Lily Baldwin, an artist, filmmaker, and dancer – whose exploration of mind and body was previously highlighted on Directors Notes in Nat Gee’s filmic representation of an anxiety attack Waves – now hits our pages as a director with Ecstasie, her stand-out hybrid documentary that functions as both a study and a transformative ritual. Ecstasie emerges from a profound inquiry and reflection upon the paradox of capturing the uncapturable; how does one film a state of being that, by definition, exists beyond the reach of external observation? Everything came together after a proposal from female-led creative content studio Lief, and a well-timed introduction to the film’s magnetic subject Liz Rosenfeld. The Berlin-based visual and performance artist soon revealed themselves as the ideal collaborator, not only for their articulate understanding of ecstasy as a lived creative practice, but for their ability to maintain authentic self-sovereignty while remaining open to directorial guidance. Through a somatic approach, treating the camera not as voyeur but as witness, Baldwin challenges documentary conventions through a hybrid approach, weaving together talking head interviews, live performance and impressionistic tableaux. Prioritising performer rhythms over technical perfection, the result is a piece of work that mirrors the film’s central thesis: that genuine ecstasy requires space outside conventional structures of performance and spectatorship. As Ecstasie premieres on Directors Notes, we dive into Baldwin’s fascination with the embodied experience, sound acting as a secondary protagonist and challenging the conventional power dynamics between filmmaker, subject and viewer.
Let’s start by finding out how you came together with Liz Rosenfield and then about your collaboration, in particular, how much of it was led by them as a performer in their own right?
I’ve been flirting with the topic of ecstasy for many years. It began in college, studying with author Anne Carson. Investigating texts of Sappho, Simone Weil and Marguerite Porete, I became fascinated – and equally stymied – by the idea that a certain kind of absence/vacancy creates space for something unnamable or larger than oneself. Perhaps the verb “decreate” is a path to ecstasy. There’s also the Greek concept of ekstasis: “standing outside oneself” and “outside of the proper place.”
More recently, I’ve been obsessed with bodies that aren’t performing, which is impossible to capture on film, but something I wanted to attempt. I think when we experience ecstasy, there is no room for an external gaze. This element of personal detached quietude feels necessary today in our saturated culture of visibility. I’ve also been curious to unpack the frame of ecstasy as activism. Ecstasy as a space-place that thrives beyond the status quo. So all of these ideas were circulating in my creative brain when Margo Mars, Founder of Lief and remarkable creative producer, reached out with the proposal that we make a new film together.
The process began in Berlin, where I lived at the time, with interviews: who would want to explore this? And who has a relationship with ecstasy that they can articulate? When I met Liz through mutual friends, I knew the film had to be all about them, that I had something to learn. They know their ecstasy very well – it is a creative practice for them. And I wanted to challenge myself to capture it. The final film emerged from our collaboration, which was centered around Liz’s performance of ecstasy and verbal articulation of it. It led me to create metaphorical landscapes for Liz to move through. I wanted Liz to lead as much as they were comfortable with. It was essential that they maintain integrity with their work while also being directed. A surrender to another POV while maintaining control (self-sovereignty) was a theme for both of us. The process of making this film with Liz was, in fact, ecstatic.
I read that the topic of queer embodiment came out of the questions you asked in the making of Ecstasie. Did you have a concept in mind of thematic explorations when you first approached the idea?
‘Queer’ is a by-product of my community, my lens, my interest in subverting expectation and existing without prescribed and rigid definitions. Embodiment is my lens and my alphabet. Moreover, the body as something that expresses what can’t be spoken, that dies, that houses us, that we have no choice but to be in conversation with.
Before making films I began my career as a professional dancer, and I teach a variety of movement practices, most recently through Body Lab By Lily, an online platform (and Substack) for yoga, functional anatomy, mystic queries and fitness. body and consciousness. I grew up with a mother who cared for people dying with AIDS. I’ve also been through significant curveballs with my own body – a completely novel experience with disability and falling through the gaps of diagnosis. Unpacking mortality feeds all my stories as a multidisciplinary artist. I’m pretty smitten with this mysterious body that carries me around. Ecstasie is yet another offshoot of my years studying embodiment.
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In a description of the film you have written, “This evocative hybrid film re-visions cinematic conventions through an experimental fusion of documentary storytelling with live performance”. How did you approach the balance of these forms?
This fusion of storytelling tools was unlike anything I have ever done. I wanted the term ‘elevated doc’ to actually mean something: To invite the viewer into an accessible, informative and conceptual inquisition while simultaneously disorienting, with the hopes of ‘waking up’. To what or where, I can’t say, but it’s somewhere that circulates and reinforces a body truth. Formally, it was challenging for me to find the balance between talking head doc footage, performance, impressionistic tableaux, and breaking the fourth wall to expose my hand at work behind the lens.
Creating a seamlessness between what Liz was talking about and what we were witnessing them experience was a guiding tenet.
I explored multiple edit structures with editors Monica de Alwis and Mackie Mallison. Creating a seamlessness between what Liz was talking about and what we were witnessing them experience was a guiding tenet. I also wanted the act of watching the film itself to be a transformative happening – which sounds a bit pompous. I can’t mandate transformation for the viewer, but what I know is that I wanted to find a way to engage them on a visceral level. By feeling the story just as much, if not more, than watching the story.
