Iyabo Kwayana

Iyabo Kwayana: My name is Iyabo Kwayana. I am a trans-cultural filmmaker, part South American, part North American of African descent. I immigrated to the United States because of political unrest in my country, Guyana, South America. My mother is African American but found her way to South America studying African retentions outside of Africa and the diaspora.

That's how she met my dad and believed that her home was going to be Guyana. But then we,  because of the unrest that I spoke of earlier, migrated back to the United States, where she is from when I was four years old.  And so I've been a sort of transient identity in terms of, you know, not quite feeling Guyanese, not quite feeling American for most of my life. 

Ld: In the film, we eventually cut away from the students into the surrounding area and nature of the temple. I thought this break in the film's rhythm and the narrative building up to that point was really interesting. I wanted to know what the significance of the Shaolin Temple was to you as an artist: why this area? Why the Chinese countryside? 

IK: I studied abroad in China in my senior year of college at Spelman College in the year 2000. So China has a lot of significance to me. And, while I was there, I studied traditional Chinese medicine through a program at East China Normal University. And with Shanghai school of traditional Chinese medicine.  

So, part of traditional Chinese medicine talks about how energy flows. And Tai Chi is one of those practices that is covered, as a way of maintaining your life force and your body in traditional Chinese medicine. To me, Kung Fu, though it's a martial art, it relates to this building of the body, the character, and your integrity, and discipline.

I went back to China because, when I was trying to get grounded more in this film project that I was going to do, it was interrupted by when I would meditate—I would hear counting in Chinese. And it had been  17 years since I'd been to China. And so it just struck me that I was hearing counting in my imagination. A couple days later, I saw this image of these children all wearing red. It was like a big crowd of them.

And I saw this face in the crowd and he looked perplexed and it just kind of struck me. So then I wrote to a friend of mine whose name was  Wu Qihui She lives in China. She's the co-producer of the film. And I said, “Could you tell me where this was filmed?”  And then two days later she was like, “Yeah, they say we can come and film there. Let's go.”   Almost without me asking her to produce it, she had already started the process, and she was like, “Yeah, they just need some storyboards.” You know, like, “What do you want to see? What do you want to do?” 

And honestly, that's how it started. It was for a particular time that they were doing that show.  And so I had like two weeks. I bought my ticket, and then I remembered that I actually needed a visa to go to China. I had very little time; I actually missed the deadline and had to beg the person at the consulate to let me get a rush pass.  It was really ridiculous. So we met in Beijing and then we took a train to Hunan province. She brought a camera and I brought some equipment as well and some lenses and we were good to go. I think it was just kind of building off of a love that I had for the culture, living there in my senior year and not really imagining that I would have the opportunity to go back, but kind of being called to go back. 

As, someone that's an experimental maker, often you're looking towards the imagination. You're looking towards your intuition in order to guide you into what's next. So that was very significant for me. Because I. couldn't make sense of what I was hearing and seeing in my imagination and why I should go back at that time.

And then also my interest of Chinese medicine and subtlety within energy systems and all that made me really interested in the Shaolin temple and the types of disciplines that are cultivated there. The creative arts that come through the martial arts as well.

Ld: It's always interesting to hear when films come together that quickly and start before you even realize that they're starting. So that's great to hear. I really want to talk about that last scene at the end of Practice. The way you present the movement of that last performance, I just thought was really powerful. It really struck me how you didn't immediately show us the wider scene of the practice,  settling on these very narrow and intimate glimpses at it. So I just want to ask: what role does movement play in your work and how do you approach movement in your projects? 

IK: We played with two different camera modes.  There were points where I was actually doing an observational type of movement, handheld, that didn't make it into the film. I thought [the camera movements] were quite beautiful, but what we ended up trying to focus on was making the camera bridge between ourselves and the people that we were filming —kind of practicing being in sync with them, rather than making our movement a part of the character.

So we were trying to be in sync with their movement and mirror their movement. There was a lot of repetition because they were practicing for a few days before they had to do the performance. And so we had an opportunity to practice with them. Practice their movement. So it was almost an exercise in learning how to find your sweet spot and camera movement because we would see things happen over and over again.

