When I was in college, my graduation thesis was called 'Female

In the quiet but powerful words, “When I was in college, my graduation thesis was called ‘Female Directors.’ I interviewed all of the important female directors from Mexico. There were four. That was it,” Patricia Riggen reveals a truth both personal and universal — that the road to creation, for women, has long been one of scarcity and defiance. Beneath her simple observation lies a deep lament and a call to awakening: that in a nation rich with imagination and culture, only four women had been granted the space to direct, to lead, to shape the stories of their people. Her words are not only an account of absence; they are a testimony to perseverance, a spark that calls others to fill the silence left by generations unseen.

The origin of this quote lies in Riggen’s own journey as a young Mexican filmmaker, born in a world that offered few mirrors for women who dreamed behind the camera. As a student, she sought to understand her lineage — to trace the footsteps of those who came before her — and discovered how short the trail truly was. Her thesis, titled Female Directors, was not simply an academic project, but an act of reverence and rebellion: reverence for the women who had managed to break through the walls of exclusion, and rebellion against the system that allowed those walls to exist in the first place. In finding only four, Riggen did not despair — she resolved to become the fifth.

The meaning of her words extends far beyond cinema. They echo across centuries of women’s labor, invention, and artistry, buried beneath the weight of structures that deemed them unfit to lead. From the first storytellers of ancient civilizations to the scholars of the Enlightenment, women have fought not for privilege, but for permission — to think, to speak, to create. In Mexico, as in much of the world, the film industry mirrored society itself: a reflection of who was seen as capable of authoring vision. By naming “four,” Riggen holds up a mirror to the imbalance, and in doing so, she transforms her thesis into prophecy.

Consider the story of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the 17th-century Mexican nun and poet who, centuries before Riggen, also found herself surrounded by silence. In a world that forbade women to study, Sor Juana taught herself Latin, wrote plays, and challenged the very church that sought to quiet her intellect. “I study not to know more,” she wrote, “but to ignore less.” Like Riggen, she faced the emptiness of representation — and chose to fill it with her own voice. Both women, though divided by centuries, are bound by the same current of intellectual courage: the refusal to let absence define possibility.

Riggen’s statement, though laced with irony, carries the tone of a witness who has seen the beginning of a transformation. When she says, “That was it,” there is both grief and challenge in her words — a recognition of limitation, but also the spark of change. For each time a woman recognizes her scarcity in a field, she simultaneously becomes the seed of expansion. By the time Riggen herself began directing — creating acclaimed films such as La Misma Luna and The 33 — she had already rewritten the legacy she once documented. The four became five; the five would become dozens; and the silence would no longer be the dominant sound.

The wisdom in Riggen’s reflection is not confined to gender or geography — it speaks to anyone who discovers a void in the place where their dream should be. It teaches that absence is not the end of hope but the beginning of purpose. When you find that what you seek does not yet exist, it is not a sign to turn away, but a calling to create. The ancients believed that destiny is shaped not by circumstance but by will — that the one who walks where no path exists is not lost, but is forging the first road for others to follow. Riggen’s story embodies this ancient principle: that to bear witness to a void is to inherit the duty to fill it.

The lesson is clear: when you look into your chosen field, your community, or your art, and see only scarcity or silence, do not mistake it for impossibility. Be the one who begins. Let curiosity become courage. Let the frustration of absence become the fire of creation. For history does not change because many act — it changes because one person refuses to accept that “that was it.”

And the practical action is this: wherever you see only four, strive to become the fifth. Seek out those forgotten by time, listen to their stories, and then continue their work. If the world tells you your dream has no precedent, answer as Patricia Riggen did — by making your life the proof that it can be done. For in the end, every great movement begins with one person who dares to fill the empty space left by history — and turns absence into legacy.