Best of Editing Luke #3

Since my first dorm room in film school I've convinced myself that it's easier to be creative in a space that looks the part. In many ways I've always had the mindset of an editor; overly organized and always looking to contextualize my experiences. I'd like think that this is how my space comes across too.

It started with a couple posters and photos and throughout the process of moving between home and school, the expressions just seemed to get bolder with each years new setup. My dorm rooms became somewhat infamous for how ambitiously visual and wallpapered they became. A mashup of pop culture, personal photos, patterns and collections, the rooms were different every time but the style was fairly consistent.

There's something interesting about being so meticulously organized and yet so attracted to busy graphics. I like that I can look at a wall of imagery and feel surrounded by the ideas that went in to creating them. The colours and selections that end up on my wall aren't made haphazardly either. As an avid magazine reader I've always ripped out the images I liked, thinking that one day they would find their way into an art project, frame, or display. The argument was always that it wasn't the individual image that created the meaning or context, instead it was all about the unique combination of graphics that ended up on the wall.

I'd defend the look by saying that anyone could have these images, but it was doubtful that anyone else had arranged them this exact way. In that, I always felt that pop culture could be embraced and still be made more personal.

I've tried to create balance in my new place by framing things out more and not covering entire walls with pictures. I think it still looks pretty distinct (see first image) and it definitely serves the purpose of giving my mind cues to wander when needed. Then again, sometimes it's just about seeing how far you can go (see last image).

A creative space can be a million different things to a million different people, and in my experience it has been. I surround myself with things I like to see, places I've been, personal projects I've worked on, music I love, and things that generally inspire me or remind me what I've already accomplished. A creative space has only one fundamental requirement for earning its designation, and it's really quite simple - it should compel and allow you to be productive.

Best of Editing Luke #2

For every filmmaker (I would assume) there is a certain level of pride and identity wrapped up in what one chooses to call their production company. This company is either quite literally a business or simply a badge or brand that a filmmaker puts on his or her work to represent themselves and their body of work (usually both). From Kevin Smith's View Askew to Tarantino's A Band Apart there's something immediately defining in seeing these credits on the screen. So after considering this I thought it was about time that I addressed this question myself.  

What's the story behind fandrix productions. Why fandrix?

And of course, the easy answer is that my name is Luke Fandrich and it doesn't take a scientist to recognize the connection between Fandrich and Fandrix. True, this is the inspiration for the name. The meat of the story is that I was 12 when I picked this name though. I was thinking about a production company name simply as a mark of ownership on the videos I was sharing with family and friends. This is Fandrich's video - or as it became, Fandrix.

As years passed and I reached my late teens I began to think more seriously about the name and what it meant to me. The more time rolled on, and as I found myself in film school, it became clear that I was locked in. There was no good reason to change my name, if simply for the reason that from the very first short amateur video I ever made up until then, you could see Fandrix Productions or fandrix on it.

Nostalgia and branding have made it so much more interesting, especially since over a decade has past since I started using fandrix. A stylized and hand drawn image of a TV with rabbit ears was my first logo - and it's still kicking around. I occasionally use it on my posters these days. I now have an actual old TV with rabbit ears that I use as part of my logo, or I simply use an image of the rooftop that I've incorporated into Editing Luke branding over the years. The fact that this production nickname has acquired a history of its own is reason enough to continue nurturing it.

While part of the name, logo, and branding is about playing around and creating an experience, there is also a lot to be said about making your work easily recognizable. My goal has never been about personal fame - but if people can recognize the name on the work and have that as a clue to who I am, that's ideal. I'd much rather have the John Hughes type of fame - you recognize the name and the work, but the average viewer probably couldn't pick him out of a line-up.

So, why fandrix? At this point it's because the name links me directly to my changing work from childhood to adulthood, it's a unique variation on my name that I've been able to popularize as representing only me, and I've been able to see myself grow and evolve with a name and logo that is capable of growing and evolving too. It's a time capsule of sorts, that's just too valuable to let go of.

And then again, why not?

Best of Editing Luke #1

Regina, Saskatchewan hasn't changed. The city where I went to university and left last year after deciding I didn't want to finish school is very much the same place I moved away from. What would really change that much anyway, right? I went to the university - yup, this is still the same. I went downtown - the same. Even the Denny's we used to go after drinking - same.

I obviously feel very different than the tired and stuck student I saw myself as at this time last year. After working to pay down my debt, getting paid to actually edit and shoot, and finding new passion in my personal productions, there was a part of me that believed returning to Regina was going to feel epic. The spring air, the lighting, all practically the same as when I packed up the Buick and headed home. What I saw instead was the reason I left. Aside from my good friends, Regina had no more relevance to what I wanted to do now, than it did in March of 2008.

Me next to the Regina sign, celebrating on one of my final nights there.

Without effort things fell right back into place. Strolling through the uni hallways with Tyler felt like any other day I was there, and if I wasn't so focused on finding meaning I probably would've accidentally tried to get into my old dorm. Another year older, a bit more confident, and still as uncertain about the reality of my choices. Leaving school isn't a regret, but a reminder of a different path that I clearly saw and at the last minute decided not to take.

Somehow, thinking about my own potential has only become more exciting.

The weekend was significant for another reason. It was around this time last year, that chatting with my friends Dave and Tyler, we recorded ourselves talking about our favourite film school experiences and memories. I had already clearly stated my plans not to return, but the recording proved just how meaningful the whole journey had been. It was the kind of conversation we'd had hundreds of times, but on the cusp of breaking away from years of formal education, it felt more significant.

I used a few moments from the footage in a preview I edited for this blog:

I don't suppose Regina will ever really be as different or as personally revealing as my imagination says it should be. Instead, it'll always remind me of change and the choices that ultimately resulted in the path I'm on. A living scrapbook that I was a part of for a few years. As long as friends are there, I'll go back. They were always the best part of the experience anyway, and as I'm sure most would agree, they're the best connection we have to where we've been, what we've done, and where we want to go.