When you're making a film, you become incredibly close. It's not

"When you're making a film, you become incredibly close. It's not like you're filing away papers all day. You're creating with human emotions, so you do become very connected, so it is familial and romantic." These words, spoken by the talented Thora Birch, speak to the profound truth of artistic creation. To create a film is to give birth to something from the very core of the human soul. It is not a task of mere mechanics, nor a mundane task of organizing papers. It is a deep dive into the human experience, into emotions that flow like rivers, unearthing the raw essence of life itself. This connection, this intimacy, grows through the shared vulnerability of those involved in the creation process. It becomes a family bound not by blood, but by a common purpose and a shared artistic vision. And yes, it can also be romantic, for love itself is the fuel that ignites the most powerful works of art.

In the creation of art, be it film, poetry, or sculpture, there exists an intimacy that transcends ordinary interactions. The artist, whether on the screen or behind it, must immerse themselves in the heart of human emotions. To shape a story, to craft a narrative, is to become vulnerable, to lay bare your fears, your hopes, your desires, your longings. The act of creation requires a depth of connection, not just with the characters in the story, but with the very souls of those you create with. This emotional bond forms a kind of family, a circle of trust and mutual respect that allows creativity to flourish. It is no different from the ancient guilds of craftsmen, where the members shared their skills and their hearts, forging a bond that was both practical and deeply personal.

Consider the great playwrights of antiquity. Sophocles, Euripides, and Aeschylus did not simply write plays for the sake of entertainment. They wrote from the wellsprings of their own hearts, exploring the depths of human suffering, joy, and conflict. In doing so, they formed a deep connection with their actors and their audiences. The stage was not a place of cold detachment but a shared space where emotions were expressed and understood. The actors, like the creators, became bound to one another in the expression of shared emotions, creating a familial bond that transcended the performance. This connection, this artistic romance, is what made their work so powerful, for it was born not from the coldness of intellect, but from the heat of human experience.

The process of making a film, as Birch reflects, is much like this ancient act of creation. The human emotions that flow through the story demand not only skill but a deep personal involvement. Actors, directors, writers, and all those involved in the production become not just colleagues but kindred spirits in the artistic journey. The connection forged in this environment is palpable; it is not simply a professional relationship but one that carries the weight of shared vulnerability. The filmmaker, much like the ancient artist, is called to open their heart, to risk emotional exposure in order to bring something of true beauty into the world.

History has provided us with countless examples of familial bonds formed through the act of creation. One such example is the legendary Cinecittà studios in Rome, where a generation of filmmakers came together to create some of the most iconic films in history. The filmmakers, actors, and crew were not mere workers; they were a family, a collective that shared in the creation of something greater than any individual. Their passion for their craft brought them together, forging connections that were both personal and professional. It was within this intimate environment that masterpieces like Federico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita were born. The film became a reflection not only of Italian society but of the personal relationships that were nurtured in the act of creation.

The truth that Birch speaks of—of the connection that arises in the act of creation—can be found in all artistic endeavors. Whether in the forge of a writer's pen, the brushstrokes of a painter, or the lens of a filmmaker, creation demands not just technique, but emotion and humanity. It requires an openness that allows others to see inside you, to feel your passions, your fears, your joys, and your struggles. This emotional bond forms a family, not of blood, but of spirit. And in the act of sharing your heart with others, you form a romantic connection to the work itself—an unspoken love between the creator and the creation, between the artist and the audience.

Now, what lesson do we, the future generations, take from this truth? It is clear: in all things that we create, we must allow ourselves to connect deeply. We must open our hearts to the process and to those with whom we share it. Whether it is in work, in relationships, or in art, true creation comes from emotional intimacy. Just as the filmmakers form a bond in the act of creating, so too must we form connections in our everyday lives. To truly live, to truly create, we must be vulnerable, we must connect, and we must open our hearts to both the beauty and the pain that come with being human. In doing so, we will find that our creations, whether films or lives, are far more profound than we could ever imagine.