Yonder

Many, many thoughts are stirring in my brain and on my heart this Sunday morning. I thought I might sit down and write them out - share them or simply lift them slightly off my shoulders. It's Sunday and you won't find me in a church. Part of me hates this, but another part feels liberated. Growing up, I attended church with my aunt and uncle. I found a church home for a short period of time when I moved back home after college. It was a country church, filled with wonderful, kind people and I really enjoyed it. But I feel like I primarily attended it because it was my father's church and I felt closer to him there. After all, the last time I saw him was there, in that sanctuary, lying in his coffin. Reading this back, I realize how morose I must come off, I always have identified greatly with the macabre. I apologize and promise this blog does get slightly more cheerful!

Jon and I haven't been too proactive in finding a church home close to Serenbe. We have a close group of friends who we pray with and I always know the Interfaith group will welcome me. I really enjoyed attending that until one time, the topic was something I fear the most - death. I'll admit, it scared me off. The group is filled with people from many walks of faith and their views on death vary greatly. Part of me wants a cookie-cutter "this is for certain what happens and there is no other answer" heaven and hell answer, but the other part of me is okay with just not knowing exactly what happens - although I do believe we evolve in some way. The latter can actually be freeing for me, especially during hard times when I suffer the most. When it all boils down to it, I think of myself as a spiritual being. I believe in God, but I'm not a strict Baptist Christian. The reason for that is because I've felt shunned at times while listening to a Baptist preacher condemn alcoholics, homosexuals, the lost, the damned, or the mad. I can't do that. My heart is just so full and tender. I know I'm a sinner, we all are, so I cannot judge. Much to my family's possible disapproval, I have identified greatly with Buddhist teachings and my favorite conversations about faith involves Jon speaking of the stars and the moon and creation and the beauty of life in nature. He can speak of it so abstractly, yet it feels so real. His faith is simple. Mine - at this point in my life - is complicated and I'm not afraid to admit I don't have it all figured out.

Speaking of faith, Jon and I saw a beautiful movie Thanksgiving night. As many families were winding down their festivities and the crescent moon peaked out from behind the trees, Jon and I hopped in the car to catch the last screening of the film The Better Angels in Midtown Atlanta. We were the only ones in attendance, but I think we gave it a delicate farewell. The narrative presents the life of young Abe Lincoln in a loose, I'll say vulnerable, structure. By no surprise, it is produced by Terrance Malick and moments ring true to his personal aesthetic. However, the filmmaker, A.J. Edwards, brings forth his own unique characteristics. In his debut feature, he beautifully melds swooping camera movements (in and out of trees, through meadows) with subtle, still, steady shots (wind in the trees as a gateway to heaven, water running down a stream) that will leave you breathless. The film is narrated by the older version of Abe's cousin, Dennis Hanks, who moved in with Abe's family when his own passed away. Presented in black and white, the film is a poetic meditation on the hardships and struggles faced in the 1800s by our ancestors. The audience witnesses a young Abe as he is crafted and shaped into the great leader he will one day become. The film attributes this transformation to two angels in his life.

"God tells us truths in parables" ~The Better Angels

Abe's mother, Nancy, is portrayed brilliantly by one of my favorite actresses (and talented director/writer) Brit Marling. She is ethereal and evocative as the first angel in young Abe's life. The narrator speaks softly of her, telling us that she put her faith, not on earth, but in what lies yonder. Tragically, she passed away when Abe was only eight from a milk sickness. His father, Thomas, married again soon after to a woman named Sarah, played by the beautiful Diane Kruger. As a widow, the marriage is more of an arrangement necessary to meet the every day needs of people during these times. At first, Abe is unsure of the new woman in his life, afraid she will strive to replace his mother. Sarah carefully wins him over, as she too recognizes something special in this young boy who drifts, loves to read, and ponders within nature. 

