Documentary Art & Journalism
navigating the space where the two converge
This post is part of a series where I answer questions emailed to me by emerging, fellow filmmakers. If you have a question, leave it in the chat and I will try to get to it!
You can listen to the post here - or read the text, below.
QUESTION:
Zadokite Wood asked: Do you find yourself oscillating between different working worlds of journalism and film or is it all one and the same for you/your work (or somewhere in between)?
ANSWER:
I've found that the line between journalism and documentary art is often blurred, and my work tends to sit at the intersection of the two. Both journalism and documentary film share a commitment to truth-telling, but the way they approach that truth can differ in style, tone, and form. Some of my films (Tutwiler, Coal’s Deadly Dust, Heroin(e)) occupy a more visual journalism approach, while others (Recovery Boys, King Coal, My Love, Hollow) are grounded in facts and non-fiction, but are also interested in exploring cinematic forms.
For me, the power combination of these two fields is seen in works that are both factual (can be trusted) and emotionally resonant (can be felt). It’s a balancing act between the journalistic need to report and the artistic desire to evoke, tapping into the strengths of both worlds to tell human stories with depth and empathy.
Given that I got my start in video journalism, the convergence of these two realms has always informed and shaped my own projects - sometimes creating a challenging tension for me as an artist.
Journalism: Grounding in Facts
At the heart of journalism is the pursuit of facts. In investigative projects like Coal’s Deadly Dust, the approach was rooted in journalistic rigor. I worked closely with PBS Frontline and NPR, collaborating with seasoned journalist, Howard Berkes, to uncover the truth about the resurgence of progressive massive fibrosis (severe black lung disease) among coal miners. The goal was clear: to inform the public, hold power to account, and provide evidence that would lead to informed change.
Journalism requires clarity and precision. Facts must be meticulously checked, sources must be reliable, and the story must be framed in a way that informs the viewer or reader about the issue at hand. But even within these confines, there’s room for human connection. In Coal’s Deadly Dust, we didn’t just report on statistics or industry failures; we focused on individual miners, their personal stories of survival, their children’s feelings about their health, and their fight for justice.
This is where documentary filmmaking enhances journalism—it gives facts a face, a voice, and a beating heart.
Documentary Art: Elevating Emotion and Storytelling
While journalism provides the foundation of facts, documentary art allows for the emotional depth that facts alone can’t convey. Heroin(e) and Recovery Boys explore how documentary art can evoke powerful emotions while staying true to the facts. These films explore the opioid epidemic, but they do so through a cinematic lens that prioritizes human connection over the raw reporting of data.
In Heroin(e), for instance, the story follows three women fighting the opioid crisis in Huntington, West Virginia. While the statistics about the opioid crisis are staggering, the film focuses on the personal stakes and action on the ground—Jan Rader reviving someone from an overdose, Judge Patricia Keller deciding the fate of someone in drug court, and Necia Freeman handing out meals to women on the streets. The film is grounded in journalistic truth, but it’s told through a first-hand, boots-on-the-ground emotional truth. It’s not a film driven by text cards, archival footage, or even talking-head interviews. These were all intentional choices. We wanted to make Heroin(e) a film that shows the power of imagery, pacing, and characters in the landscape of a story that was at the time defined by dire headlines and statistics.
The biggest difference for me between journalism and documentary art is time. Time spent in the field, with people, seeing their ups and downs. This longitudinal study is almost impossible for journalists coming from newsrooms with 24-hour news cycles and daily deadlines. We, documentary filmmakers, know there is no substitution for time. It’s because of this that documentary art offers the freedom to linger on moments of silence, the beauty of a landscape, or the quiet struggle on someone’s face—all elements that don’t always fit within the constraints of traditional journalistic exploration. These moments are essential to patience, understanding, and engagement in ways that hard news can’t achieve.
Where the Two Converge: Truth and Emotion
The convergence of journalism and documentary art happens when both truth and emotion are given equal weight. Hollow, for example, was a project that used journalistic research and reporting to tell the story of McDowell County, West Virginia, a place that has seen decades of economic decline due to the collapse of the coal industry. The facts were critical—statistics about depopulation, unemployment, and infrastructure collapse provided the necessary context. But the heart of the story was in the personal narratives of the people who stayed behind, holding on to their sense of home.
I wasn’t just reporting on what had happened to this community; I was using the medium of film and interactive technology to allow the community to co-create and to allow the viewers to step inside the story, to see and feel what it means to live in a place like McDowell. By combining journalistic integrity with participatory and interactive storytelling, Hollow became more than just a report—it became an immersive experience. This blend of fact and feeling is where journalism and documentary art reach their most potent form.
Navigating the Ethical Line
One of the challenges of working at the convergence of journalism and documentary art is navigating the ethical line between the two. Journalism has (mostly) clear rules about objectivity and accuracy, while documentary film can allow for more creative liberties in how a story is told. For example, reenactments, animation, casting, production design, the use of a musical score, and many other cinematic techniques are part of the documentarian’s toolkit. No matter the methods I choose to tell the story, I always feel a responsibility to the communities I’m documenting.
When we were making Heroin(e), we were acutely aware that we were documenting real people’s lives—people who were in incredibly vulnerable situations. The women I filmed were doing life-saving work, but the people they were saving were often at their lowest points. I knew I had to approach these subjects with the same care and ethical considerations that a journalist would, making sure that their stories were represented fairly and honestly. At the same time, I had to find ways to make the audience feel the urgency of the crisis without sensationalizing it.
