I spent the week watching incredible films (more on that later) and wracking my brain to remember my first Sundance Film Festival. My collection of festival badges, ticket stubs and photos turned to ash, precise history is hard to reconstruct. 2001 was the year of Hedwig, Stranger Inside and Scouts Honor. There was a sweaty, powdery, dance party in a far away condo hosted by Mickey Cottrell and John Cameron Mitchell, perhaps the infamous “homos away from home” party. But maybe I saw all of those films at other festivals and started Sundance in 2002 with By Hook or By Crook, Y Tu Mama Tambian, the Cockettes and The Business of Fancy Dancing. Whichever it was, I’ve been every year since — except the year I gave birth to Olive and the year my dad died. I’ve made lifelong friends that I only see once a year (if you have photos of us, please send!). I’ve seen hundreds of films from dozens of countries around the globe, films that have broken my heart, scared the shit out of me, brought tremendous joy and knowledge, films so beautiful they’ve stayed with me for years and others that expose horrors I wish I could forget. Decades into this work, I still believe in the power of film to open hearts and minds. With the decline of public media, the increase in censorship and a challenging time for distribution, I am deeply grateful for independent storytellers who are uncovering truth and imagining a better future. A big thank you to the filmmakers, festival staff (shout out to the programmers) and volunteers who work tirelessly to bring the festival to life. Goodbye Park City and hello Boulder! @sundanceorg
Happy 1 year Anniversary @ellewkay . A week after we lost all of our material possessions - and three days before the Oligarch took office - we dressed up in borrowed clothes and recited vows from a xeroxed flyer in a courthouse in riverside county. We were so out of our element, yet nothing else mattered but being with you and Olive and Masi. My sister sent gorgeous flowers, my sister in law found that amazing purple dress and our darling friends came to witness and take us to dinner. It was perfect. 26 years plus 1. I love you truly, madly, deeply.
My barn having burned to the ground, I can now see the moon.
My best friend’s mom had this hanging on the fridge when we were teenagers. The moon a symbol of total clarity, the brightest light in a dark sky.
365 days after our home, and our town, burned to the ground, I am struggling to see the moon.
Some days I am simply too tired to look. Tired of paperwork, of replacing items, of finding clothes that fit, and most of all, tired of grief.
Grief is like a snake wrapped around my bones. Slippery, invisible, until it tightens its grip, knocking the wind out of my chest and sending tears down my cheeks.
Grief is longing to be home, to hear the sounds of the oak leaves rustling in the wind and the sisters laughing next door.
It is the absence of artifacts tucked in drawers and hanging on walls that connect memory, history, legacy: the girl’s first drawings, grandmother’s silverware, a poem my dad wrote when I went to sleepaway camp, photos of generations long gone.
Grief shows up as loneliness: missing neighbors and friends who have moved away, familiar faces at the hardware store and the wildness of the land.
It shows up as anger. The wind came fast and hard, but it was human error that caused the spark. A manmade disaster, a misalignment of values.
But if I open my eyes wide, I see a glimmer of that moon, coming just over the horizon.
I see the incredible strength of a community, of neighbors who take care of each other, who look out for those most impacted. Who organize rallies and runs and food drives. Who are making art out of madness and pushing the government to do the right thing. Of new friends met in donation lines and old friends who are by our side.
Altadena forever.
(Photo of our tree from our neighbor, Juan)
On the anniversary of the Eaton Fire, join us for community singing - to be in grief and joy together. All are welcome “singers” and “non singers”. Led by the wonderful Arnaé Batson & Anilee List. January 8th at 7:30pm. Please rsvp link in bio. @anileelist@thessingnetwork@seema.seraj
Happy 16th Birthday to my bright light. She is grown, but still growing. Curious and courageous, always up for an adventure. She is wise and kind, with a touch of silly. Olive holds it down for our family: keeping traditions, making connections, and loving her sister with all her might. She is a magical being, it is a gift to be in her orbit. @holyjollychrismas5
Today, we relaunch the Committee for the First Amendment. In the McCarthy Era, artists were blacklisted, silenced, even imprisoned. Those forces have returned—and we refuse to stand by. Free speech is not a partisan issue. It is the cornerstone of democracy. The entertainment industry will stand together—fiercely united—to defend it from assault. #committeeforthefirstamendment
From the 80s, 90s & 00s! I didn’t have anything digitized. All of the physical media: photos, films, cassettes & records went up in flames. Thanks to @tesssweet , @aguadulcie and @kateschox for making photo albums. I am looking for pics from high school, Audubon school, Seattle queer film festival, Outfest…and so much more. My life in pictures starts in 2008 so anything before then is deeply appreciated. ❤️
The best antidote for hard times? COMMUNITY. ✨💪💛
Big thanks to @lamag for featuring WIF in the September issue and shining a light on our brand-new HQ! This space is more than office space—it’s a hub for creativity, innovation, and collaboration.
As our CEO Kirsten Schaffer puts it: “One of the things I'm most proud of is that we’re a responsive organization.” Here’s to building, dreaming, and creating—together. 🙌 Want to support the WIF Home For Impact Fund? Visit WIF.org/Home-Fund. Link in bio.
It has been 181 days since my town burned to the ground. I am slowly washing items found in the ash. Regretting that I didn’t find more, dig deeper, stay longer. A vase made during the pandemic holds it shape but has lost its color. The brown clay now dark grey and heavy, like cement. There is a porcelain bunny and a collection of angels that fell from the attic and landed softly in the rubble. I take turns polishing each metal item: dad’s 1964 Penn Relays medallion, a small statue of Buddha from Dharamshala and the garnet ring Linda gave me the first year we met. These burned up items are comfort. The act of cleaning them brings me closer to what was lost - our individual and collective history, a sense of safety, familiarity of neighbors and neighborhood, hundred year old trees. and the most tragic of all, human lives. Adrenalin got me through the first six months, but now that we are “settled”, the sorrow burns in my chest. Compounded by ongoing climate crisis and daily acts of cruelty and injustice. I clean to remember and build strength for what is yet to come. #6months #altadena #altadenanotforsale
“It’s a privilege and a blessing to have the first Nigerian film selected,” Ogunbanwo shared. “But I don’t want to be the only one. It’s not just about tokenism or representation—it’s about the opportunity to tell our stories and have them understood on a universal level.”
“I’m optimistic,” Burgum added, reflecting on the evolving industry landscape. “That’s not to downplay how hard it is to make a film right now—or the very real challenges of financing and distribution. But it’s precisely those pressures that create space for true innovation and disruption.”
Thank you @voguemagazine #Vogue100 for your partnership and support of these incredible storytellers. Swipe for more stylish snaps and read the article at the link bio.
📸: Marco Bahler
