Cinematography

On Atlas Falling, I still produced, wrote, edited, acted, and DP’d. That was normal for me.

Doing everything felt safer than trusting that the pieces would come together without me holding every rope.

But on The Shape of Kindness, everything changed.

This time we have a producer. A seasoned director. Department heads.

Real support.

And suddenly… I’m not the one steering the whole ship.

I’m the DP.

I’m the editor.

But I’m not the center of every decision anymore.

And as exciting as that is, it’s also been uncomfortable at times.

When you’ve spent years being the person who fixes the problems, answers the questions, and carries the weight, letting go feels a little like standing on the edge of a cliff and hoping the bridge really is there.

There were moments in pre-pro where the loss of constant control hit hard.

I questioned myself.

I worried about things that weren’t mine to manage.

I had to relearn what it means to contribute without leading every department.

But here’s what I’m learning:

When the responsibility is shared, the project grows in ways you could never make it grow alone.

Ideas sharpen.

Collaboration deepens.

You breathe again.

And you actually get to focus on the craft you love instead of drowning in the entire machine.

I’m still editing this film — but I’m editing a project shaped by a team, not one carried solely by me. And that difference has changed everything about how I work and how I lead.

Next week, I’ll dig into what it means to lead from within instead of from the top: how to support a director, trust department heads, and still bring your strongest artistic voice to the table.

Question for the Lounge:

If you’ve ever stepped back from a role you used to control, what surprised you most about the experience?

If you’ve ever noticed that some mid-century lenses like certain Canons, Nikons, or Pentax models, have developed a warm yellow or amber tint over time, you’re not imagining it. It’s not dirt, haze, or coating degradation. It’s physics.

Matt Duclos breaks down the phenomenon beautifully in his new article on The Cine Lens:

“Thorium-Induced Yellowing in Mid-Century Lenses – Cause, Effect, and Solutions”

Read it here: https://thecinelens.com/2025/09/18/thorium-induced-yellowing-in-mid-cent...

Here’s the short version:

From the 1950s to the 1970s, manufacturers used thorium-doped glass to improve refractive index and chromatic correction. Over time, the radioactive decay of thorium creates microscopic defects in the glass called color centers (or F-centers). These defects absorb blue and UV light, which is why the glass takes on a deep yellow-brown tint and loses transmission.

Fortunately, this can be reversed through photo-bleaching, using ultraviolet light to excite and re-stabilize the trapped electrons, restoring the glass’s original clarity. The process is slow but safe, and when done correctly, can recover the lens’s true color balance and light transmission without damaging coatings or components.

Beyond being a fascinating bit of materials science, this explains why certain vintage lenses—especially those prized for their “warm” look, may actually be unintentionally color-shifting due to decades of atomic-level change.

Have you encountered or restored a yellowed vintage lens before? Did you leave the tint for its character, or try to bring it back to neutral? How do you feel about preserving vs. correcting the visual quirks of aging glass?

Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw talks Sinners, Cinematography, IMAX, Ultra Panavision, Aspect Ratios, Visual Effects, Michael B. Jordan, Ryan Coogler, Favorite Films, and Making History as the the first female director of photography to shoot any movie on large format IMAX film.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFj1DZDdvAw)

When it comes to storytelling, one of the most overlooked creative choices—aside from camera or lens—is how you move the camera. Do you shoot on sticks (tripod), use sliders, dollies, gimbals… or go handheld—or some mix of all of them?

Speaking of handheld, a few films really stand out for fully embracing that approach over static setups. Children of Men is a great example—the constant movement and subtle shakiness build incredible tension. Blue Valentine is another one. The first time I saw it, I didn’t dislike the story or the acting—it just made me uncomfortable. And that’s the power of handheld; it draws you in and unsettles you in the best way.

What about everyone else?

Is there a film that uses a natural, handheld style that really strikes a chord with you—and why?

