The Genesis Project
An intimate, surreal portrait of painter Emma Fineman
Directed by Camilla Greenwell
words by Katie Huelin
With The Genesis Project, director Camilla Greenwell turns her lens toward painter Emma Fineman. Shot on the edges of Porthmeor’s cliffs and within its storied studios, the film drifts between painting, poetry, and sound, dissolving the boundaries between image and memory, gesture and landscape.
Greenwell, whose practice moves fluidly across dance, documentary, and portraiture, is drawn to the intersections of movement, place, and inner life. With this short film, she invites us into Fineman’s world, allowing colour, texture, and sound to converse on their own terms.
The Genesis Project feels like more than a portrait of an artist at work; it moves into a deeply emotional, almost spiritual terrain. What drew you to Emma Fineman as a subject, and how did you begin shaping the film around her inner landscape rather than a traditional studio process alone?
I first came across Emma’s work because Porthmeor Studios, where she was in residency at the time, had posted about her and the Genesis Project which she was working on down in St Ives. I was immediately drawn to her paintings and curious about her process. I reached out knowing her residency was almost over, expecting she’d be too busy to meet, but miraculously we found a single day that worked right before she left. It felt like a poignant time to enter her space — she was finishing the work, and I was able to quietly observe.
Because we weren’t trying to build a set narrative, the process flowed very naturally. Before meeting, we had exchanged emails and ideas — initially imagining working with local dancers, since choreography and movement are central to my practice. But it was too late to build something of that scale, so we began thinking about how performance could enter this film in subtler ways.
What struck me most was the serendipity of it: Emma had been envisioning her project as a space for performance and collaboration, so when I reached out, our intentions aligned beautifully. We shared references like The Colour of Pomegranates and Maya Deren’s Meshes of the Afternoon and made only a loose plan, which was possible as I was filming alone. That intimacy gave the work its shape — we spoke about things we might never have shared if other people had been present, and the film carries that depth of exchange.
You beautifully bring painting, poetry, sound, and landscape into a cinematic sanctuary. How did you approach blending these mediums so fluidly for the film?
For me, blending mediums begins with listening. Emma’s practice already contained so many threads — painting, text, mythology, performance — and my role was less about imposing structure and more about letting those elements converse with each other. I thought a lot about translation: how the gestures of painting could become movement, how the textures of sound could hold memory, how words could bring us into this world, alongside colour on canvas. Once we allowed those mediums to overlap, the film naturally became this kind of sanctuary space, where boundaries dissolved and everything flowed together.
“Most of my career has involved being invited into intimate spaces — artists’ studios, dance rehearsal spaces — where vulnerability is part of creation. I’m very aware of the responsibility that comes with that. ”
There’s a striking interplay between the natural elements, the cliffs, the sea, the red string coiling around rocks, and the acts of painting and speaking. How did you think about the dialogue between the environment and Emma’s artistic process?
I wanted to bring elements of the studio outside, especially gestures Emma uses while painting. As I often work with choreography and movement, I was curious about how those same movements of creation would feel against the vastness of the landscape. It became a dialogue between Emma, the elements, and the camera.
The red string was Emma’s idea — a way of bringing in a symbolic object, much like in Meshes of the Afternoon. It carried echoes of myth while also tying back into the gestures of her painting — a thread that wove the studio, the body, and the landscape together.
The film carries this grainy Super8 texture. How do you feel this format shaped the intimacy of the viewing experience?
Film has a dreamlike quality — it holds a texture that immediately feels closer, softer, more intimate. But beyond the way it looks, shooting on film shaped how we worked that day. I only had four rolls of Super8, which gave us about twelve minutes of footage in total. That limitation slowed everything down.
Instead of overshooting or constantly checking a monitor, we paused, reflected, and let moments unfold with more care. That slower pace also opened space for conversation, so the intimacy you see on screen is very connected to the intimacy of the process.
You weave in the words of Audre Lorde alongside Emma’s voice and Jan Brzezinski’s layered soundscape. What role did language and sound play in creating the dreamlike meditation we experience as viewers?
Jan created this layered soundscape using recordings Emma had made in her studio and from the landscape, but he kept them slightly off-centre, so nothing aligned too perfectly — it had the quality of a dream.
At first we hadn’t planned to include Emma’s voice, but once the edit was complete we realised the piece needed the intimacy and direction of her speaking, and it changed everything. Hearing her voice draws us into her world, especially since the texts she reads also appear within her paintings.
Emma suggested weaving in the quotes she had been working with in her research, alongside her own writings. They added a deeper resonance, tying her visual language to a lineage of feminist and queer voices, and the sound made the whole film feel like a meditation — not linear, but layered, like memory itself.
Much of your work explores memory, grief, and reclamation, especially of the feminine. How does The Genesis Project extend that ongoing thread in your filmmaking?
It’s funny — when you make work with and about others, you don’t always realise the themes you’re carrying forward until you see them reflected back. I didn’t approach Emma thinking we would make a film about grief, but as we walked and talked that day, it surfaced naturally, and it found its way into the film.
I think I was drawn to Emma’s work precisely because I could sense threads of memory, transformation, and reclamation in her practice. Through our conversations, those themes became clearer, and we made choices together about what to include and why. In the process,
I learned a lot from Emma — about how transformation can look, about how myth and history can be reclaimed, and how artistic practice can help us process the questions we each hold individually but also communally.
Watching the film feels like entering a private ritual, a personal escape. How do you balance that intimacy, offering the audience access to such vulnerable territory, while still protecting the sacredness of the process for your collaborators?
I always see collaboration as a pact of trust. Most of my career has involved being invited into intimate spaces — artists’ studios, dance rehearsal spaces — where vulnerability is part of creation. I’m very aware of the responsibility that comes with that.
With Emma, we were in constant dialogue, not only during filming but also afterwards in the editing process. I sent her drafts, she gave feedback, and I made sure she was completely comfortable with what we included before moving forward. Once she felt the edit was right, we worked with Jan on sound.
I think the intimacy of the film comes precisely from that trust. Everyone involved knew that nothing would be used if it didn’t feel right, which allowed us to work freely, without fear. That openness and safety is what makes the piece feel like a ritual you’re invited into.
Looking ahead, are there new themes, mediums, or collaborations you’re excited to explore next?
Yes, I’m currently writing scripts for a couple of new films with artists where we’ll be involving their family members in the process. I love working with performers as well as with people who have never performed before. That in-between space is really exciting to me — it shifts how we think about what performance, movement, or creativity are for.
I’m especially interested in reclaiming these practices as something ancient and communal, rather than something reserved for professionals or people considered talented. At their core, art-making, dance, and ritual are human activities — they’re about connection, expression, and survival. That’s what I want to keep exploring.
Camilla Greenwell - Director
Emma Fineman - Key Cast
Jan Brzezinski - Sound