What is a scene?

some scenes speak, some don't—but all say something

There is a scene that talks. It’s the voice explaining what happened, or what it felt like, or what it still feels like when they turn out the light at night. It gives you the facts. The history. The heartbreak. It says, “This is the way it was.”And you write it down.

There is a scene that makes you feel. No words. Just light falling through trees, a person’s back as they walk away, a mother’s hand folding a shirt that no longer fits. You don’t know why your chest gets tight, but it does. And that’s the point.

There is a scene where you are looking. Where you’re not told what to feel or how. You are watching someone brush their hair. Slice apples. Feed the goats. You watch the steam rise from a bowl of beans. You learn to sit still.

There is a scene where you are learning. Not in the textbook sense—but a redefinition. The kind of learning that shifts you slightly, so you’re never quite the same again.

There is a scene that makes you mad. It shows injustice without fanfare. It reveals systems with no need for villains. The cruelty is casual. Bureaucratic. Quiet. You clench your jaw. You want to do something. The scene sits there, saying nothing. And that silence is the accusation.

There is a scene where you laugh. Not to lighten the load—but because life is funny, even when it’s not. The kind of laugh that surprises you. That lets in breath. That reminds you these people are not caricatures. They are whole.

There is a scene where you are sad. Not manipulated, but invited. A goodbye. An empty house with the lights still on. A hand resting on a hospital bed. You feel the ache of something passing.

And then—there are the scenes that don’t fit in any category. The ones that live between the edits, in the glances, the hesitations, the half-said things.

Not all scenes speak. But all of them are saying something.

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I’ll be in Durham, N.C. this weekend for the Southern Documentary Convening—screening King Coal and delivering the keynote. If you’re coming through, I’d love to see you there.