The Burn
It is time again for the bird to burn, and the 21st Annual Firebird Festival is sure to be a spectacular sight like it is every year.
A few weeks ago, the Firebird committee held a gathering around the bird with improvised music and storytelling, where they reflected on how much has changed for them personally, in Phoenixville, and for the Firebird itself. At the core, what has been communicated to the filmmakers many times, and what is expressed in the film, is that the Firebird is far more about the community and memories forged while building the structure more than it ever has been about the burn itself. It’s about the journey more than the destination.
Similarly, on the production side, we’ve been able to pack a lot of beautiful moments into the 5 years of building this documentary. We captured community and friendships. We crafted a story out of 40+ hours of footage. We completed a feature film. We toured around the United States and shared a story that moved way more people than I could’ve ever predicted. If you had told me that all of this would come out of an idea for a short film, I truly wouldn’t have believed you.
My life looks enormously different compared to 5 years ago. I’m sure I’m pretty different myself too. When we started this project, I was fairly unsure about life, and I massively struggled with that change and uncertainty. I realize that not every filmmaking process has to fundamentally change you (like *ahem* ‘Wicked’), but I would be downplaying it if I said Firebird didn’t. I mean, how could it not, after I poured a lot of my time, energy, and, well, myself into it?
Spending sunny days and countless hours amongst planks of wood and an orchestra of drilling sounds, befriending complete strangers, healed something in me. Interviewing quelled certain anxieties in me. Finishing this film, though it sometimes felt like climbing to the summit of an impossibly large mountain, was incredibly empowering and rewarding. I owe a lot to the people behind the camera and the festival for teaching me a lot about life and embracing its unpredictabilities.
And now, finally, the film is available to the public on Prime Video and Apple TV. This, more than anything, feels like we’ve finally achieved our burn. So, as I’ve recounted in my director’s statement, “our build ends and our burn begins. I share the bittersweet feeling that the Firebird community develops every year before their work goes up in flames. We are no longer the holders of this story, that is the world’s to embrace. And with that, I hope that the world gets to see what I saw on that blistering cold night in 2019: that the embers of hope and renewal can always pierce the blue-black constant of the coldest and darkest nights of our lives.”
There is no denying we are entering into increasingly uncertain times. I’m not sure I’m the best person to say anything truly wise and profound except that I think we can find comfort in the largest theme of this story: the power of community. It is more important than ever for us to pour our time and energy into our communities for support and connection. The embers of our stories, of our art, of our communities will light the darkest nights. Together, we are stronger. Together, we can enrich our surroundings and encourage one another. Together, we have the ability to create great, meaningful change. Even if that looks like a 20-foot wooden bird.
