Donna Weng-Friedman is a renowned classical pianist-turned-documentary filmmaker, and also the subject of our latest segment: An Artist Transitions. Her story is one that will be familiar to many artists and viewers but isn’t often told: it’s about pivoting from one medium to the next, about making work outside your comfort zone, and facing challenges as well as taking big risks.
Donna not only transitioned from being solely a musician to also becoming a filmmaker with her documentary short, “Never Fade Away” — but our piece further follows her as she closes the chapter on a year spent showing the film at different festivals. As Donna premieres her documentary for one of the last times at The Jamestown Arts Center, she reveals what it feels like to mourn a project and face the future, one that will no doubt be full of even more transitions.
Below is an edited and condensed version of our interview. You can find the full version of the Q&A, held after the screening at The JAC, , here. As a complement to our profile on Donna Weng-Friedman, we’ll also be showing her documentary, Never Fade Away. It’s a wonderful film to watch after viewing “An Artist Transitions.”
LACY: Well, I’m so curious about your life as a world-renowned classical pianist, and then how you transitioned to filmmaking. Did that change the way you thought about yourself, what you’re capable of, or even your identity in some ways?
DONNA: That’s a good question. So I’ve been a professional pianist since I was a kid. I started when I was 6, went to Julliard when I was 7, and I started winning competitions and performing professionally when I was 12. But I believe in growth and I believe in opening up, and I think that’s what happened with the film. My world opened up, it grew, and at the heart of it is music. Music will always be my first love, my first passion, and I’ll drag it with me for whatever else I do. And who knows, maybe another film. For this project however, film seemed like the right thing to do to honor my father’s story.
LACY: How did you decide on the look of the film? Not only does it include dance, but it’s also found footage, reenactments, it’s shot in black and white, and also color. There’s a voiceover as well.
DONNA: I will be the first to admit that I never took a class in film school, but I do have a close connection with how to tell a story through music. I’ve been doing it for so long and visually, every time I perform a piece, I see it in my mind’s eye. If you see me in the city at a bus stop waiting for my bus, I’m crying because when I hear the music in my head, I see something. So visually, I knew exactly how I wanted everything to be. And that pivotal moment when (New York Ballet principal dancer) Chun Wai Chan is playing my dad in the basement, when he hears the music, that’s when the film changes to color. Maybe it’s corny, but I loved it.
LACY: With every project there’s a crucible moment, one where the creator doesn’t know if they can keep going or not. What was that moment for you?
DONNA: May 31 was going to be the world premiere at NYU, and that morning I turned to my husband and told him that I needed to pull the film, that I couldn’t do it. I was overcome with this feeling of “Why should anyone care?” I guess you call that imposter syndrome. And I think we all go through that, the self-doubt. But my husband said, “You’re going to do it. You’re going to be fine. You work so hard, you have these incredible artists.” But it was still a huge struggle. So the first night, I don’t even know if I sat there, but then I heard the audience respond. They laughed where they were supposed to and they sighed. And so that actually made me feel better. And the second night was better, and the third night was easier. But I will say, I did not really start enjoying watching my film until four months after that.
LACY: I wonder if you could share the story that you told me earlier about what happened to you on the train.
DONNA: I took the train from New York City. It’s like a four- or five-hour train ride, and the people sitting with me were lovely and they turned out to all be Asian, though that was just a fluke. Then as it was pulling up to one of the stops, this elderly man with white hair said, “Excuse me.” I look up and he has the sweetest face and he said, “I just want to thank you for all the joy that you bring through your music.” And I didn’t know this guy. But by the time I got it together to ask him any questions, he was gone. He was off the train going to his next stop. And it was like one of those magical moments. Was it real? Did I dream that?