I was so drawn by the line and part of the film where Liz states, “I often feel it is most vulnerable for the people that are watching”, and your interest in provoking discourse around the propensity of exploitation in film, along with so much more.
I love this line too. I was concerned that Liz would feel exposed and wanted to protect them from that – so when Liz said this line, it surprised me, turning the lens back on me. I was the one feeling vulnerable! I think this happens more than we realize – and then we project our experience onto the performer erroneously or accidentally.
The stakes felt high in making this film. It was far too easy to create a sensational film with such powerfully open footage of Liz working with their body. This unnerved me. After shooting in Berlin, I sat watching the intimate footage, unseen and clothed, feeling removed and extremely powerful in my capacity to shape/alter/construct the story through my clicks on a keyboard. I didn’t have enough at stake, and I felt like I needed to ‘call my bluff.’ Asking Liz to share their ecstasy without somehow putting my body on the line too didn’t feel ethical. And the film isn’t about me. I wanted to find a way to include these questions in the final edit, particularly the capacity for coercion (dishonoring truth for the sake of drama and enticement), through editing and camera framing. At the same time, I’m not interested in duplicating reality in film; I want to make something that is not possible in ‘real life’ that also honors authenticity of a body. This type of conundrum is my creative fodder.
You invite viewers in through intimate cinematography and captivating close-ups and shots of Liz’s body. How was the relationship between you, Liz and cinematographer Greta Isabella Conte structured to achieve the film’s visual aesthetic?
Trust, transparency and slowness. I wanted Liz’s rhythms to drive the shoot. I’ve been on the other side of the lens (and onstage) so much – on set there’s lots of waiting for camera, lights, etc. to be aligned, which can stifle or thwart the timing of a performer. I know when my body’s ready, it’s time to shoot, and this doesn’t happen enough. Given the level of intimacy in Liz’s work, and that I wanted to feature in Ecstasie, honoring their needs was a priority over the perfect setup.
Greta is brilliant in her crafted and highly attuned vision. In pre-production, we spent a lot of time exchanging ideas and visuals, designing a loose storyboard for the coverage we needed to build a story arc. And then there were the unknowns of Liz having a real experience onset. I really trust Greta’s impulses and wanted her and Liz to have their own relationship during the shoot. Liz is also incredibly open and vocal. Our collective communication was instrumental in defining our cinematic vocabulary.
Sound is the secondary protagonist to Liz. It’s an essential tool in exploring embodiment and transformative films.
We have to talk about sound design. How did you come to work with Q Department and develop and employ the technologies which have led to such an auditory joy to accompany the visuals?
I’m so glad it spoke to you! Sound is the secondary protagonist to Liz. It’s an essential tool in exploring embodiment and transformative films. Sonic vibration is literally a direct line to feeling. I’ve worked with Drazen and his remarkable team at Q Department on multiple films and immersive projects. He is utterly brilliant and keeps me abreast on all things sonic. I did my own sound editing with stems from the composer Felix Godden, punctuating the visuals (mimicking, in counterpoint and syncopation with the picture editing rhythms), exploring ways to lull the viewer into a trance and then jarring them out of it. Drazen then crafted layers upon layers of sounds, textures, melodies, etc. to craft a world that existed alongside the visual edit (not because of it). I invited him to try things he’s never done. Exploring risk with collaborators feels paramount. For our binaural mix, we recorded Liz’s voice into a special microphone that matched the density of a human head.
What considerations went into designing the film for both collective viewing and individual experiences?
There is so much that’s new for me with this project. I’ve never made a flat (non-360) film with binaural sound, but I had this vision of the viewer sitting alone with Liz, as if they’re on the ground nearby, having their own ecstatic experience in this extreme ASMR landscape. I also like the idea of being surrounded by people while watching such an intimate experience on screen. The topics of this film feel important to get into the world, and therefore demanded a flexibility in viewership. I’m very interested in finding ways to screen films outside of the obvious cinematic, proscenium setup.
Consider that the viewer brings their own perception-projection to interpreting the story, that they may not be aware of.
How did you want Ecstasie to challenge conventional power dynamics between filmmaker, subject, and viewer?
I want viewers to know that everything they see comes from an author/director who has an implicit bias. That the performers onscreen are not always consulted in their depiction, which is consensual and not. To consider that the viewer brings their own perception-projection to interpreting the story, that they may not be aware of. Liz articulates this perfectly in the film: “People are prepped in some way to be told how to consume or how to experience the images that they’re being presented before they even have a chance to encounter them…Taking the time to just sit with somebody and who they are, rather than having to be told who they are first… The eye of the camera can’t be a neutral eye.”
With such a fabulously thought-provoking piece behind you, what’s your next focus?
Ecstasie will continue to screen in various installation formats throughout NYC this summer. I am working on a miniseries with author Sarah Gerard called Ghost Wall, which takes place in the near future in New York City, and follows a conservative PR manager down a time travel rabbit hole to uncover the story of a real and notorious 19th-century abortionist. I’m developing a multidisciplinary book of sorts, edited by curator/writer Ruby Guralnik Dawes, to accompany my feature documentary Chronicle of Hip. And I’m wrapping up a scripted feature film titled Profane, which transfigures the myth of Lilith in a contemporary genre-bending horror set within the confines of a rural Italian convent.