Since our screening, I have thought often upon these two strong angels and researched their lives in more detail. I am fascinated by their faith. Really by the faith of all who endured such strenuous hardships during this time in America. I think often upon their small triumphs - the crop thriving, gathering enough clean water, living through a minor illness - and think of how we live today in America. Back then, they were lucky to live into their 30s. Happy to have a four wall structure with a roof over their heads. They faced sickness and death often. They were brave because they had to be brave. I don't know if it is any comfort to others, but contemplating past lives makes me feel very human, and somehow makes me feel better. Less alone. All in all, The Better Angels is a beautiful reflection upon childhood, faith, and spirituality. The slow pace and lack of plot is not for everyone, but for those who are more welcoming, it will leave an immense impact on your soul. This kind of film is right up Jon's alley - everything about it is what he wants to create and I was thrilled to screen it with him! If you're wondering, this is now our number 1 movie of the year and it will be a tough one to beat!

A poster with this image now hangs in our living room - a cherished keepsake for Jon. Thank you to Midtown Arts Cinema owner who searched for it in the store room and gifted it to us!

So, what else is on my mind this Sunday morning? Well, I happened to catch Oprah's Super Soul Sunday with one of my favorite authors and spiritual leaders, Pema Chodron. In New York, per a brilliant instructor's recommendation, I read her book When Things Fall Apart. Through the years, and through my struggles, I have often returned to it's teachings and I highly recommend every one read it. I keep it by my bedside. Pema said in her interview that when we are suffering, it is best to first identify it in our body, then breath in deeply to that area. With each in breath, our heart will grow. I remember, when Jon was first hospitalized, before he was diagnosed, lying in a small waiting room. It was closed off and had no windows. I would go in there and lie down around 3am in the morning when I couldn't sleep. I'd call my mother and Aunt Joyce and cry out to them. They wanted to help and would send me love, but nothing could rid me of the wretched pain and loneliness I felt. I'd wail over and over until my stomach would flip and I'd reach for the trashcan and dry heave. These, my friends, are the ugliest moments in your life. Moments you want to share with everyone and no one at the same time. Deep and utter pain. Pema teaches us that these moments are crucial to every human beings life. They are, in fact, what make us human. She says that if you breath in deep enough, you will feel the pain felt by all those in the world present, who came before you and who will come after. Suffering, along with joy, is just another thread in the tapestry of our life. Heady, I know, but it all relates back to the angels of Abe Lincoln's life. 

As a last thought before I close, I want to remind everyone that no matter your situation, we are all surrounded by guardian angels every second of the day. Jon and I have many, many angels who have brought light into otherwise dark moments. For them, we are so grateful. Grateful beyond measure. From those who supported us as we got married and gifted us with a beautiful, unforgettable ceremony to those who help us financially, from those who offer kindness and encouragement to those are silently praying, we are blessed and surrounded by love. We don't always know who gives us gifts or who helps us out, but we are so very thankful for them. Their love inspires us to pay it forward and we are thinking of ways we can do so. As we all get caught up in the season, let us remember that the gift of love and kindness is the most important one of all!

Black and White photo inspired by The Better Angels and Nirvana: a short film about cancer.

I'll close with a reminder that this is the last day of November - Lung Cancer Awareness Month. Of course it isn't for us, in fact we have scans and radiation next week. Our struggles, along with so many others, continues. Please keep us, and all in the lung cancer community, in your prayers going forward. Jon and I were blessed with a most wonderful Thanksgiving and our spirits are high. We are decorating for Christmas, watching favorite movies and tv shows, and enjoying long reading sessions. (I'm still reading This is Where I Leave You and he just started The Homesman, which is now a movie directed by Tommy Lee Jones). I hope you all had a blessed Thanksgiving and are doing well!

Love, 

Robyn

Grad School

Last week, I wrapped up my first quarter in graduate school. I always dreamed of going back, but for some reason, I thought it would never happen. All that changed after the events of last year. With Jon's encouragement, I decided to go for it, and here I am! On my way to an MFA in Film with hopes of teaching screenwriting, directing, and cinema history in a college setting.

On the way to finals.

