We recently connected with Marísa Adame Grady and have shared our conversation below.

Marísa, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. We’d love to hear the backstory behind a risk you’ve taken – whether big or small, walk us through what it was like and how it ultimately turned out.

I’ve always loved movies. I always dreamed of writing and directing my own films — but it always felt unattainable. When I showed a script to a friend who said we could make it a reality, I was nervous. Excited, sure, but nervous and, to be honest — I was scared. What if whatever we made didn’t live up to what I’d been imagining? That’s how I dove into my first professional short film: nervously putting one foot in front of the other. In college, I had made short films where I was the sole participant: writer, director, actor, camera operator, editor. It felt easier to try — even fail — alone. Since then, I worked with video production companies in various capacities, and basically every side of the filmmaking process. But I’d never helmed a production of completely original work. I started working through pre-production paperwork, nervous that I was “doing it wrong” or that it didn’t look professional enough. I started calling locations, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice as I introduced myself as a filmmaker. I look and sound younger than I am, and I was nervous people would think I wasn’t qualified. I was afraid that these doubts would be right. But the more crew I gathered, the more people learned about the script, and the more conversations I had, the more confident I felt about the story being told and in my ability to tell it. My friend who had read the script gave me deadlines, and lots of friends encouraged me that I’d been working up to this challenge for a long time.
We found a location that believed in the script, and whose staff went above and beyond what we needed. We found a crew who fundamentally understood the characters, and would even say things like “Oh, that’s classic X” or “Y would never do that.” It felt so amazing to see that characters from my imagination so resonated with people, they could imagine them outside of the confines of the story being told. They could imagine these characters as real people — and then it felt like my job as a writer was done.
The day of filming was one of the best days of my life. The crew worked seamlessly, the cast brought phenomenal skill to the roles, and the energy was electric. My co-producer and I often say it was just our first of many films. To me, each film is a risk. And the first film was the biggest one of all. But it’s also what stood between me and the career of my dreams. I’m so thankful I kept the words of a close family member in mind: “do it scared.” I’m fortunate that I had encouragement from family and friends whose words of motivation kept me going when fear almost made me shut the door of opportunity. And this first risk has paved the way for all the others I can take as a now-professional filmmaker.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

I was trained in Stage Acting but realized my senior year of college that I loved film too much to only do theater. I also realized that as much as I love the craft of acting, my true love lies in the writing/directing experience. I then spent the next few years trying to be on set any chance I could. I’ve always had non-traditional jobs — au pair, flight attendant, bookseller — so I had schedule flexibility to chase down learning and on-set experience. I’ve been writing short stories and poetry since I was in middle school (and have thankfully improved over time). I published my first book of poetry, ‘reconquista,’ in 2020. ‘reconquista’ encapsulates the investigation of my heritage as Latinx/mestizx — the inherent mix and implied violence of colonialism between Spanish and indigenous roots. My second poetry book, ‘girl becomes collateral,’ was published in 2022 and details loving someone battling addictions. Since then, I wrote and directed two short films: ‘Penance’ and ‘DEMON,’ both of which are being evaluated for entry into film festivals for the fall of 2023. I have another poetry book on the horizon: ‘Semillita,’ a re-telling of my experience as a first-generation college student. I think my voice sets me apart from others. Not only is the voice unique to each individual, but also I find the most power I have to be in the words I share. I’ve experienced a lot in my 28 years of life, and I think I do represent a mix of underrepresented perspectives: Latinx, mestizx, queer, gender queer, neurodivergent, etc.
I’m proud of my constant desire to improve. I believe that’s an innate quality of mine, and because of it I’ve had to learn resilience. I constantly want to try new things, or be the best that I can at a lot of different aspects of artistic practice. In order to learn, you have to stink at things for a while. That’s really crushing at times, but it reminds me that get better with time and practice.
I want people to know that my stories determine their own medium. The stories I have to tell are best suited to poetry, plays, or films — and their content lets me know which form is best suited to them. I used to worry that it was confusing that I don’t stick to one medium, but I don’t feel like I have to. I feel like people who follow the Colibrósa Productions brand have seen my work across these different styles. I’ll probably always experiment with new stories and new styles. So if you’re looking for the kind of creative content that’s always shifting and expanding: come check us out. We have some great stories for you.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

I feel compelled to share about a personal heartbreak that bled into my creative work. My prima-hermana (cousin sister) was the main person when I was growing up who believed in my ability to pursue art as a career. She believed in my voice, listened to my stories, encouraged me to apply to publishers and jobs, etc. It wasn’t until she passed in 2019 that I realized that my entire creative self was a product of her belief in me. My creative endeavors are an essential part of my joy, and losing my best friend made the light of my creativity die too. As cliche as it is, part of me died with her. It still pains me that I was never able to share Colibrósa Productions with her in its entirety. I had just opened the business in 2019, and hadn’t built it out before it was time for her to go. It honestly didn’t seem worth it to continue without her. As I was wading through grief for a few years after that, my motivation to create stories was gone. If I couldn’t share them with her, what was the point? It was only through lots of emotional work — therapy, grief groups, family support, and reminders that she would have wanted me to continue — that I was able to finally start creating again. Even though every mountain conquered has a heartbreak at the top since I can’t share it with her, it’s finally become worth it again to continue this journey of creating. It took a long time of taking things one step at a time, moving without motivation, and holding onto hope that one day the joy would return. And it has. And I’m grateful.

What can society do to ensure an environment that’s helpful to artists and creatives?

In my view, society can best support artists, creatives, and a thriving creative ecosystem by paying fairly for our services, by advocating for fair pay, and by advocating for mental health services for artists and creatives. Although art is essential and enjoyed by people of every socioeconomic class, the ability to make a living wage as a working artist is extremely limited. Often, we’re asked to teach, present, speak — and aren’t offered speaking commissions for these requests. Likewise, we’re often asked to give of our artistic skills without a budget set for our expertise. This furthers the difficulty in making a living as an artist. On a similar note, when we are asked for our rates, we’re often told we’re overestimating the value of our work, time, or the amount of hours that a task will take. I don’t know of any other field where it’s acceptable to question working rates so blatantly. As lovers of art and creativity, advocate for our work to be taken seriously and for us to be paid fairly so we can continue to make original work.

Lastly, mental health of artists is often neglected. Neurodivergence and artistry tend to coincide, and it’s led to a “chicken-and-the-egg” situation, with many people chalking up neurodivergent symptoms to “they’re just an artist, and artists are just quirky.” As such, many artists have had critical mental health symptoms ignored or written off as part of the “quirkiness,” and haven’t been able to get help that they need. Starting conversations around the mental health of artists, and how mental health resources can be made available to artists, can be an important change for the viability and sustainability of many artists’ mental and emotional health. These are important for keeping us here — healthy and able to make our best work.

Contact Info:

• Website: www.colibrosaproductions.com
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• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/company/colibrosa-productions-llc
• Twitter: https://twitter.com/ColibrosaProd
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@Colibrosa_Productions

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