And we had to anticipate, like, say, “Okay, I want to start here and then I want to end there.” So how do I practice this? The next time they do that? Oh, they're going to do it again. Okay. And Wu Qihui was excellent at that. Some of the sequences that film the feet movements,  during this montage where all of their movements are combined, most of those sequences were shot by Wu Qihui. And then I shot that early pan,  which I had to practice a bunch of times. And then the last scene–when they moved across the screen, it was a powerful moment. Actually, it was filmed first, but we were using a long lens, like a telephoto lens. So it flattened the movements of everyone. So it looked like they were crossing each other on a flat plane.  It was actually the first thing that we shot.  I remember  Qihui was like, “Oh, let's not put on the telephoto lens.” And I was like, “I think we should.” I'm glad we did because it worked out. 

One other thing is that, because I had a Chinese producer, she understood that the formations were meant to be seen from different angles. So she saw a drone person there and she was like, “Hey. Would you help us, film this?” It really was important for her to be there on so many levels, because, even though I studied abroad in China, I don't have the same sense of how China presents its identity and the significance of seeing something from above as well. So I thought that that was a really important contribution—for us, as collaborators, to be able to have that type of open communication, for her to say, we need to [see]what it looks like from above, you've never seen this.”

It was meant to kind of be like a composition, like a score in a way.  And so, because there was only one camera, I was trying to reconsolidate the feeling that I had when I was there through the edit, to create a soundscape that felt like a composition of voices, like reacting to one another and being in tune and out of tune with each other.

Ld: It's always a little relieving to hear when filmmakers are learning how they're going to film something on the job itself, kind of realizing: “Oh, okay. I need to do this in this moment; okay, let's do it again.”

IK: One other thing about that was the decision not to show the coach entirely. That was something that was kind of risky, but I made the decision. I just wanted to see his mouth and the microphone. I wanted to more be immersed in the point of view of the children. And so it was a decision t that I made that didn't allow me to do a traditional cut,  like where we see him, then he reacts to them—the shot, reverse shot..

But it was something that I was really clear about at that moment, like, this is how I want to see him in the film. So those types of decisions are also important:  you might not understand why you're doing something at the time, but all those instincts can inform the finished product and whose point of view it's told through.

Some like a default way of filming, just because that's how we film. We should film wide shots. Then we film close-ups. But what are you feeling in this moment? What do you want to see? How do you want to engage? How are you connecting with the people that you're filming?

Ld: Of course. Thank you.

And what happened was I told him about something personal—the disappearance of my brother.  And  I asked him to interpret that. I gave him as many details as I could, and then I asked him to interpret it. It was a collective improvisation because he was composing based on the emotion of what he had heard, and then we were moving based on not knowing what he was going to do, but based on our impulses and our feelings around him as a cellist. So while he was improvising the score, the composition, we were also improvising the way that we would interact with each other, how we would film him while he was coming up with the composition.  

And then afterwards, in my mind, although we were composing, I had to kind of, think, maybe we'll need this one shot to get out of the scene, maybe it's going to lead somewhere else. So that's how we pan down from his head to his black shirt. To kind of cut out of that scene. But I thought the process was really,...it was probably one of the most meaningful processes that I've ever engaged with as a filmmaker because it draws attention to the fact that filmmaking is improvisational.

All filmmaking can be somewhat improvisational because you'll never see the same thing happen twice. Like, even if you want someone to stand in front of the window \and turn and the camera's going to be here, you just don't know what's going to happen exactly, even if it's scripted.

So this was kind of like an exaggeration of that truth.  And it was meaningful because it allowed for me to see an interpretation of what I was going through outside of myself, and for it to broaden away from just being my own history or feeling about things to something that is collective that was shared.

And it turned out that he had a similar story, and so both of us had to be vulnerable in order to make this moment less about this plan that we had, and more about what the possibilities were for healing and catharsis by us coming together and being vulnerable with each other. 

Ld: So going into the improvisations that you mentioned, over the course of the filmmaking process, how exactly did they evolve between you two? What exactly did that creative process look like?  How did you feed into each other and what sort of direction did you provide to each other, if any, during the process itself? 

IK: The only direction I gave him was to interpret what I told him about the situation with my brother, and how I was feeling, and that I was just trying to use film as a way of casting some type of prayer of safety out for him. 

