In early February, my small edit team and I relocated from my base in San Francisco to the fog-bound woods along the Mendocino coast. We were tasked with bringing our loose assembly of my doc-in-progress  – which, at the time, clocked in at a dense and daunting 11-hours– down to a digestible rough cut.  It was a challenge I had dreamed about for years. And, in my mind, there was no better place to accomplish this than isolated in the idyllic Northern California wilderness. I had hoped to remove ourselves from the world, to insulate us from all distractions, immersing ourselves fully within our footage. Our doc (tentatively titled ROOTS AND WEBS), which is about two former soldiers who find a new life and family in Oregon’s wild mushroom hunting trade, is grounded in the forest as a place of refuge. So, I had also hoped that the natural majesty around us would work its way into the film. After two months of laboriously editing from our own woodland haven, we proved successful: we had a cut just under two hours.

But then, came the point when we had to actually show it to people.

After my protected little post-production bubble, the prospect of others watching it was terrifying. I have worked in documentary film for eight years now and seen many a rough cut. However, this was my first time directing. Anxiety welled up inside me each time I thought about new eyes on our film – no matter how much I loved our characters, themes and storylines. I found myself zealously telling filmmaker friends offering to give feedback, “I’ll show you the next cut. Not this one. Give me one week. Or five.” I never thought I would feel ready.

My team and I, though, had the good fortune of being accepted to IFP’s Doc Lab. This meant that there was a firm deadline when we had to show the film. So, last week, I found myself in the throngs of New York City, worlds away from Mendocino.  I was nervous – no one else outside of our internal team still had seen the cut. And, true to form, I was editing away until the very last second, attempting to sneak our most updated version into IFP’s queue.  The day came when we had to watch it.

So we watched it. And it was over. And all sorts of realizations rushed forth.

Years ago, I heard the phrase “break your eyes open” in regard to the creative process. I don’t remember specifically where it came from (a quick Google search reveals it’s the song title by Blue Angel. This song was not my initial source of inspiration…), though those words always stuck with me. To me, the phrase referenced the ability to shatter a vision that first appeared salient and cohesive to instead give way to a clearer means of seeing one’s own art. This was a practice I had myself hoped to implement, especially after two months of working within relative isolation. However, the concrete steps towards this seemed elusive at best.

But, at the IFP Lab, I felt as though this had actually happened: my eyes got broken open and I began to comprehend my film in a new light.Through the feedback sessions and mentorship the Lab provided, I was dislodged out of my protective bubble and forced to wrestle with the essential questions that lay outside of our internal team.

See, the world of my film – like many documentaries – is composed of culturally specific codes, shifting meanings, esoteric rules, histories and storied landscapes. In my rough cut, I had at once tried to portray this mess of complexity but simultaneously neglected the most basic of information. I attempted to illustrate: the economy of the mushroom trade, the political history of Southeast Asia (where the majority of our mushroom hunters come from), the racial politics of the Oregon woods, the life cycle of the matsutake mushroom, and more, all the while pretending to be a “character-driven” film with a narrative arc.  But, I had left out the key context that would actually orient viewers in the Mushroom Camp world. I had wanted to tell it all, yet withheld so much. I was so inside of my own head (which, I know is essential for a period of time) that I had not yet effectively considered how to make the film intelligible to outsiders.

The IFP team, as well as the seasoned producers and editor mentors they recruit, helped me see to this massive issue (and, of course many other things) at exactly the right point in time. And, they did so within a supportive, creatively nurturing environment. They pulled me out of my self-imposed isolation and introduced me to a community of experts, as well as my own first-time director peers. The Labs helped build pathways out of my little haven in the woods – and out of my own mind – towards new comrades all over the country. I now feel much better equipped to distill the film down to its most potent stories and essential meanings; to find the ways to communicate both complexity and clarity of narrative, all the while sticking to my proverbial artistic guns. We have challenges ahead of us as we continue post, but I am armed with a reinvigorated means to see the film –with new eyes now broken open.