I took two classes, one being Sound Design and the other an online History of Cinema course. The wealth of knowledge that I obtained is grand and I was very proud to succeed again in academia. Going back to grad school, which I highly recommend if you are considering it, gave me two key things. First, my passion for cinema was once again ignited. I immersed myself in the process of research, reading, and projects. Most notably, my love for silent films and the French New Wave grew immensely! Second, I gained more confidence as a filmmaker. I have always been intimidated by the film industry. Even when I was deciding my major for a BFA, I contemplated film, but chose against it because my confidence level wasn't high enough. After my experiences with Picture Show and Nirvana, as well as my grad courses, I feel a shift. I feel more in control of my vision as a filmmaker, with passion and intellectualism, as well as technique to back it up. For this, I am very grateful.

Yolande Beaulieu in Ménilmontant

With that being said, I want to share my final projects. The first, my Sound Design final, is the 1926 silent film Ménilmontant - a French Impressionist film. The challenge was to add sound and music to the silent piece. I wanted to give the film a modern touch, grounding it in reality, while also staying true to it's impressionistic poetism. Check it out HERE.

For my research paper in history, I focused on the first female filmmaker - Alice Guy Blaché. So much of her work and legacy has been lost and overshadowed by more famous male directors like Georges Méléis and D.W. Griffith, but she is phenomenal and worthy of great praise! She was one of the first (if not the first) fiction film director and she owned her own studio in America before women even had the right to vote. Even many film students are not familiar with her work, so please take the time to read a few excerpts from my paper. I tied in her story with the overall rise and fall of women filmmakers during the silent era (women were once common in the film industry!) and discussed the modern state of female directors.

Alice Guy Blaché - First Female Director

From Page 1
The first female film director, Alice Guy Blaché, is well known for stating, “There is nothing connected with the staging of a motion picture that a woman cannot do as easily as a man” (qtd. in Wexman 13). If this statement is true, why then have women notably played a lesser role than men in the Hollywood industry, especially in the field of directing? Women flourished as filmmakers in the beginning of cinema. In fact, numerous female filmmakers contributed vast knowledge, creativity, and skill in the silent era. Women, such as Blaché, helped build the foundation upon which narrative structure would grow. In addition, their technical achievements rivaled those of their male counterparts. Unfortunately, early film historians considerably diminished their contributions due to the fact that women were thrust out of the industry following World War I. In the 1970s, after the collapse of the traditional Hollywood studio system in the late 1940s, prominent female film directors would again emerge. Thus, the development of the Hollywood studio system attributed to the vanishing roles of women as directors, a phenomenon which closely paralleled the rise and fall of Alice Guy Blaché’s career. 

From Page 3
Blaché states, “If the future development of motion pictures had been foreseen at this time, I should never have obtained his consent. My youth, my inexperience, my sex, all conspired against me.” (qtd. in Simon 5). Early pioneers like Gaumont, Edison, and the Lumiére brothers had little faith in the future of cinema and did not recognize it as a legitimate art form. In her essay, “True Womanhood in Hollywood: Gendered Business Strategies and the Rise and Fall of the Female Filmmaker, 1896-1928,” Karen Ward Mahar attributes three factors to the inclusion of women into the early film industry. According to her, before the 1920’s, the industry was “ungendered” because it was new, initial success caused labor shortages, and it operated outside the boundaries of “legitimate” business practices. Women were therefore allowed to participate in the passing “fad” of filmmaking and, as I will explore, would prove essential in establishing its respectability and staying power.

From Page 5
Alice Guy Blaché arrived in the United States in 1907 and heralded the advent of female directors and producers working in the industry. With her leadership, women began taking a more active role in the production side of motion pictures, directing films before they even had the right to vote. During this period, Blaché proved herself as a definitive figure in the development of motion pictures and broke barriers down for women in the United States when she established her own production company, Solax Studios, in Fort Lee, New Jersey. At Solax she served as “director-general” and made hundreds of films, including Dick Whittington and His Cat, her most ambitious film at Solax. During this period, Blaché also gave birth to two children and according to McMahan, her rate of production equaled that of D.W. Griffith (xx). Significantly, she created an assortment of genre films that were equal to, if not sometimes superior to her male counterparts, such as comedies, westerns, melodramas, and military films. Throughout her career, she pioneered visual techniques, such as hand painted color, superimposition, and synced sound to picture long before it became the standard. She ultimately worked in cinema longer than fellow pioneers, Edison, the Lumiére Brothers, and Méliés, who had all given up film by 1914. 

