A night of important research

Putting in the hours

An artist never runs out of ideas ever

It was a Thursday evening and the girls group chat, “downtown divas”, was blowing up. Thursday is the new Friday and Friday is the new Sunday and all this to say that the girls were gearing up for a most divine and delicious evening. Celeste was watching the plans unfold through her lock screen, she wouldn’t dare actually open the chat. 

Bundled up on the couch, Celeste’s living room was dark aside from the faint glow of a candle and a Director’s Roundtable up on her TV screen. When her favorite lady director started talking about her writing process Celeste was all ears. 

“People think I’m crazy but I’ve always been a very structured person so my time is usually 5-8AM. That’s when I get my best work done. The morning is quiet, it’s for me and it's before the kids get up… it’s a discipline and you have to show up everyday to really get into the groove of things.” 

Celeste was taken by her words, she stared at the TV in awe while tossing a handful of chocolate covered goji berries into her mouth. This too, was her time. She grabbed her phone and finally opened up downtown divas, she scrolled past dinner options and party flyers and outfit choices and a mention asking if she’d grace the streets with her presence. 

“Sounds soo fun but I can’t tn. doing some research for my next project” 

“Boooo”

“Okayy productive”

“COME”

“Sorryyy have fun love you guys”

It’s true, Celeste had something in the works and she makes moves in silence. The moves are so silent, in fact, that not even she could really work out what it is she was working on. On this Thursday, however, it was game on. Determined, Celeste ripped the blanket off her lap, marched into her room and swiped her Big Huge Ideas notebook off her desk. She opened to an empty first page and wrote down the date. Then, she went back to the couch. 

The Roundtable had a strong finish with an emphasis on the importance of original storytelling, a consensus on putting in “the work”, and a plea for audiences to see movies on the big screen. Celeste strongly believed in all of this which basically placed her among the ranks of the greatest filmmakers of our time. She scrolled through the recommended videos and found a 92nd Street Y interview with a comedian who got their own show made. Who wouldn’t want to have their own show? For this comedian it meant that not only are they funny, as confirmed by the masses, they are respected and trusted enough by the industry to create something of their own. That’s the dream, baby! Celeste had to watch, for research, of course. The interview was 82 minutes long. 

Ah, she laughed at the tales of rejection with all the jokes seamlessly woven in, she stared, hunched over and brows furrowed at the more serious segments. Really, truly listening. It seems like everyone, even funny people, liked to talk about “the work”. This comedian in particular wrote the entirety of their pilot one night at a diner. It all flowed out just like that and then they spent the next 4 months or whatever at that diner daily, rewriting, refining, and creating that perfect package for the powers that be. The show was all this comedian could think about for a long time, they’d break away from conversations to scribble in their notepad which obviously was just one of several notepads dedicated to this project alone. 

Celeste thought about her projects a lot too, mostly about how she is not working on any and everyone else surely is. “It’s fine”, she sighed and went for a sip of tea that had long ago gone cold. She set the cup down on top of her Big Huge Ideas notebook before digging her body further into the couch, melting into sweet sleep. 

Sunlight pried its way into the living room and onto a half-asleep Celeste. Oh right, it’s morning. After a swift tidying, Celeste’s Big Huge Ideas notebook was back in its rightful place on her desk, safely protected by the outline of dust around it. 

The following evening at a no fuss Schezuan spot, Celeste met up with the newest addition to the downtown divas, Sara. Every member of the group chat was unequivocally equal but if Celeste was hypothetically forced to choose who to leave behind in a burning building or give up in a ritualistic sacrifice it kinda, sorta would be Sara. Only if she had to choose. Sara lived in a one bedroom apartment her parents owned and was interning part-time for an art gallery. She is 24 years old. Allegedly, Sara and the girls had a craaazy night. 

Celeste made her way through nearly a dozen dumplings by the time the recounting was over. The downtown divas got sent a free round of drinks at dinner and tried that one release party and it was a bust but they did meet a pair of twins from Paris who were just SO nice. They eventually made it back to the twins’ friend’s apartment which unsurprisingly was a swanky loft in SoHo. 

“You’re gonna die when I tell you who was there.”

“Who?” 

Sara leaned over and whispered the name of one of Celeste’s greatest inspirations of course. 

Celeste’s stomach churned. “Why didn’t you guys say anything? That is a run to the bathroom, call me, and get me over there immediately scenario.”

“Isa was saying that but I told her not to interrupt your process, I know how valuable that time is. It can be so disorienting to have someone pull you out of your zone.”

“Right… thanks.”

“So, what did you do anyway?”