When an "Ordinary World" Becomes Extraordinary

Growing up, my Grandmother Winifred was the only person I knew who had cable television. I tried to visit her as often as humanly possible because I loved her but more importantly at the time because her home was the only place I could access my childhood obsession… with MTV. Once I was confident that Winifred was tucked safely into bed at night, I would sneak into the family room and binge-watch my favorite channel until the sun rose. Somehow she always seemed to know that I was spending too many hours in front of "the idiot box" (as she called it). Experience taught me that the only time I could be stopped was while she was awake. So for eight solid hours a night, I was free to transfix myself with MTV and pray that I would catch any of the videos masterly crafted by Australian powerhouse director Russell Mulcahy for my favorite band Duran Duran. Deep down inside, I knew that I had found my calling. I wanted to be the one filming from a helicopter as members of Duran Duran ride elephants along the golden sand beaches of Sri Lanka! I longed to craft concepts with my favorite band, wearing post-apocalyptic avant-garde couture while braving Road-Warrior-inspired scenarios in the Australian desert sand dunes of Cronulla! Winifred could not possibly understand that I was not just blindly "checking out" in front of the idiot box but rather studying… for my future as a Music Video Director.

Fast forward to the present day, and music video budgets are typically a fraction of what they were in 1985 when I was growing up. Fortunately, I've found that a lack of funding pushes artistic resourcefulness further and fosters even more inspired mental creativity as a result. Most music video directors do not have yesterday's luxuries of jetting off to lavish locations, spending extensive days filming, and throwing money at problems to make them vanish. Due to the current music video climate, I found I could redistribute funds by becoming an art director/set designer alongside my job as a music video director. By learning how to art direct and construct set designs, I forgo the cost of hiring others and put more money into props and materials to make my concepts more awe-inspiring. Thanks to creative self-construction, I don't have to lament over the evil king in my music video getting the $100 throne used by every fifteen-year-old for her quinceanera. Instead, I am free to select the $400 custom sculpted baroque throne with golden angel heads adorning the armrests.

I have made elaborate foam cage headdresses throughout my career, constructed walls filled with tiny multicolor pills, hewed custom checkerboard flooring for gigantic chess pieces, and fashioned heavenly sets filled with enormous cotton candy clouds illuminated by neon lights. Each time I pull out my scissors, I embark on an exciting new art directing adventure. I'm constantly making something different for each project, and as a result, my job thrills me on many levels. First, I feel an exhilarating rush of excitement whenever I conquer new design and construction challenges. Second, I grow in new directions and deposit knowledge into my vault of experience with each passing project.

During the global pandemic, I found myself out of work like many other fellow creatives. I could feel my dreams stirring restlessly inside my heart. During the early days of lockdown, I learned that one of my favorite members of Duran Duran (John Taylor) was ill with COVID19. I began contemplating the mortality of others, myself, and my dreams. My ultimate goal has always been to direct a music video for Duran Duran. I realized that if members of the band die and/or conversely I die…that dream will also die incomplete and lost within the ether.

"How can I make my ultimate dream come true while locked away inside my one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles with no income?" I pondered. Determined, like all fervent dreamers, I would find a way. Amid multiple lockdowns and global quarantine restrictions, I resigned myself to creating the ultimate Duran Duran tribute music video by using newly released Funko toy dolls made in the image of each band member's likeness. Inspired by the hauntingly beautiful Duran Duran track "Ordinary World," I set forth on my new passion project video adventure. First, armed with scissors, tape, hammer, nails, and sheer will, I recreated some of the band's most iconic moments from their greatest music videos. Then, taking ideas further, I told a story contrasting the glory of the decadent 1980s with the current atmosphere of pandemic-related societal despair combined with the volatility of ideological divisiveness and undercurrents of clashing culture.

Creating joy within the looming darkness, solitude, and uncertainty of 2020 was a gift that I bestowed upon my soul. Taking responsibility for facilitating personal dream realization impassioned me forward and breathed new life into everyday existence. Each morning I awoke excited and inspired through the power of my own mind and spirit. Being sequestered amid the Los Angeles lockdown may have limited my physical presence, but it unleashed the mental capacity to manifest an unrealized decades-old dream.

Quickly, my days were filled crafting ethereal, ghostly figures, tattered pirate ship sails, and 1980's period piece outfits for Barbie Dolls. I found myself manufacturing a post-apocalyptic homeless doll city on my back patio porch one day, only to transform the same patio into candle-lit temple-filled jungles of Sri Lanka the next. The overall state of my apartment looked as if an international craft expo threw up inside of a toy store with two highly interested house cats consistently parading through (and occasionally shredding) each carefully constructed vignette. My living room became ground zero for rotating sets, props, and wardrobe design. Yet, I found beauty, excitement, and inspiration amid the volcanic explosion of craftacular chaos.

