The Transformative Experience of Being Believed In
Recollections from directing Paint It Black.
A big thank you to set photographer Britney Cherry for all the photos in this post.
It’s National Women’s History Month, and I’ve been reflecting on what, exactly, this celebration is supposed to mean for us. I’ve always bristled slightly at the notion that the country gives us this crumb of time to celebrate ourselves—A whole month?! Just for us?! Oh, thank you!—before returning back to the status quo. Should we feel honored? Should we feel satisfied with this finite offering of acknowledgement? Should we fill feminist hashtags with posts of gratitude then call it a day come April 1st? What exactly should we do with a month that’s supposed to be all about us and for us?
