So… I did it.
I finally bought the camera.
The expensive one. The one I had in my cart for two years.
Then came the lenses, the lights, the mic, the rig, the SSD, the cage, the ND filters (why are there so many?), and that cable I wasn’t sure I needed but YouTube said “don’t shoot without it.”
It felt like I was building Iron Man’s suit.
I was ready.
Armed. Dangerous.
An artist finally about to bring their vision to life.
And then… I filmed my first shot.
I remember sitting down, importing the footage, clicking play—and freezing.
It looked bad.
No—worse than bad. It looked like I shot it on a potato… in a cave… during a power outage.
The colors were flat.
The sound? Echoey.
The shot that felt so “cinematic” in my head looked like a high school project I wouldn’t even turn in.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen. Quiet. Embarrassed. A little heartbroken.
I had all this gear.
So why did my dream still look like a mess?
You know that moment when you’ve imagined a project for so long, you can see it perfectly in your mind?
The emotion. The colors. The way the light kisses the character’s cheek. The music swelling right as the shot cuts to black.
And then you try to make it…
And it looks like a sock puppet horror show?
Yeah. That.
Here’s what no one tells you when you start:
There’s a huge, unavoidable gap between your taste and your current skill.
That gap? It’s not a problem.
It’s proof you’re an artist.
It means you see the good stuff. You know what great looks like.
Your brain already lives in cinema.
But your hands haven’t caught up yet.
And that’s normal.
In fact, that’s the journey.
Okay, here’s the part where we stop sulking and start building.
You’ve taken the first shot (literally). You’re in the game. Now let’s talk about how to level up.
You won’t make your dream project first. You’ll make a dozen almosts, a bunch of meh, and a few *why did I do that??*s.
That’s the process. Keep going anyway.
Challenge: Make the worst scene you can. Intentionally.
Overexpose it. Misframe it. Make it weird.
Now, do it again, but fix one thing.
This teaches you what actually matters. It kills perfectionism and builds skill.
After every shoot, ask:
Filmmaking isn’t just about doing—it’s about seeing why things work.
Watch your favorite scene. Try to copy it shot-for-shot.
You’ll fail.
But in failing, you’ll learn:
Soon, you’ll find your own rhythm.
The final product is the cherry on top. The real juice? It’s in the tinkering, the failing, the fixing.
That moment when the shot finally looks better than your last? That’s your dopamine. Chase that.
If you're here, frustrated that your vision doesn't match your output—good.
It means you care.
It means you see what you're aiming for.
It means you're an artist already.
You just have to keep showing up until your hands catch up with your eyes.
So dust off the discouragement.
Laugh at the bad footage.
Make your next mess.
And remember: every masterpiece started as “meh.”
I don’t just make things look good. I make them work.Websites, brands, films and stories built to connect and built to last.