Acclaimed cinematographer Seamus McGarvey ASC BSC takes us behind the lensing of Lynne Ramsay’s film Die My Love — a haunting, poetic exploration of love, isolation, and the mind’s unraveling. McGarvey discusses collaborating with Ramsay, shooting on Ektachrome, choosing PVintage lenses and Panaflex Millenium XLs, and crafting a visual language that reflects the film’s emotional turbulence.

From intimate handheld work to day-for-night experimentation, McGarvey shares how cinematography becomes a vessel for inner experience — reminding us that cinema, at its best, is pure visual poetry.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeT9z2ZqyBg)

Several years ago, I had the pleasure of attending an advanced cinematography workshop with DP Shane Hurlbut, ASC. One of the workshops I took away the most from was a night lighting workshop wherer Shane used Streetlamp practicals he purchased at a hardware store to light the street. For about $800 he was able to light an entire city street scene with practicals and use lighting off the truck to light his actors. While I use low budget tricks like this a lot, and I love the challenge of doing so, I never considered a master of the craft like Shane might employ the same techniques on big-budget films.

What is your favorite practical lighting technique? Let me know in the comments.

There’s a huge price gap between cinema and photography lenses, but what exactly justifies that difference? And when is one the smarter choice over the other?

In this breakdown from In Depth Cine, the team dives into the practical and aesthetic distinctions that shape how cinematographers choose their glass. From ergonomics and manual focus control to T-stops, de-clicked apertures, and the coveted “cinematic look,” this video explores how each lens type fits different workflows, whether you’re working with a full camera crew or flying solo on a gimbal.

Watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npZtToJnxaU

It’s a fantastic reminder that the “right” lens often depends on more than just image quality, it’s about the kind of story you’re telling, your shooting environment, and your production scale.

What do you think, do you find yourself gravitating more toward cinema lenses for their control and consistency, or photography lenses for their versatility and accessibility? When have you found one outperformed the other on set?

https://www.forbes.com/sites/joshweiss/2025/08/10/cinematographer-larkin-seiple-was-ready-for-a-break---then-weapons-came-along/

The vid says it all. Falling light. In a rush. Wanted to get that perfect feet-as-a-dolly shot into a crypt. Was so impressed by my brilliance (and dazzled by the lights on the cam) I was watchin the monitor instead where I was putting my feet. So, I fell hard for a good shot - or one I thought would be. I planned to stabilize it in post. Well, let's just say, there's no post-prod software that'll stabilize this embarrassing fail.

Atlas Falling wasn’t the first project I led — but it was the first time I couldn’t do it alone.

I was still the writer, producer, editor, DP, and even acted in it. Old habits die hard. But unlike my earlier work, I wasn’t the only one in the trenches. This time, I had people depending on me — and I had to depend on them too.

That was new.

I was used to control equaling safety. If I did everything, I couldn’t be disappointed. But Atlas Falling forced me to let go in small ways — trusting others to light a scene, run sound, organize a call sheet, or set a prop without me hovering.

And to be honest, it was uncomfortable. I struggled when something wasn’t done “my way.” I caught myself stepping in, fixing, and micromanaging. But every time I let someone own their job, the film got better — not worse.

That film became award-winning not because I did everything, but because I finally didn’t.

It taught me something I wish I had learned sooner — leadership in filmmaking isn't about doing every job. It's about creating a space where other people can do theirs.

Next week, we move into The Shape of Kindness, where I took the next step — handing off producing and directing entirely and stepping into a single role: DP.

Question for the lounge:

If you started out doing everything yourself, what was the first thing you learned to let go of?

As an indie DP, I'm sure you have found yourself up against it when working to deliver on director and audience expectations who see expensive effects and massive set pieces as the benchmark for a successful film. But, what do you do when vision and budget don't jive?

I am always looking for ways to get big results with minimum expense. I love going back to the basics for inspiration, and one of my biggest influences for doing more with less is John Carpenter.

I love rewatching his work and figuring out not just how he scripted a film, but how he arranges specific scenes to get maximum impact without the benefit of big dollars.

Check out the Studio binder video link below for one of my favorites, and let's hear about some of the ways you have helped your director make the most out of their budget by delivering more for less.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ED42UnF8iI