m in the middle of an experience. The reflection always seems to come after the event, after I’ve removed myself from it. I can only reflect on something as an outsider looking in, never as an insider.

Same goes for the Norton Island Artist Residency in Maine. I went there with almost zero expectations. It was my first writing residency experience, and I truly didn’t know what to expect other than beautiful nature and a cabin to write in, which were both promised in the booklet that was shared with us prior to the residency.

I didn’t fully appreciate the experience when I was on the Norton Island. All my brain could focus on was the numerous mosquito bites all over my body, and the dampness of my books, notebooks, clothing, bedding from humidity of the island. My skin and hair felt amazing, but I missed the dryness of California. I missed not being bitten by so many mosquitos every day. 

It’s been exactly a week since I’ve been back from the island. And I see now that this experience has been so good for me. 

In the bubble of Hollywood, I thought that success was binary. I had bought into the fallacy that succeeding as an artist meant making a killing, becoming a phenomenon. Have you heard these sayings about the film industry? “You can make a killing but you can’t make a living.” Or “It’s a winner-takes-all business.” Or “Hollywood is a caste system”. These are, from what I’ve witnessed, all true. Hollywood is a winner-takes-all business, there is a caste system (Unfortunately. I hope this delusion comes undone), and 1% make a killing while rest of the industry can’t make a living. Somehow, these aphorisms made me feel like breathing thin air. Doing art, being an artist, felt impossible. I envisioned leaving Los Angeles every single day that I was here.

Norton Island Residency was my first time spending days with artists of all disciplines (painters, poets, novelists, song writers, etc) of all ages. I met Megan, a beautiful poet in her fifties, and Frank, a painter in his sixties who’s been a maker all his life. They are both parents as well as artists. They both own homes. They have people who love them. Their lives are rich because their souls are alive. There are people who are conventionally successful but feel small in their worldview and how they treat others. Megan and Frank are BIG. They are able to encompass others. I like that. I want to be like them. I want my art to have a place in my life along with a family and a community. I want it to be a generative act.

The artists I met on this residency taught me that this is possible. And this teaching isn’t something you can learn from a book. Trust me, I’ve read “artist” books from Elizabeth Gilbert, Austin Kleon… Nothing beats being a first-hand witness of this truth that you can be an artist, sustain your creative practice, and have a life too.

I think what this experience gave me is hope. I’m so hopeful that I can do this. That somehow I can be a full-person doing art, even in Los Angeles. Now that I know how I want to live my life, now that I know that being a filmmaker doesn’t have to be a young person’s game, now that I know that becoming an artist takes time, that you can live on very little but still be “larger” than the richest person. I want to focus on keeping my soul alive. Isn’t this what Tennessee Williams meant when he defined true success? “The obsessive interest in human affairs, plus a certain amount of compassion and moral conviction… purity of heart is the one success worth having.” This is how I want to define my success. The artists I met at Norton Island reaffirmed this definition and my belief in the meaning of true success. I’m grateful for all the island experiences that keep teaching me this lesson.