Anne Giles Clelland

About That Corporate Video

Witnessing my sister give birth to her daughter, standing alone by a gargoyle after climbing the circling tower stairs in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, turning the corner at the Accademia in Florence and seeing Michelangelo’s David in the light - these are peak moments of wonder and rapture in my life.

I cried each time, I think, because I felt profoundly moved by what I saw, and so separated from it.  I was a part of what I viewed only as an audience is part of a play. 

Being unable to give birth to a child as a young woman has affected me as a mature woman in ways I cannot know.  That ultimate moment of being human, of bringing forth something from nothing, from being a part of the creation of existence, I have not had and I do not know.

When I announced that my company would have a film made by a media production company, I termed it a “corporate video” with a “corporate message.” 

Looking back, even then I think I knew it was otherwise, or more, to me.

I asked a musician friend to create a song.  Into silence, with who he is and with his art, he brought forth music and words.  Into seeing, I asked the media production company’s founder to take the song and direct and create a film from who he is and with his art.  I didn’t supervise.  I let go.  

I had a part in the play.

When the film was ready, I hesitated to view it alone and wanted to wait for the public premiere to be shoulder-to-shoulder with colleagues and friends.  Looking back, I think I was afraid I would break open from its beauty.

Urged by almost all to see the film before a public viewing, including by the film’s director, I relented. 

I broke.  My husband held me. 

I adopted a little cat from a shelter in Tampa. Stroking her one day, I was filled with awe at her presence and, without thought, said, “You are perfect.”

At the public premiere, I cried.  My sister cried.

Look at the little video in the YouTube box.

It’s perfect.

A Personal Short Film History

On the eve of Handshake Media's corporate video premiere, I continue to reflect on the origins of my short film aesthetic.  I showcased Skater Dater on Handshake 2.0, a short film I saw in the early 70s, which I consider my first experience with a music video.  The original score was without lyrics, simply instrumental, and no word was spoken the entire film.  I was enchanted by the story, the music, and the power of the face and body movement to express profound truths.

I learned the power of perspective, also in the early 70s, sitting in Miss Round's chemistry class at Blacksburg High School.  She showed Powers of 10 and I was sure I was lying by that checked tablecloth and then taken physically out-out-out then in-in-in, all at terrific speed, accompanied by eerie, suspense-filled music.  Three and half decades later, I know my decade-and-a-half-year-old brain was indelibly marked.  When problems and opportunities arise and a creative perspective is needed tenfold, I embark readily on that wild ride of going out-out-out then in-in-in.

A Cost-to-Benefit Analysis of Creating a Corporate Publicity Video

Uh, yeah, I might ought to have done that.

Why are we having a video made for Handshake Media, Incorporated and Handshake 2.0?

The reason defies a cost-to-benefit analysis.  It’s a matter of the heart.

Have I mentioned I was born the oldest child of two oldest children, both known for minds beyond measure, one particularly for analysis, one for creativity?  The genes for the smarts got lightened, the genes for the creativity got magnified, and that drivenness of the oldest child?  Thank heavens for weight-lifting.  I can push and hold still a minute.

I have said and written that I live acutely.  That means I am acutely open to being moved.  I am moved by art.  I have rounded a corner and seen a sculpture, observed the look of the eye in a painting, heard one note sung by one voice, and been moved almost beyond bearing.

Can I just say this way of living has its beauties, but it’s not the easiest way to go?  Do the words “intense,” even “overwhelming,” come to mind?  Well, you and me, too, bro.

I had an idea that I thought and felt could change the way things were done and have a positive impact on people, even the world.  I started a company to make it happen.  That’s pretty much the definition of entrepreneurship.

As a person who knows, somewhat, my limits and expanses, and has learned in bitterly hard ways the value of running my ideas by others before implementing them, I applied for my company to join technology incubator and business acceleration center VT KnowledgeWorks.  My company was accepted and I have found being a member similar to weight-lifting.  I can still push, but have a  moment to pause and reflect.

The smarts side and the drive side of me get the necessity of formulating a business model, identifying a value proposition, forecasting revenue, expressing a corporate message, all that stuff, and they do it.

The creative side of me is appalled by all this intellectualism, stands tall as only the truly convinced can stand, and says, “The idea!  The idea!  The idea is a matter of the mind and of the heart!”

So, I saw some YouTube videos.  I was moved.  To tears.  Some people trust their guts.  I do, too, but I really trust my tears.  If I’m crying, I’m feeling a truth.

I have a camera that takes good videos.  I can make a cool YouTube video.

But in the videos that moved me, no one said anything.  They were doing things to music.

My friends and colleagues have told me they’ve learned to feel both excitement and dread when an email arrives from me with “Wild and crazy idea” in the subject line.

A musician friend received a “wild and crazy” email.  With heart, he wrote the song.  This video has heart.  I replayed the end of the video until I could make out the logo of who made it.  I met with him.  He’s making the video.

Although my smart side, my drive side, and my creative side have all tried so hard to express my company’s idea in words, I think the idea has to be heard and seen.  With heart, through art.

And that’s why we’re making a video.

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Video credit:  Z. Kelly Queijo