From Page 9
The end of the 1920s ushered in the Golden Age of Hollywood. The need for women diminished when respectability was secured with the middle class audience. Financial legitimacy was now the major priority of the industry. Although women had achieved high-level positions in filmmaking, primarily due to their artistic abilities, the role of women in the financial arena was nonexistent. “Unfortunately for Lois Weber, and the women in the industry who were in her shadow, the efficient, masculinized, businessman-filmmaker – the type most admired by the investment community and the emerging studio system – became the Hollywood ideal in the years following WWI” (Mahar 102). The successful director was typified as the masculine, boots wearing, mega-phone wielding dictator of production. In contract, women were stereotyped as emotional, soft, artistic, and intuitive. These traits were considered suitable for positions in screenwriting, but not for the role of a director. Moreover, the gendering classification strategies of the Hollywood studio system brought about women’s disappearance in filmmaking. 

From Page 11
When it comes to changing history, Peirce concludes that men are privileged in the Hollywood film industry and they have been for decades, until they decide to “give up some of the pie,” change will not occur. Director Kasi Lemmons, who released Black Nativity in 2013, is a full-time faculty member in the graduate film program at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, and takes a more optimistic approach, as she witnesses, “very talented women up and coming as directors, writers and DPs. I think it’s a new world, and we have to be careful not to be trapped in anachronistic pessimism” (qtd. in Dawes). Perhaps writer/director Lynn Shelton puts it best, “I didn’t start making feature films until I was 39, and it totally had to do with my confidence level” (qtd. in Dawes). This lack of confidence is a direct result of women such as Weber and Blaché being written out of film history. In two cinema studies textbooks, including Film History: An Introduction and A History of Film, the work of Blaché and Weber is diminished to slightly more than a footnote in history. However, in the future, if film historians choose to include more information about such filmmakers, the results will prove to have a positive effect on women directors today. 

-Robyn

Big Girl Panties

I had the most wonderful, southern grandmother anyone on earth could ever ask for. Growing up, my Granny Zola was always there for me. She helped my mother and my Aunt Joyce raise me and we even lived with her for several years when I was very young. I will never forget her hands - long, boney fingers and smooth, silky skin draped over blue and purple veins. I remember them being cold - like mine often are - and she would say, "cold hands, warm heart," as she would hug me tight to her chest, smooth my bangs away from my eyes, or wipe away a tear. When she watched her "stories" on television, she'd become so immersed that her dentures would fall out of place and she'd have to pop them back in. I remember the click. I would giggle as she wiped the corners of her mouth with a folded paper towel, which she always had on hand. She'd bellow "Oooowoooo" when Beau, Hope, or Marlena incited another dramatic scandal that she did not approve of, but secretly loved! On long nights, when my mother would be out working, Granny Zola would let me curl up next to her in bed. Her sheets smelled of Nivea face cream, mentholatum vapor rub, mothballs, and my Papa's lingering cologne - the perfect combination. With her dentures removed, she'd sing me to sleep - usually an old gospel hymn - Will the Circle Be Unbroken was always a favorite. And with her soft blue eyes, brought to life by her long, silky nightgown in the faintest of street light shining in the window off Pine Street, she'd give me a kiss and tell me everything was going to be alright.

Granny Zola was a wonderful person and I am thankful for the time I spent with her. She once was a nurse and delivered many babies into the world. She also raised four children of her own and she was an amazing cook! There will never be anything like her sweet tea ever again in this world - the best! One saying from Granny Z that I remember very clearly is when she told me to put on my "big girl panties." I would usually be crying about something or another - maybe I wanted my mama, possibly my Aunt "Doyce," maybe my cousins were picking on me - like they always do, or maybe I was just upset because Lassie wasn't on - but she'd get that stern, southern glare in her eye, one brow cocked up high, and she'd tell me directly - it was time to be a big girl! I can hear it like it was yesterday.

