Ice Bucket - Part One
Greenland Is Not For Sale But You Can Visit
Usually, I wait until a project is released before I make public the fascinating details of what we had for lunch, but this is different. The project, only just beginning, follows artist Zaria Forman and her creation of a giant new work. Because her work is both tied to climate change and her personal history, we traveled to Greenland with Zaria to document the beginning of her process - taking photos of icebergs and glaciers.
Although Greenland was not on my bucket list of places to go, it should have been. It’s completely unique. At times it was like a frozen set piece right out of “The Thing” and at others it was like a fantasy illustration of heaven. And it was cold! And I ate reindeer and whale! Like I said - unique. You’ll see what I mean. And yes, we will be continuing to document Zaria’s progress over the next year.
In other news, the business continues to crawl along. I don’t know about you but I’ve had THREE jobs cancel due to the whims of our dear leader. One was for a well known public television series, another for a certain Ivy League university, and the last was for a branch of the armed services that apparently cannot celebrate its birthday as it coincides with said leader’s own. No joke!
But enough about that! People are still making movies and podcasts and everything in between. A project I mixed is at Tribeca! So, as always, feel free to call me for any production or post needs. Would love to hear from you!
What else? I’m biking from Buffalo to Albany along the Erie Canal starting tomorrow. When I was a teenager, I was very into cycling and between sophomore and junior years in high school I biked from San Francisco to San Diego. It was a turning point for me and I came back from that summer with a sense of purpose and potential. Getting out into the real world with family or friends is always the right choice, especially now. I’m looking forward to this trip.
And yeah, this is a long read. It’s good for you. Onward!
Project: Zaria
Cast of Characters:
Gabe - Director
Zaria - Herself
Jared - Zaria’s Husband
Ziggy - Zaria and Jared’s daughter
Derek - DP
March 06, 2025S
No Boat, No Veggies, No Problem
I’m not sure if I slept or merely dozed through the numbing haze of two days’ travel collapsed into one—Brooklyn to JFK to Iceland, culminating here in Ilulissat. My body arrived, but my soul still lagged somewhere in that transatlantic circuit, tethered by a spectral line. Yet, the morning demanded coffee, so coffee I made, trying to coax consciousness to align.
We spent the first full day collecting B-roll in a town that feels like an outtake from The Thing meets an abandoned Maine fishing village. Frozen harbor, scattered boats, bright Lego-like houses (practical or whimsical?), and one memorably drunk fellow clutching vodka and suspiciously neon soda, insistent that we stop rolling. Somewhere behind those kaleidoscope houses, dogs were baying in a ragged choir, their songs bouncing off the ice. The cabs, in stark contrast, arrived within two minutes—a logistical miracle in a place where the supermarkets carry zero fresh produce. And yet, the restaurants are good. A culinary paradox: no vegetables in sight, yet the local halibut curry was made by actual Thai folks and the reindeer steak was borderline transcendent. Whale steak, we’re told, is “liver-y.” Hard pass.
At our rented lodging, I marveled at the open-face toaster, a contraption that basically roasts bread over a heating element. A normal pop-up toaster feels like it’d be a game-changer here, but maybe that’s just me imposing homegrown American convenience. Another note: bread is a scarce commodity, discovered at the end of an exhaustive quest like it’s some hidden treasure. Meanwhile, moldy vegetables lounge mournfully on supermarket shelves, as if to say “We tried.”
After a short siesta, we ambled over to Zaria’s place for an initial interview about her mission: capturing a big picture to help actually conserve actual forest in South America—straight to the heart of planetary stewardship, basically. Then came the boat-ride bombshell: canceled. Sea ice too thick, operator refusing to brave it. But we see boats out there, so maybe we just need a bigger boat or a more daring captain. Perhaps we can wave a wad of kroner at some intrepid fisherman?
Plan B led us on a walk past (and technically over) the museum, descending to the Icefjord. Gorgeous, stark, quiet—except for the thunderous crunch of snow underfoot. Derek led and flowed with the gimbal, Ziggy made snow angels, Zaria snapped photos, Jared wished for better gloves. My thoughts drifted to balaclavas and how the moonlike vista seemed to stretch into infinity. Vast glaciers, ephemeral icebergs, and the sense that you’re perched on the edge of the planet’s secret heart, everything swirling in a cosmic hush.
By nine in the evening, the day’s glacial magic gave way to a practical conundrum: no open restaurants (Sunday closure is real here). We retreated to our Green House, where Gabe channeled his inner Top Chef and whipped up pasta and kippers. A hot meal on a cold night, with the essence of newly arrived adrenaline still humming in our veins. Day one in Greenland: a swirl of wonders, a few misfires, but overall a gentle hush of possibility.
