The Experiment
Welcome to How to Build a Fire.
This is an experiment. What isn’t these days? (Bear with me here- there’s light coming, but…) It seems like we’re watching a parade of shattered norms and upended industries and that the scramble is on. Some of us are scrambling to stay employed. Others are just scrambling for solid ground, a semblance of community, a consistent lens through which to read the world. And what a world we’re looking at…
So here’s an attempt at a small table to sit at together.
I am not an “art will save the world” kind of person. I think there’s way too much self-importance in many of the places where art meets commerce, and especially in the film business (if you’ve watched the Oscars in the past twenty years, you might have an inkling). But artists and creatives do have an advantage in times of upheaval. Reinvention is part of the gig. The ability to step back, regard the great contours of human mess and then use intuition and honesty to draw out specifics, inconsistencies, and beauty, and to use those insights to nudge us toward understanding, no matter how small— is no small thing.
And so what can we do but experiment when the world goes sideways, and the traditional forms, those established ladders to solvency or visibility have dissolved? When all bets seem to be off, and we’re all in the same boat, drifting in the same uncharted waters? And (here’s the promised light) how exciting is that? That there’s no guaranteed prescription anymore. That creatively, this might be a time of grand equalization in which authenticity wins the day. How cool would that be?
My experiment here is twofold: First- I’m in the midst of making a totally independent film called How to Build a Fire, a film which is, in many ways, about all this stuff, and I want to document the journey of that artistic experiment. And second- I want to create a space to foment, germinate, and tinker with the themes and intentions behind the film: paths to understanding, community building and collaboration, political engagement, earnestness, connection. I want to create a laboratory for those ideas, as well as ideas on how all of that affects the process and business of making films. Because I think that film is a truly singular art form: a miracle of collaboration-at-its-best that can be a model for so many cooperative human endeavors. Because it feels to me like we are living in a time of anti-cooperation: a time when it’s more important to speak and own your “truth” than it is to weave our truths together in service to a common good. My experience, so far, in making films, has made me hopeful about humanity, and I’d like to spread that around.
So what’s this film about? Two New Yorkers, a West Virginian, a red hat, and a big old hunting lodge with no heat. What happens when the yelling stops and we need to build something together?
Spoiler alert: nobody dies. No explosions. This is a simple movie about people seeing each other. It’s gonna be seventy-odd minutes of extremely real, brilliantly acted, heartfelt, and funny storytelling, and I am BURSTING to tell you all about it. About how I wrote this film for actor friends I love and admire, set in one of my favorite places in the world, how I made it with friends and brilliant artists who consistently inspire me, how shooting it was one of the greatest experiences of my life, and about all our schemes for remaining totally independent and artist-led in our journey toward sharing it with you.
But there will be time for that. For now, I just wanna thank you for coming this far with me. If any of this hits home for you, I hope you’ll subscribe, join our little experimental family, and stay for the ride.
Let’s build this thing and light it up.
-jamie



I have stared out that window and sat on that porch many times. I miss The Lodge.
Level-headed and wise as ever - very happy for you Jamie!!!
Of course I have a zillion questions, that I am sure will be answered in due time. (How did you finance, what is your take on Non-de, etc.) I'm patient.