That was the only direction that he had. And then the rest was kind of being in tune with the other camera person, as we were passing the camera between us and flowing around.  When she would get to a certain point, I would try to go to the other side to carry the camera more.  I don't know if all of that showed up in that one shot, but we tried it several different times as well.

It was sort of more like being in tune, listening to my emotions about seeing him in front of myself. Just seeing what was unfolding and responding to it was part of the process.  

Ld: So once again, in this film, we have a sort of a break in the rhythm that had been established to get the shift in visuals, going from underwater to a pillar of fire and so forth.

I wanted to know: how do you use these changes in physical setting and contexts in your filmmaking? What does that mean to you as an artist?  

IK: Oh, yes, because that happened also in Practice and I didn't quite answer that part.  I think it allows us to create a more multi-dimensional frame, to see other possible realities that are coexisting with the one that you establish early on. So for me, with the underwater scene,  it was a way of invoking this moment of change, trying to change the narrative, or trying to deepen it.

And it was also meant to be sort of like a sacred, a futuristic baptism, a bomb, a cinematic prayer. I think engaging futurism–whether it be  Afrofuturism, queer,  Latinx futurism— is a way of using fantasy. I think part of that has to do with allowing your viewer to not be mediated so much by narrative but to allow them to have an experience alongside the people that are being filmed. So by changing the settings and allowing myself to go into places that might seem different or distinct from what I established, I think that it gives people an opportunity to invite their own subjectivities, their own psyches into the viewing process. So the tool is to allow people to have an immersive experience by not being able to engage the faculty that they're most accustomed to engaging, which is their brains and making meaning of something. [It moves people] into an experiential mode where they leave possibly feeling differently emotionally, but aren't necessarily sure cognitively why, but just that they had this experience. I don't know how effective it is,  but that's my hope. 

Waltz with Bashir was the first one that I saw that I was like, “Oh wow.”  That film really struck me.  I didn't really set out to make an animated film, but I felt like this was important, because, to some degree, it gave some layer of anonymity to my brother, and it also allowed me to engage fantasy again to, try to play with fantasy in order to see the reality that I wanted to see for him; and to invite an opportunity to exchange with him again, because I also was in the narrative as well.I was the girl that he bumped into and then was typing on the typewriter. But yeah, I think that animation is really powerful, and working with the animators was powerful because animators think completely differently about live-action or about film itself.

With animation, you can go anywhere. You can do anything. You can cross boundaries that live action won't allow you to do as easily. So I just think it's a really powerful medium to think about things in a different way. And to see how life can be animated in a different way.  

Ld: You said animation has a different grasp on reality. I think that's really interesting. Would you say that animation is not necessarily as fantastical as it's often characterized? That it has potential to be grounded or real?  

IK: Yeah, I think I would say it's not trying to be real, but it's an expression of part of our psyche, part of our emotions.  It's a completely different way of seeing reality. One of my colleagues that I work with said it's almost like a psychological fever dream. 

It has different aims than live action.  It's not necessarily trying to convey reality. I wouldn't even say that there's a binary between realism and fantasy within animation. It just is what it is. It's like you're creating something completely different and it can express something that traditional media can't because it just goes where live-action can't go. 

We have so many different facets of things.  Of expressiveness and of perspective. I think it goes back to the word “animated.” that animates something that's completely distinct than what the world is that we live in. And so it is an aspect of reality, but it pushes our understanding of what reality and realism is because it includes the imagination.

Ld: Right. Amazing. So talking about the animation of By Water, I felt like it had this really tactile and homemade feel; and also the use of the static pattern animation, which I always really love to see in a film. How did you decide the visual direction for By Water and what were your intentions in that choice?

IK: So I collaborated with animators, and together we established what type of animation would be done. Initially, when we were at the animatic stage, I liked the phase that appeared as sort of sketches, but my animator wasn't comfortable with presenting their work like that. So we ended up going through several iterations of what it would look like. And that also had to include their creative impulses, because it was a collaboration.

So some of the impulses that they had were to make my brother yellow. And also based on their understanding of where my mother and our family lived in California, [they] a put the bird of paradise flower in there. And, there were little details that were absorbed into the animation through my director of animation. 