Since most stores were closed, I sourced materials from the internet and from within the confines of my own apartment. If something didn't exist, cost too much, or would take untold months to deliver, I unearthed solutions from my own materials. For example, when I needed tiny feathers for a pillow fight between dolls, I grabbed my trusted orange-handled scissors, cut open my down filled bed cover, and extracted the required amount. Likewise, instead of waiting for bolts of cloth to arrive (or never arrive) to construct the necessary and ever-rotating Barbie Doll wardrobes, I cut any needed materials directly from my own clothing.

Working with dolls was a new experience for me. Their motions were limited, but their environments were limitless. On certain days I would shoot stop motion sequences of dolls shopping for girlfriends inside a room covered from floor to ceiling with silver Mylar (paying homage to Duran Duran's cheeky music video "Electric Barbarella"). Sometimes my dolls would find themselves rotating on a mirrored 1980's discotech floor littered with supermodels, televisions, and explosions of Mylar confetti. Other days, my band dolls would spend time in an entirely fur-lined spaceship flying away from a world filled with problems (giving a nod to Roger Vadim's 1968 movie "Barbarella" where Duran Duran found the inspiration to name their band). The thought occurred that a part of me was also inside the spaceship, flying away from my own problems. Yet, at the same time, I was achieving a dream, and doing so brought me immense inner joy and a sense of significant accomplishment. My tribute video was a way of saying thank you to Duran Duran and Director Russell Mulcahy for electrifying my young mind and inspiring my career path. With so much hostility and uncertainty permeating the atmosphere outside of my Los Angeles apartment, it felt wonderful to be focused on nothing but gratitude and creation. Directing a music video for Duran Duran had always been a lifelong goal, and despite limiting global circumstances, I found a way to make that dream come true. I was proud of myself.

A fellow professional once told me that "music videos are like a love affair, and directing a movie is like a marriage." No music video takes a year to complete, but due to the pandemic, my love affair time-lapsed into a happy marriage. Ironically the main holdup was my inability to film a doll wedding. The music video for the Duran Duran track "Ordinary World" features the band and a wedding set inside the beautiful Huntington Gardens of Pasadena. Not paying homage to this video would be criminal. I had the beautiful bridal Barbie ready with her custom couture hat and gown that I created out of a deconstructed toy horse feed bucket, felt, ribbon, glue, and prayers. I cut and dyed her hair and constructed a custom bouquet with perfectly placed flowers and a gold ribbon to match the Duran Duran video flawlessly. The only issue was my agonizing uncertainty in waiting for the gardens to open back up.

I realized that my pandemic concerns were focused in entirely different directions than those of my friends and family. Due to the seemingly ridiculous nature of the origin of my unrest, I knew it was best to keep my creative problems to myself. However, real issues were unfolding around me daily while I lamented over specialty iceberg bubbles being unavailable and my inability to obtain an elusive (yet necessary) sumo wrestling doll. As an unemployed professional liquidating my investment portfolio to survive, I was a part of those issues but was more concerned and consumed with turning this one dream into reality. I laugh now when I think about how I fretted over a doll nurse hat I ordered on Etsy from a designer in Russia that never arrived. Although my woes may seem trivial in the broad scheme of things, I realize that my passion for details, construction, and getting things right is an integral part of paying respect through my art form. Songs are a precious part of a musical artist's soul, and their visual counterparts should honor their creators and mirror their passion and dedication. Likewise, I believe that music accompanied by video should touch the viewer's soul by unifying the artist, the video director, and the viewer in time. Every lens that I choose, nail I hammer, and cut I make with scissors is done with that concept in mind.

With my doll music video shot and finally "in the can," I was able to distribute all of the associated toys to a foster children's toy drive last Christmas. I smile when I think of some little girl opening her present and finding a beautiful doll wearing the dazzling purple encrusted Swarovski crystal outfit I made. Now, as I embark on the editing process, my heart resounds triumphantly when I imagine fellow Duran Duran fans finding joy in my labor of love. In many ways, my tribute video pays homage to the golden era of MTV, my childhood, and the optimistic dreams that originate for all of us through the unincumbered eyes of youth. Over a year later, I am still uncovering random Mylar confetti pieces lodged into obscure corners of my home. Every time I find a wafer-thin gold star or electric fuchsia disk peering out from under a floor rug, I pause to smile. I am touched by the realization that I am a grown woman who allowed herself to spend a year playing with dolls, and these are the shining remnants of my dream come true…