Honestly, I didn’t lean on many visual or cinematic references for this project. What I carried was mostly in my head — a sense of style, a feeling of movement, a way of seeing. Sure, I looked at a few sports-related visuals, because it was a world I hadn’t filmed before, but that was it.
The idea was to let my own voice come through, to let my personal style emerge freely. I wanted a space for pure experimentation, without judgment, without being tethered to what others had done. In professional work, I often over-prepare with references, but here, I wanted the opposite: freedom. What I saw, what my eyes felt, guided me. That was the key.
In terms of narrative, I avoided the usual interviews. Instead, I built a story from the children’s reflections, capturing their thoughts and feelings as they shared them, piece by piece. Then I wove those moments together in a way that felt poetic.
At its core, the short film is about growth — the personal evolution sparked by sport, by community. From discovery to skill, from individual practice to teamwork, from rivalry to mutual respect, the children’s experiences reveal how sport shapes not just bodies, but lives. It crosses boundaries, connects people, and fosters growth. That’s the narrative I followed, guided by their own words and gestures.
Artistically, my direction was listening. Watching. Observing them in moments of focus, joy, frustration, and camaraderie. Noticing the bonds forming between teammates, the respect between rivals, the small but profound ways they learned from one another. That observation became the lens through which the film was shaped.
At the end of the day, this piece wasn’t about me imposing a style or copying references. It was about capturing what was already there, letting the images breathe, letting the story reveal itself through the children and the rhythm of their game.
