Q: Can you share the backstory? Is there any connection between the writers, crew, and the on-camera performances? The family narrative (in all its forms) is a special one. Was there a driving theme behind it?
Mud is a strange substance, isn't it? It is not quite solid, liquid, and malleable, yet it can harden instantly.
When I think about what it's like to immigrate to this country and carve a path for yourself, I think about mud. I can hear it pulling you into the earth, and I can see it splashing up against you as you move. And to get through it, you, in a way, have to become squishy, grounded, and unbreakable.
That's the key lesson I learned growing up in South Florida on the street filled with other Caribbean immigrants and working-class white folks: survival at all costs. The piece came together as I reached out to my community, asking for stories I could include to mix with these naturalistic scenes of water, earth, and movement. What I got back was the story of Carlos, the newly immigrated blind accordion player who expresses himself through his music all across Queens, and the story of Colton, a man who, despite having cancer, felt abrupt fear as he was trying to heal in a hospital bed after many surgeries.
Mixing that with stories from neighbors and friends birthed a piece that was messy for a moment (thank God for great editors — shoutout to Tyrone Rhabb (https://www.tyronerhabb.com/)) but felt profoundly human.
There were no writers in this piece, well, outside of me, I guess. I came to each subject and the crew with a simple description of what I wanted the piece to feel like and let that guide us.
For my money, resiliency is overrated. What matters isn't that individual's story but the legacy it created for their loved ones, both in inspiring them and building something out of Mud, blood, and bone for the future. This project aims to visualize that.
This piece begins and ends with gratitude. One of the first writing lessons I ever received was to write what you know. Here, I formulated an idea and allowed each subject to have agency in how their stories were told and to who they paid homage. That, to me, is a gift worthy of celebration.