And then there were some places where we didn't see eye to eye initially. And we had to kind of establish a common language. The boldness of the colors initially was really, really bold. And I kind of wanted something softer, because of what it meant for me in relationship with my brother and where he was at the time. I just wanted something softer and less angry. It was sort of like a process of world-building in which we were deciding what the rules of the world were and how to come to some type of agreement about what would mean, what it felt like.

And then I visualized and shot listed, and then I conveyed those lists of shots to my animator, and they interpreted that, and then we kind of started building a larger animatic in which I would create the sounds and layer them underneath the animatic. 

And then that would inspire the next [step].  So it was sort of like we were assembling everything as we were creating and then it started taking shape. And that shape informed what would happen next in terms of the animation. And then, also, I played around with some photos, collaging and compositing.

So that was like another layer of the conversation, I guess. 

Ld: Going back a bit, you mentioned that the artists you collaborated with in figuring out the animation style of the film weren't quite comfortable with the initial style that you had envisioned. That's really interesting to hear, because in this class that this interview is for, we talk a lot about how a big hallmark of feminist filmmaking is a more respectful style of collaboration between artists.

And so to hear that you had that compromise on what you initially wanted in your vision is really interesting. Is that something that occurs a lot in your work– that sort of give and take? Or was that experience of having to compromise more unique for this project? 

IK: Yeah. I think that even with  Wu Qihui, it is definitely not unique. There's always negotiation when you're dealing with real people that are creative and have eyes and are doing labor on your behalf or with you. So definitely.  Part of my process is listening.

When I was in film school, I had to learn how to be like “No, this is what I want,” because– also as a woman– I learned how to be that way to survive film school. When you appear too flexible, then sometimes people will question your vision, and it's not in a collaborative way. So I think  I've always been a collaborative person on set, but I had to perform being more of the stereotypical director. Initially, when I went to UCLA, before going to Northwestern, that was part of me trying to act like the men on set, I guess; which has a completely different effect creatively for me. Since coming out of film school, I've definitely become more open to collaborating.

But then it's tricky because you're the person that's having the movie-kid. And then sometimes people are helping to midwife that. So there is a certain point in which you do have a vision and you're responsible. You need to kind of articulate that and bring it to the surface because sometimes it doesn't feel right.

So, yes, there's a lot of collaboration, and you're still sorting out what the world is, and if it would work in that world, and what's possible. So I think it's a series of negotiations of how to collaborate. And,  for me,  it's a film. It's not the end of the world. I would rather someone be happy with what they're doing on the film, that they can express something and have some type of creative flow than me to have the film that I had in my head. Because filmmaking is also an exercise of community building as well. 

Ld: I think it's a really lovely way to look at film. You know, it's not the end of the world. That saying-- I think a lot of people could remember a lot better.

IK: Yeah, there was this one kid in our film school. He was actually the youngest, but he was a prodigy. He would just always say, “It's just a movie, y'all, it's just a movie.” And it was the most refreshing thing to hear because it really is just a movie. It's not the end of the world. And I always leave something imperfect in all of my films for that reason, just to remind myself that it's a movie. Even if other people don't see it, I see it and I'm like, okay, it's just a movie.

Ld: I just want to ask as our final question, what's next for you as a filmmaker, as an artist, or maybe just as a person – what's coming up?  

IK: I am working on a couple of different projects. One of them is called Black Pearl and it's more of a traditional live-action nonfiction film that incorporates some futuristic characteristics in it. It's a story about the coastal people of the south—the south extending from the southern part of the United States into as far south as Brazil —and the rituals of communion and congregation that they practice around the culture of fishing. Not just fishing, but also the deities and beings that are associated with the ocean and the waterways and byways.

So I'm really happy about that. I filmed in Brazil, in Southern Louisiana, and then in Beaufort, South Carolina—that route up from South America. Most of the places incorporate some of my family lineage as well. So it's also an exploration of family culture.

It's important for me right now, because of the ways that coastal people, the people that are adjacent to waterways, their livelihood is being threatened by climactic and also environmental gentrification– those types of things that displace people for various reasons. So it's like a love letter to them.  

Ld: Amazing. Well, that's pretty much all of my questions Iyabo. Thank you for coming today!