Make Something Beautiful

(Even If It’s Just For You)

Watch “In Light” here

This morning, as Curren, the kids, and I sat eating eggs and toast, I put on In Light by Julianna Barwick featuring Jónsi. I didn’t think much of it—just something to carry us through breakfast—but they were glued. Completely still. Watching. Listening. And so was I.

I was reminded: art—music, film, a moment—can be both a mirror and a doorway. It can hold us where we are. It can carry us somewhere else.

I often find myself dismissing the work I do. Filmmaking, storytelling, editing a video in the quiet corners of the day—it’s easy to label it as indulgent. Or worse, pointless. Technology can feel overwhelming. The internet too crowded. And yet, here we were, being held by something someone else made. A few minutes of strange, ethereal beauty. A sliver of someone’s imagination transmitted to our dining room table.

It made me want to make something weird this morning.

Years ago, I had this idea—half-formed and dreamy—to make a short film about mermaids in Summersville Lake in West Virginia. I even bought a fake mermaid tail, and asked a friend to play a mermaid. But I never followed through. Part of me didn’t know what the story was yet. And part of me was tangled in the old trap: what will this do in the world?

As if every creative act needs a measurable outcome. As if wonder isn't enough.

But I’ve been thinking lately—can’t things just be fun? Or beautiful? Or strange for the sake of being strange? Isn’t that, in itself, a form of nourishment?

So this morning, I finally edited the footage into a little diddy I’m calling Floodmother. A not-to-be-taken-too-seriously short about the fictional mermaids of Summersville Lake. Inspired by the real history of Gad, West Virginia—a farming community that once stood where the lake now is. Gad had a general store, a post office, a little school. But in the name of flood control, the town was sold, and the people were forced to leave. Today, when the lake drains for maintenance, you can still see remnants of what once was—stone foundations, carvings, roadways that led somewhere. That memory beneath the water. That haunting. It’s where my imagination met folklore and built a home for a (sorta) story.

Floodmother is imperfect - no real color, sound design, or story to speak of. Is it wise, from a financial standpoint, to spend a morning editing a video that only a handful of people might see? Probably not. But from a life point of view? Absolutely. It felt good to put a period on a sentence I started years ago. To make something for the sake of making it.

So here’s your reminder: take a couple hours to relish something. Beauty doesn’t have to justify itself. And neither do you.