Jesseca Kusher

Tonight we screened the “Gotta Get Down to It” premiere, and I cried. I want to take a second to jab at the internet asshole who just made some comment to themself about me being an emotional woman. Yeah, get off your high-horse, you jerk.

No, it’s about more than GOTTA. My time in the Kenyon film department is coming to an end. Whether or not I find my way back to this place in the future– I am so thankful for the lessons I have learned. Whether that was learning how to stand up for myself and petition to create a film thesis, or the continuous and ever-changing painful journey to humility– damn. There have been so many moments when I’ve questioned the way I was treated in the context of my gender identity. As a woman in film, I have genuinely struggled in a male dominated department. Hell– in a male dominated field. I’ve had interactions on multiple feature film sets now in which I was treated more negatively because I am a woman. That was made very very clear to me. I could say it has taught me to fight or stand up for myself– but instead, I think it’s taught me one of the sick realities of the real world. People don’t care if you have feelings most of the time. This is difficult for me because I am a sensitive person who is, admittedly, very embarrassed to be emotional. I work very hard to be logical and robotic instead of warm or soft. In my mind those more “feminine” qualities are a sign of weakness in the professional world. And yet, I am constantly known as the friend who will go out of their way to comfort someone else. It’s a matter of context, I suppose– but also of the problem. It has only been very recently in life that I’ve come to terms with letting myself feel freely. Understanding, that, perhaps my sensitivity actually helps me be a better director. I care so empathically with my actors and I do my best to understand the context of their presence on my set. I care WAY too much about feedback and I aggressively try to better myself at all times. Additionally, I work very hard to be considerate of others’ time, emotions, and skills– even when those choices might put myself at risk. But at the end of it all I work so hard and so tirelessly.

It is still very difficult for me to command respect. I feel very strongly that I deserve to feel empowered through my selfless actions. Yet a voice in my head tells me that if I seek praise for my actions that weakens their meaning and intention. I want so badly to be recognized for the work I put in and the sacrifices I have made, but I feel guilty for wanting that. Is it more mature to step back and say that my work speaks for itself and I should get over the way others perceive me? Would my white male privileged peers feel the same? Some of them do. I think it’s incredible that Masen doesn’t feel like he wants to be recognized for his work– yet when people think of the film department I would argue he’s one of the first people they think of. I would also argue, no matter how squirmy it sort of makes me feel, that I am also one of the faces of this department.

My god I feel like I sold my soul to the film department. I have given so much of myself, so passionately, to live in service to this space. I have fought to carve out a better working dynamic, a better set atmosphere. I have taught countless underclassmen, and mentored, and struggled through brutally cold sets. For the most part, I’ve enjoyed the challenge. It still feels so strange that I will soon have to distance myself from this place. Cutting off a limb feels too plain– I feel like I’m ripping out a piece of my heart. And yet, if I don’t leave, I may never find my way back again. If the time is right, and the light is good– maybe I’ll make my way back to the WC someday.