Filmmaker Julia Reichert once said, “Documentary is about the everyday struggle of human beings trying to survive and improve their lives.” The ethical responsibility is to show that struggle with both honesty and humanity, without exploiting or diminishing the dignity of the people involved.
Documentary as an Art Form: Reflections on the Making of King Coal
In a position that might make my fellow journalist’s eyebrows raise - I believe that documentary film has the potential to be more than just a collection of facts or a straightforward narrative. It can be a living, breathing work of art that invites viewers to engage not only with the subject matter but also with the emotions and experiences that lie beneath the surface. Throughout the process of making King Coal, I sought to create something that wasn’t just informative but also visually and emotionally evocative. This can be seen and felt through the use of sound design, cinematography, writing, narration, dance, and exploring elements of magical realism. I’d like to walk through some of the ways King Coal finds the tension of truth-telling.
Moving Beyond Facts: Crafting an Artistic Vision for King Coal
Appalachia’s relationship with coal is layered with complexities—economic, cultural, and historical—and I wanted the film to reflect the emotional weight of that legacy. Rather than simply telling a linear story and focusing on interviews, we decided to create something more fluid and interpretive. Our goal was to evoke a sense of reflection and immersion, allowing viewers to experience the culture of coal in a way that transcended the facts.
The Cinematography: Painting with Images
One of the key elements of King Coal is its use of cinematography to create a visual language that communicates beyond words. My husband and collaborator, Curren Sheldon, who served as the cinematographer, and I spent a lot of time thinking about how to capture the essence of Appalachia—the beauty of the mountains, the mechanical grind of coal extraction, and the tension between nature and industry.
Instead of focusing on traditional interviews, we leaned into the power of metaphorical storytelling and juxtaposed it with fly-on-the-wall observation. We used wide, sweeping shots of the Appalachian landscape, contrasted against the industrial machinery of coal mining, creating a sense of scale and symbolism. These images weren’t just about documenting what we saw; they were meant to be felt. The mountains stand tall and majestic, while the coal broken into pieces and floating away on barges, though physically imposing, symbolizes a kind of fragility.
In King Coal, the visuals aren’t simply illustrating a narrative—they are the narrative. We developed a visual language to evoke a sense of both reverence and loss.
Balancing Tradition and Innovation
Even though King Coal is unconventional in some ways, I didn’t want to completely abandon the core elements of documentary filmmaking. The film still includes verite scenes and a narrative arc, but these more traditional elements were interwoven with artistic and symbolic choices. For example, archival footage and real-life accounts were essential to the film, but they were presented in a way that allowed for a broader reflection on coal’s place in the world, rather than just providing straightforward answers.
This approach to balance—between art and information, between tradition and experimentation—is something I think defines King Coal and was a real group effort of our team (kudos to editor, Iva Radivojević for her brilliance). We wanted to show that a documentary doesn’t have to be rigid in its structure to be effective or true. In fact, by allowing more space for interpretation, the film invites viewers to engage with the material on a deeper level.
Sound and Music: Crafting a Sonic Landscape
Just as important as the visuals were, the film’s sound design and music, composed by Bobak Lotfipour played a critical role in building the atmosphere of King Coal. We wanted the soundscape to immerse the audience in the environment of Appalachia, from the steady hum of machinery to the quiet moments of nature reclaiming its space.
Bobak’s score, which moves between eerie and serene tones, mirrors the tension we wanted to convey. The sound of coal trucks rumbling through the hills, the mechanical noises of mining equipment, and the whispers of wind (thanks to breath artist, Shodekeh Talifero) through the trees—all of these elements came together to create a rich sonic experience. The sound design was as much about emotion as it was about accuracy; it was designed to place the viewer in the heart of Appalachia, to make them feel the weight of coal in the air and the land.
The sound wasn’t just background noise—it was integral to the storytelling. In a way, King Coal became a symphony of sound and images, each element playing off the other to create an immersive experience. In the final days of our sound mix, we triple, fact-checked ourselves (thanks Merlin app) that every bird added to the sound design was actually a bird that is present in Appalachia. This may seem extreme to you, but for me, it matters. It’s about trust with the audience.
The Future of Documentary Journalism
As the lines between journalism and documentary filmmaking continue to blur, I believe there is incredible potential in the convergence of these two forms. Documentary film has the power to take journalistic stories and bring them to life in a way that resonates on a deeper emotional level. Conversely, the rigor of journalism can anchor documentary films in a truth that gives them weight and authority.
I will continue to explore that balance, learning from each new project how to push the boundaries of both journalism and documentary art. It’s about respecting the truth while also understanding that the emotional impact is what makes people care about that truth. The convergence is where the magic happens.
Journal Prompt:
- Reflect on a project you’ve worked on or are developing. How do you navigate the balance between journalistic integrity and emotional storytelling? Where can you allow yourself more creative freedom without compromising the truth? Take 15-20 minutes to write about the convergence of journalism and art in your own work, and how you can deepen that balance moving forward.
- Reflect on a time when you had to balance factual accuracy with emotional storytelling. How did you navigate the tension between these two? Are there projects where you’ve leaned more toward one side? How might you blend these approaches more seamlessly in your work? Write for 15 minutes.