March 07, 2025S
From Sisyphean Icebreakers to Gas-Station Udon
The morning began in a half-dazed scramble: Derek and Gabe shipped off to the museum before the sun finished rising, armed with a drone they planned to send skimming across an ocean of ice. Meanwhile, I took a more terrestrial route, fiddling with my stereo rig and eying a hulking structure at the point beyond our little rental. Power plant? Cannery? Some combination of the two, perhaps. My hope was to capture the distant hush of the bay—but hush wasn’t what I found. Instead, it was two small boats punching through sea ice, sounding exactly like a Brooklyn garbage truck colliding with a lawnmower. Clunk. Grind. Reverse. Clunk. Grind again. A Sisyphean ballet of battered steel hulls. Were they fishermen or just gluttons for punishment? I’ll never know, but the acoustics were glorious in that crisp air, bouncing directly into my mics as if they were standing right behind me, asking for directions.
Eventually, I spotted a footpath winding between two squat buildings. Greenlandic sled dogs lounged on the rocks, blinking at me with stoic indifference, while even the slightest engine hum traveled unobstructed, echoing off ice and sky. Nature recording, this was not—motors seem to permeate every corner of the modern world. Maybe if I scramble up the opposite mountain, I’ll hear pure wind. But as always, real life seldom grants perfect isolation. By the time I returned to our house, Derek and Gabe were stumbling in, half-frozen. A well-earned nap was promptly declared. Then, upon re-entry to consciousness, we were informed: boat ride canceled. The sea ice was too thick for our operator. But we saw boats out there, so are we being timid? Once again, the question of the expedition: Do we need a bigger boat—or a fisherman with fewer inhibitions?
Determined not to dwell, we pivoted toward lunch, revisiting yesterday’s reliable Thai spot. My brilliant plan to “branch out” backfired: I replaced the luscious halibut with a chicken curry that tasted of spicy pressed sawdust. Everyone else? They stuck with the halibut and yellow curry, unwise to deviate. Ziggy, enthroned in her glory, crunched her chicken nuggets (made of “crispy,” she proclaimed) and reminded us that she has a pink sled and desperately wants to see glaciers. Derek and I, walking home, mused that not a single tree grows in this icy domain, so how on Earth did the first people make dogsleds centuries ago? Whale bones, we hypothesized. Necessity is the mother of bone sled invention, I guess.
By evening, we found ourselves at the airport, searching for a pilot with “the big smile,” whom we’d only glimpsed in text messages. Turns out, it was Anna, and soon she was ushering us into a six-seater twin-engine plane after a safety briefing that mostly sounded like: “Don’t open that door in midair.” Off we flew, gliding across a sky that looked suspiciously painted with watercolors. Zaria immediately fought with her camera—faulty focus, weird lens reflections, a bubble window and all the usual cinematic gremlins. Derek and Gabe stepped in, each playing the role of camera tech paramedics, and in short order she was perched at the window, capturing iceberg vistas that might have been carved by some cosmic sculptor on a day off, operating with the precision and zest of a side gunner in an Apache helicopter—though, notably, with a mission that's more about artistic creation than destruction—and as we swept across the landscape. Instead of unleashing chaos, Zaria infused it with vibrant life, like a benevolent deity armed with a camera instead of thunderbolts. Over the headset, I heard one exclamation after another, the “oh my gods” stringing together like a set of prayer beads. Icebergs shaped like vaginas or whipped cream, glaciers stacked like castles. Meanwhile, I spotted a tiny built-in ashtray next to my seat and pictured myself lighting up a Marlboro, calmly flicking ash into the Arctic abyss. Why not, right?
We eventually looped back toward town, glimpsing tracks of sleds and snowmobiles. Cell service sneaked in, like civilization’s little tap on the shoulder. After we helped Anna wheel the plane into the hangar, the next priority was dinner: The Hangout Café, discreetly tucked behind a gas station. Sounded promising in that classic “best meal in an unlikely place” sense. Perhaps not. My “Beef Udon” was lukewarm broth reeking of dog-chew-toy, topped with noodles that presumably doubled as fishing line. Gabe’s ribs were slathered in a sauce I can only call “mysterious,” and Derek’s beef stew caused me to wonder if we’d all collectively lost our sanity. Yet, as the Stoics remind me, hunger is the ultimate seasoning. I slurped every last drop.
And then we were done—bags of gear, a swirl of new footage. “Success!” we said. It felt a little like a ragtag victory parade, all of us trudging back to our houses, wind-chapped, exhausted, and vaguely euphoric. Sure, the boat ride was scrubbed but we soared over glaciers, saw drifting cathedrals of ice… Huzzah, indeed.
Got Boats?
The End
I’m starting a new personal project called “The End Of Work” and if that sounds scary or intriguing, then I’m interested in talking to you about your work - past, present and future. Like my film “Welcome To The Machine,” it’s going to explore the intersection of technology, society and humanness.
Hit me up and we’ll chat.