Thursday night I was lying in bed, anxious with nerves, Jon's brain scan was scheduled for the next day. Cancer has brought us together in so many ways. For one, we know we can't both fall apart at the same time. Sometimes we do, and these make for miserable days. But, in general, we know that when one person is down, the other needs to do all they can to bring them up. He had a bad week and felt depressed with the oncoming appointment. I held it together. I had finals to complete - which I'll talk about later - and had to keep strong when little things didn't go our way. A flat tire? Let me handle it! Dinner? I'll whip it up! Bank account low? I'll find a job! It broke my heart to watch him sit around all week and I knew he was worried, but I chugged along, trying to put Friday in the back of my mind and focus on our daily needs as a family. Once Thursday night came and my final class had come and gone, I couldn't hold it together any longer. We talked for a while and he told me his fears and worries. I listened, but then the stress became too much and I broke down in tears. Now, it was his turn to take care of me. And he did. He held my little head while I cried and cried into his chest. He swept my bangs from my eyes, wiped my tears, and told me everything was going to be alright. Granny Zola was by our side guiding him to say the right thing. I just know she was.

After my outburst, I popped a sleeping pill, and drifted off. You gotta do what you gotta do to get through nights like these. Before I fell into a deep slumber, I thought to myself, "When did I become such a big girl?" I have always thought of myself as an independent. I was raised by a single mother, I moved away from home on my own at the first chance, and I've had to grow up fast in many ways. But laying there, feeling so vulnerable and helpless, I wondered how in the world I was going to put on my "big girl panties" the next day and walk into that doctor's office and get these results. Jon and I met when we were babies in college. How did we get old enough for cancer?

The next day came and I almost overslept (thanks xanax!). We went through all the motions and marched into that hospital right by ourselves, like big kids do. I waited as he got the scan. I watched people around me. I became overwhelmed with emotion as a daughter wheeled her father (about 90 years old) into the waiting room. His body was deteriorating, but his eyes were bright and all he wanted was a cold cup of water. He couldn't wait to get out of there because they had a lunch date with gumbo at their favorite restaurant. They do it every time they come into the city for an appointment. With giant smiles on their faces they exclaimed, "It's our thing!" I watched a young girl, probably around my age, as a nurse wheeled her in and she plugged her phone in the wall next to me. She was kind and asked me sweetly if she was blocking my view of the television. "Not at all," I replied. Behind thick glasses her eyes danced as she watched videos on her phone. I wondered why she was alone. Did she not have family to come with her? How serious is her condition? I wanted to speak to her more, but they soon came to get her and take her back. Then, I was left all alone. Sitting there, just waiting.

Being surrounded by these people breaks my heart. We are these people. We are all these people at some point in our life. The child waiting on the parent. The spouse waiting on their partner. And even, eventually, the one going at it all alone. I can't help but wonder where God is in this world of suffering. I ask this question to myself often and I am perplexed. At my worst, I am angry and pissed off. At my best, I sit in awe of life, breathe, and smile. I certainly do not have the answers - but, perhaps, the answer is simple. Perhaps God can be found in the small things. The kiss of my dog, the smile on Jon's face, or even that bowl of gumbo waiting on you after a long, hard day.

We got "okay" news. Not what we wanted to hear, but not bad. One stubborn brain met has grown a little bit. The radiologist believes it, being the largest of all of them originally, was just not effected strong enough with whole brain radiation - as that is a light amount of radiation in general. So, Jon will have targeted radiation therapy to that one spot the week after Thanksgiving. We also have CT scans that week where we find out what is going on in the lungs. I hope and pray they are stable and that we can zap this one met and have a joyous Christmas. But, hey, every day is Christmas when you spend it with the one you love.

This was a long post, if you made it all the way down here...thank you! I'll wait til next time to post all about my first quarter in grad school! I'll even share a couple projects that I am really proud of!!!

Love,
Robyn

Nirvana: a state of perfect happiness; an ideal or idyllic place

The first trailer of Nirvana: a short film about cancer from writer/director/editor (and most incredible husband, soulmate, artist, survivor, lover of life, my Nirvana) Jonathan Hicks. I am honored to be a part of your life and vision. 

   Nirvana Production Stills: Robyn Hicks (top) Barry Nash (bottom)

ONE DAY

If I was given a purpose

In this life I lead

It was to love my God.

If I was given a passion

With each breath inside I took

It was to share your Love.

