Emily Chao

    When did you first think about becoming a filmmaker? What artists or pieces of media inspired you to do this?

I became interested in foreign cinema and nonfiction film as a teenager through the punk/indie music scene, and was interested in alternative media in general—comics, literature, leftist theory, zines, etc. I first considered becoming a filmmaker in undergrad during my first film production class taught by Irene Lusztig at UC Santa Cruz. She showed works by Nina Yuen, Rebecca Baron, Jill Godmilow, Maya Deren, and more. I was also enamored with work by Apitchatpong Weerasethakul, Agnes Varda, Trinh T. Minh-ha, Tsai Ming Liang, and Chris Marker. 

What drew you to experimental film in particular as opposed to narrative filmmaking?

Naively, I was never interested in making money from my work. The boys in my undergrad cohort all dreamt of becoming the next George Lucas, Steven Spielberg or Michael Bay. Hollywood cinema didn't speak the language I wanted to speak, it felt dumbed down and unable to express nuance. You get to make your own rules when you make films outside of that system. 

Why do you think that so many feminist and female filmmakers are drawn to experimental film? Has your experience as a woman in any way shaped your path towards and within this medium?

Traditional narrative filmmaking has historically been inaccessible to women. Although I don't think I can jump to the conclusion that experimental filmmaking is more accessible to women, or trans and nonbinary people. I've had my fair share of run-ins with misogyny, and the experimental film scene, at least in my experience of it in the last decade, is still pretty dominated by white men who like to dictate what is "experimental" and what isn't, or what the "right" way to do things is, and how we must preserve "pure" cinema. I hope I'm not sounding too jaded by now...

In many of your films, including your short; As Long as There is Breath, you use a lot of natural imagery and geometric shapes and patterns to frame different shots. I’m curious about the inspiration behind these choices and what they represent to you as an artist?

My films observe landscapes as a repository for history and memory, so to me there's a lot of meaning that's invisible to the eye when you look at a landscape. I think a lot about land use and settler colonialism in California, especially in northern California where I have spent most of my life. In As Long as There is Breath, the landscape around me is obscured by the spinning camera, with quick cuts to other environments and spaces. I like that film as a medium is able to interrupt chronology and obscure place and time.

Much of your work grapples with identity, diaspora, and representation. How has your work evolved throughout such a volatile political landscape? 

Do you find your work responding to current happenings in your local community and country overall?

I believe current happenings are a part of long standing societal and geopolitical issues that have existed across multiple generations. I'm interested in the dark and deep seeded invisible histories that help contextualize where we are today. my recent work explores the tools of communication used by settlers to further expand the colonial project.

There are moments when art making feels urgent and necessary, and other times when it doesn’t feel like enough. Whether it is enough or not, I believe that making art for the purpose of making art rather than commercial gain is in itself a revolutionary act. I often have to remind myself that making work and sharing it is one of the bravest things you can do, especially when the world is shouting at you that you are wrong for simply existing.

How does intersectionality, whether of identity or experience, play a role in your work? In the product? The process?

Intersectionality is embedded in my identity and experience. It determines my access to resources and information, and thus informs to an extent my approach, aesthetic choices, and the tools I use. I've learned I cannot rely on outside funding, partly because funding opportunities fluctuate but also because of the time and energy it takes for grant writing—something I certainly didn't have time for earlier in my career while working multiple jobs. 

I'm a daughter of working class, immigrant parents who taught me to never waste anything. I think that's why I've always been drawn to diy culture. I almost always use expired film (people tend to give me their old film), share equipment with friends, develop my own film when I can, and do my best to make experimental film and art accessible to all because I've witnessed firsthand how that world is gatekept. Over the course of my career I have found that being a part of a community is immensely important to my practice. I've learned to adapt to precarity and so my films have stayed small. 

    What advice would you give to young female filmmakers as they leave school and start following their own creative paths?

Support each other—create a community you'd be excited to be a part of, share your work with each other. Start a crit group, a film lab; pool your resources together, help each other maintain your filmmaking practice and don't be too hard on yourself in the process.