When I was in film school I had this great professor, Jerzy

In this reflection by Justin Lin, when he says, “When I was in film school I had this great professor, Jerzy Antczak, a Polish filmmaker, and Joe Russo of the Russo Brothers were in my class. It was this kind of Eastern European philosophy of motivating camera only through character and motions, and just exploring with lenses. That was the best year of my education in my life,” he speaks not merely of a time of study, but of a moment of awakening — a year when the craft of filmmaking transcended the mechanics of cameras and became an art of the soul. Beneath his words lies a timeless truth: that true education is not the accumulation of knowledge, but the ignition of vision — when one’s perception of the world is forever transformed by a teacher who reveals the invisible.

Lin’s reverence for Jerzy Antczak, the Polish master, recalls an older lineage of wisdom — one that views art as a moral act, and technique as a vessel for meaning. In the Eastern European tradition of cinema, shaped by artists like Kieslowski, Tarkovsky, and Wajda, the camera is never idle decoration; it is a living witness, guided not by spectacle but by the inner truth of character. To “motivate the camera through emotion,” as Lin describes, is to let the lens breathe in rhythm with the human spirit — to make every movement of light and frame serve the heartbeat of the story. It is the philosophy of depth, born in lands where suffering taught people that beauty must be earned, not manufactured.

In such a philosophy, the filmmaker becomes like the ancient sculptor, chiseling not marble, but moments of time. Every pan, every focus, every angle becomes an act of reverence for the human condition. This approach is not concerned with impressing the eye, but with awakening the heart. It rejects the illusion of control and seeks instead communion — between artist and audience, between soul and story. In learning this, Lin found not just technical mastery, but spiritual discipline, the kind that transforms the craftsman into a poet of motion.

Consider the example of Andrei Tarkovsky, the Russian visionary whose films, though sparse in dialogue, speak in rivers, fire, and silence. He once said, “The artist exists because the world is not perfect.” His camera did not chase action; it lingered, listened, felt. His lens was motivated by the trembling of a leaf, the movement of water, the sorrow in a face. To study such art is to learn that cinema is not about showing, but revealing — not about invention, but revelation. Lin’s “best year” of education, therefore, was not a time of instruction, but of initiation — a sacred entrance into the fellowship of those who see differently.

The presence of Joe Russo beside him, who would later co-create the monumental Avengers films, is also telling. It reminds us that creativity flourishes not in isolation but in community. Great artists often begin in humble rooms together, sharing ideas, doubts, and dreams before the world knows their names. Just as Renaissance masters once studied side by side, sharpening one another’s minds, Lin and Russo’s shared experience in that class became part of a greater tapestry of cinematic evolution — proof that the roots of greatness are often hidden in the soil of shared learning.

Lin’s words also teach that education’s worth is measured not by years, but by transformation. The “best year” of his life was one in which he learned not what to do, but how to see — and once a person learns to see through the lens of character, everything becomes a story. The dull becomes luminous, the ordinary sacred. For in every art, whether it be film, music, or writing, the same law holds true: mastery begins when the artist becomes a servant to truth.

And so, the lesson endures: seek teachers who awaken, not instruct. Whether in art, in life, or in labor, let your craft be guided not by form, but by feeling; not by fashion, but by purpose. Let your actions be “motivated by character and motion,” as Lin’s mentor taught — meaning, let your life’s camera move only when your heart moves. In this, you will find the highest form of education: not the gathering of techniques, but the discovery of your own creative soul. For the greatest learning, as Justin Lin found, does not happen in the classroom — it happens in the awakening of vision.