Art In The Margins of Time
Some days I paint.
Some days I write.
Some days I make videos—or spend too long obsessing over lighting, composition, or whether it’s time to finally retire that one stubborn brush.
But every week, and at least 5 days every week, I try to create something.
This week’s post is different—more of an update, really.
I’ve been working on a personal project—one that’s pulled me a little outside the comfort of brush and canvas, and into a new direction that feels equally intimate and exposing.
And I know, I have a few personal projects going on right now. But I enjoy doing them, challenging myself, and staying on my toes creatively.
But this particular project…
It’s not a painting.
Not a blog post.
Not a YouTube video (technically).
Not a podcast episode.
Not even a tutorial or studio walk-through.
It’s a short film (emphasis on “short film”). That’s right—a video for the sole purpose of telling a story. From script to production to editing, I’m trying to approach this the way great films are made—thoughtfully, methodically, with purpose. My challenge within the project is to tell the story with sound and motion—no dialogue whatsoever.
I may have a little help from friends during production phases, but at its core, this is more of a solo piece than a collaborative one.
This film is not a flashy one. Not loud. Not made for attention.
It’s quiet.
It’s real.
And it’s about the life I live when I’m not wearing my work boots or writing these posts.
The film’s not ready to be shared yet. I officially locked the script on April 28th, and this week I’ve started the more technical (and sometimes tedious) process of building the official shot list. At just 15 scenes and about 8 minutes of run time, it may not seem like much but I estimate I will have somewhere around 160 final shots using the best takes from the filming process. I’m expecting the filming process to be about 30 hours.
Moreover, I say “tedious,” because in a film without dialogue, every shot has to carry more weight. There’s no one standing there explaining what’s happening. Each frame has to speak the story visually—through movement, rhythm, light, and silence. That kind of storytelling asks a lot from each scene… but I’m enjoying the challenge.
In There Will Be Blood, Daniel Day-Lewis doesn’t speak a word for the first 14 minutes—yet I was hooked. The film proved that sometimes, silence says everything.
I’m still working on it—about to start shooting, editing, shaping it quietly behind the scenes—but I wanted to let you know that it’s happening. Because this project means a lot to me.
The locked script as I begin the shot planning stage and hand writing some ideas as I go — © Michael Warth
It’s about making art in the time we steal back.
Not in glamorous studios. Not during gallery openings.
But in the margins—
when the rest of the world has called it a day.
It’s about the slow-burning truth of what it takes to make something when no one is watching. To commit to creativity in the quiet hours.
To come home late, exhausted, and still walk into the attic with a sketchbook under one arm and a sense of purpose that won’t let you rest or to enter the main studio to get some paint on a canvas.
That’s the rhythm of the film.
And honestly, it’s the rhythm of my life.
I won’t say much more than that for now.
But it’s coming.
I’m hoping to complete it by July—though I’m not sure when I’ll release it. I have a bit of an itch to try to get it into a few regional film festivals to see if there’s a good reaction to my work in film. I’m apprehensive though—after all, I’m a painter, not a filmmaker.
And I think, if you’ve ever stolen an hour for yourself to create something that mattered to you—
even if no one ever saw it—
you’ll feel it too.
Thanks for reading.
Thanks for being part of this strange, wonderful, hard-fought cycle of art we all live in.
See you next Saturday.
— MW
