Today we’d like to introduce you to Pam Uzzell
Hi Pam, can you start by introducing yourself? We’d love to learn more about how you got to where you are today?
In my mid-forties, I found myself going through my second divorce. It was a low point. Not because the marriage was ending—that was a relief. Instead, I was left sitting with the thought that I had married two people that I knew were wrong for me. And I had no idea why. I realized that the story I had been telling myself up until that point wasn’t working. With the help of a great therapist, I began sifting through all the moments in my life when, rather than trusting my own wisdom about what I wanted, I had instead looked for outside confirmation. This, in turn, started me on a long journey of discovery about what it means to be adopted and the kinds of unexamined baggage I carried. Like most parents, my adopted parents weren’t perfect, but they were good parents. If you had asked them if I cared what other people thought of me, they would have laughed and said, ‘Absolutely not!’ In fact, nothing was further from the truth. I spent decades of my life questioning my self-worth and constantly looking for confirmation of my value from those around me. I remember my mother saying, ‘I can’t ever imagine you being married.’ What she meant was that I was independent. What I heard was, ‘You’re not loveable.’ When my first marriage ended, it was easy to blame it all on my ex-husband. Going through the torturous process of dividing community property in my second divorce, I realized that the only house I needed to get in order was my own.
In the middle of this, I was also struggling to work on two documentaries at once. One was an independent documentary that I had received a grant for. Right about the same time, I was hired by a non-profit to make a documentary about a town in Arkansas. The head of the non-profit had seen another film I’d made set in Arkansas and, knowing that I had grown up in the state, figured I had an inside track. Not being able to give either film my full attention, I had the epiphany that making a film was a bit like a committed relationship. I had never been the type who enjoyed dating multiple people at once, so it wasn’t any wonder that I felt frantic trying to keep two films going at the same time. I decided to set my independent film aside, with the promise to myself that I would come back to it. I also took that grant money and put it in its own bank account so as not to be tempted to spend it on anything else!
This felt like such a minor and obvious decision, but it was one of the first times I’d ever admitted to myself or others that I couldn’t do something. With this one step, I felt my confidence growing. Which was an incredibly good thing, because this film about this noteworthy Arkansas town needed all my attention in order to see the story of the pre-integration Black schools of Malvern, Arkansas. I met and interviewed remarkable people who took pride in the Black schools that they built during the days of pre-integration. I also heard their stories of the leadership and courage it took to attain full integration of the school district in order to give the youth of their community greater opportunities. In the two years it took to make the documentary, Unearthing the Dream, I was immersed in the stories of individuals who relied deeply on their inner wisdom in the face of something as daunting as Jim Crow. Being steeped in their stories, which were exemplified by a clarity around their role in history, changed my brain. This film has aired on Arkansas PBS several times and it’s been a great resource for the community of Malvern, for which I’m very glad. But I know that these residents who shared their stories gave me as much, or more, than my film has given them.
After catching my breath, I returned to work on my independent documentary, Welcome to the Neighborhood. The tagline for this film, ‘The story of an artist, an activist, and a community’s fight to save itself,’ was suggested by a trusted friend who saw the film and was able to distill the core story and themes of the documentary. What happens when housing prices push out the members of a community that built it? What is lost culturally and historically when wealth is attracted to neighborhoods built by marginalized folks? In this case, the community in question was the one that I lived in. The main character, the artist Mildred Howard, became a dear friend, as did many community members of South Berkeley who continue to fight for affordable housing and amenities that enable current residents to remain housed in this historically Black neighborhood. As a relative newcomer to the neighborhood, I had no idea what story I needed to tell. Teaching me the history of the neighborhood wasn’t anything that anyone owed me. I’m grateful that older residents agreed to be a part of the film if I agreed to listen to the history and the effect of current trends as they had lived them.