If I was given one day

On your Earth in which I walk

It was to see the beauty in nature you did bare

My Heart. Your Hands.

Your Eyes. I start.

In the moment of my creation

You gave life to me.

A purpose.

A passion.

One Day.

-Robyn Hicks

Can You Hear Me?

We are now about half way through Lung Cancer Awareness Month and I couldn't help but feel a little defeated when I saw the news this morning. In the America we live in, Kim Kardashian can attempt to "break the internet" by exposing herself with full frontal and backside nudity, while people like me struggle to be heard. If lung cancer, with its harsh statistics and stigma, could get half the attention she does from one photo, imagine how much more awareness could be raised? If lung cancer could get a portion of the millions of dollars she makes to "document" her life and expose herself, how many more lives could we save? If lung cancer could pursuade major media networks to pay it nearly as much attention as they do to one photo of Kardashian, imagine how much change we could make toward the nation's deadliest cancer killer.

This post will not generate as much attention as Kim Kardashian's ass. Tomorrow, folks won't be gathered around the water cooler talking about lung cancer and how we have to do all we can to change it and fast! The fact that lung cancer is being diagnosed more and more in young, never smokers won't be the breaking news on the Today Show. But, if you're reading this, just take a moment to imagine...

You've just been told you have cancer. You take a deep breath, then it hits you. Lung cancer. Your heart stops. You are told you have 6 months to 2 years to live. A day, a moment, is not guaranteed.  As you slowly begin to breath in and out, you take a look around. You realize all that you see is transient.

Suddenly, that photo of Kim Kardashian doesn't seem as important any more, does it?

To donate to Lung Cancer Research or JOIN the "I Won't Quit" campaign, please click here: http://jointhefight.yournextstepisthecure.org

Delicious Ambiguity

Some mornings, it is just so hard to get out of bed...especially when you live with such uncertainty. Honestly, we all live uncertain lives, but until something comes along and smacks you in the face (like cancer), you believe it's possible that you'll live forever. You plan and plan and plan...your entire life away and you truly believe everything will be okay. Your father wasn't there for all your special moments growing up, but your husband sure will be. You'll graduate college, chase your dreams, settle down, and if you're really lucky...have a beautiful, healthy family. 

But when uncertainty creeps in...there is no plan to hide behind. This morning, news feeds and reports of Brittany Maynard fill my screen and my mind. I won't tell you how I personally feel about the decision, only that it breaks my heart. The uncertainty that ended her life is not fair. The uncertainty that we face every day is not fair. I want to us to know we have plenty of time to have children together and grow old, but this is something I cannot know. I just have to stop and be okay with where we are now. Thankful for where we are now and put all thoughts of the future away. Far, far away. 

This month is Lung Cancer Awareness Month. Each day on Facebook I am posting the story of a LC survivor, caretaker, or advocate. These people are so dear to me. I love them and I want to see them grow healthy and happy with long, fulfilled lives. I want to remove the uncertainty from their life and ours. I can't. But I can advocate. I can ask my friends to share and possibly donate. And I won't quit.

If you haven't already, please JOIN the fight here: http://jointhefight.yournextstepisthecure.org

In other news, our dear sweet friends Ben and Paige Smallbone just moved from Serenbe and we miss them so much. They have become like family to us over the past few months and Paige is such a dear friend who doesn't shy away from talking about the hard stuff with me. Their entire family is filled with talented people. Through Paige, I got to know Ben's brother Luke, who is part of the group For King & Country. About a year ago, he received a devastating diagnosis. I'm happy to report he is doing well! He recently penned a beautiful song with his wife, Courtney, that details the hopes and fears that come along with uncertainty. Ben shot the music video and is also the cinematographer on our short film, Nirvana. The song and video are beautiful. I know others who read this blog will be able to relate. 

There is no resolution to uncertainty. And sometimes there is just no resolution to the Monday morning blues...or the mean reds as Holly Golightly would call them. But I'll just remind myself and others to take a deep breath, give someone you love a hug, let your dog kiss you on the mouth, and pat yourself on the back. We're all doing the best we can. 

Rest in Peace Brittany Maynard.