It wasn’t lost on me that laying down the struggles to keep a non-functioning marriage going and allowing myself to stop acting in a story that wasn’t true for me allowed me the space to deeply commit myself to the two stories told in these films. The kinds of stories I want to tell require trust. Interview subjects have to know that the stories they share will be in good hands. It’s a leap of faith, one that I think the participants of these films could take because I began to trust myself.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
Being a filmmaker of any kind is full of challenges. Before I focused on documentary, I worked as part of sound post-production teams on some very large budget and iconic feature films. It was an important lesson to see that even projects backed by enormous amounts of money were almost non-stop processes of addressing crises. The brilliance of a team of people all working towards the same cause can indeed move mountains. When I switched my focus to documentaries, the same remained true, just with a much smaller team! I worked with talented cinematographers, sound recordists, picture editors, sound editors and mixers, composers, colorists, researchers, and associate producers who made these films happen. Added to that are the friends and associates who test-screened and gave feedback before the film was done. That doesn’t mean that everyone always agreed with each other or me. But they were genuinely interested in seeing the films be its best. I often think about how the world could be if we approached some of the most challenging issues facing us in the same way that film crews do.
Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
My last short documentary was made in the first few months of the pandemic here in the United States. The Bay Area had already begun sheltering in place and as a filmmaker, I really panicked at the idea of not being able to be in person with people to hear their stories. I wondered about the possibilities of collecting stories through Zoom and wound up making a short documentary called Shelter in Displacement, based on a recorded Zoom conversation with the brilliant artist and community activist, Victor Mavedzenge. I masked up and met longtime friend and one of the best Bay Area cinematographers currently working, Morgan Schmidt-Feng, on the eerily quiet streets of Berkeley and Oakland to gather the B roll.
I had been curious about podcasting for a long time and during the relative lull of the pandemic, I decided to give it a try. I thought it might have many of the elements of documentary that I most enjoyed—meeting really interesting people and hearing their stories, editing together a finished project, and then sharing that story with others. I started my podcast ‘Art Heals All Wounds’ mostly because I wanted to interview and share just one story, of the Theatre Lab in Washington, DC. A dear friend, Deb Gottesman, was the co-director of the Theatre Lab and I really wanted to have her and co-director Buzz Mauro on the show to talk about their work. I released it, thinking it would be a one-off. Three years later and 123 episodes in, I continue to be amazed at the artists I’m interviewing and the work that they do. I feel like the times in which we’re living now require finding heroes. These artists are my heroes. Their sense of purpose in undertaking their work and being builders and creators is something that inspires me. I feel so much pride in being able to share their stories.
What do you like and dislike about the city?
I currently live in Oakland. I arrived in Oakland in 1988 and had a beautiful one-bedroom apartment a block from Lake Merritt. I paid $500 a month in rent! The time I lived in Oakland was, quite frankly, a lonely time. I would walk down to Lake Merritt and feel out-classed. Eventually I moved to San Francisco, with stints in the Haight, Potrero Hill, and The Mission, neighborhoods in which scruffy and creative types found affordable rentals and community. I’ve been accused of romanticizing this period in San Francisco, especially my time in The Mission. It was a culturally rich neighborhood, and I felt lucky to live somewhere where I could sustain myself on a burrito for a few dollars and enjoy live mariachi bands that strolled through the restaurants playing for tips. I remember seeing couples in their 50’s and 60’s dancing to live music in the now-closed club El Oso on Valencia St and hoping that I would be going out to dance when I was that age. My friends were artists, teachers and firefighters who worked and lived in San Francisco. While I accept that the only thing constant is change, the changes in San Francisco have been painful for me. At the same time, I have close friends who continue to live and work in San Francisco and I’m glad. They’re all artists. Losing them would be the city’s loss.
After a brief stint in the Sacramento Valley, where heat and seasonal allergies drove me back to the Bay Area, I moved to South Berkeley. I fell in love with the culture and community there. Eventually I was priced out of Berkeley. I currently live in East Oakland. If South Berkeley was a community that embraced newcomers, East Oakland has definitely been a bit more reserved. I respect that. I live in a community that’s anchored by folks that have owned houses here for decades. While no one is opposed to change, there is caution around change that may not benefit them. Being respectful of a place and its history is the price of belonging here. I find it a fair bargain.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.arthealsallwoundspodcast.com/
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/puzzelld/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pam.uzzell
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCDnu3t3yHsrjsXzJfQlyLhg
- Other: https://www.pamuzzell.com/
Image Credits
Shantre Pinkney, Lydia Thelemaque