
When I first started making films, I was obsessed with labels. "Am I an amateur or a professional?" I wondered. "And honestly, does it even matter?" These questions swirled in my mind as I navigated the messy, exhilarating process of learning the craft.
Back then, I had this naive idea that big-budget productions must run like well-oiled machines. Every crew member would know exactly what to do, the director would have a flawless vision, and there’d be no room for mistakes. It seemed like an unattainable standard. But when I was around 19 or 20, I visited the set of a major film, and the curtain came down. What I saw was a room full of professionals struggling for hours to get some pigeons to fly off a windowsill. They had the money, the crew, the gear—everything—but one unpredictable element brought the whole operation to a standstill. That moment was a revelation: no matter the scope of the project, the struggles stay the same.
The Amateur vs. Professional Debate
So, what separates an amateur from a professional? The textbook answer might be this: amateurs pursue something for love, while professionals commit to mastery and make it their livelihood. But here’s the truth—there’s a massive overlap. Passion doesn’t disappear when you go pro. It’s the thing that keeps you creating, even when the work gets tough.
I didn’t go to film school. I didn’t get accepted, actually. Everything I know, I taught myself. Back in 2000, there were no YouTube tutorials or free filmmaking resources. Every mistake was expensive and time-consuming. But it was my path, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Even now, as someone who makes films for a living, I’m often pouring the same level of passion into my professional projects that I do into my personal ones. The line between the two is blurry. Passion projects teach you just as much—if not more—than any paid gig. Sometimes, those personal works are what open the biggest doors. And even on professional sets, there are moments of raw creativity that remind you why you fell in love with filmmaking in the first place. For me, it’s all filmmaking, whether I’m answering to a client or chasing my own vision. The trick is keeping that passion alive in everything you do.
The Big Break That Wasn’t
When I started, I wanted to be the next big Hollywood director. Like every indie filmmaker, I dreamed of massive sets, famous actors, and giant budgets. For a while, it felt like I was on my way. After making a few shorts and earning some festival awards, I pitched a feature-length zombie horror film to a group of producers. To my surprise, they loved it. Suddenly, I was working on a Hungarian-Spanish-Canadian co-production. We had a finalized script, shot a proof of concept, and everything seemed to be falling into place. But then it all fell apart. The financing wasn’t solid, and the entire project collapsed. Two years of my life—gone. All I had left was a script.
That experience was devastating but invaluable. It taught me a hard truth: if you don’t control the purse strings, you don’t control your project. From that moment on, I decided I would always be the producer of my own work.
Rescaling Dreams and Finding Freedom
These days, I don’t dream about Hollywood. I dream about making movies I love—movies that can turn a profit so I can fund the next one. I’ve realized I don’t need massive budgets or big stars to tell the stories that matter to me. By scaling down my expectations, I’ve gained creative freedom.
Take my recent arthouse horror film, for example. We raised the money ourselves without risking financial stability. Yes, there were compromises. But the film is ours, and we control its fate. If it’s successful, we can scale up slightly for the next project. But honestly, I’ve learned I don’t want to scale up too much. Keeping things manageable allows me to focus on what really matters: the story.
The Freelancer’s Trap
Over the years, I’ve made countless films and animations for clients. And even when it’s your idea, if someone else holds the purse strings, you’re ultimately a tool for their vision. That’s why creating something truly your own feels so different. The pressure is immense, but it’s the good kind—the kind that pushes you to make your best work.
Thankfully, technology has leveled the playing field. When I started, you needed expensive equipment and connections just to dream about making a film. Now, you can shoot a movie on your phone, edit it on free software, and share it with the world. But with this accessibility comes a challenge: the playing field is crowded. To stand out, you need not just creativity but persistence and a clear vision. The tools are there for anyone willing to put in the work.
Defining Success on Your Own Terms
As a filmmaker, defining success is critical—and deeply personal. For some, success means working in Hollywood or winning awards. For others, it’s about complete creative freedom or connecting with an audience. Early in my career, I thought success meant being a famous director. But over time, I realized that wasn’t my dream. It was someone else’s.
My version of success is simple: telling the stories I want to tell, on my own terms, without compromising my vision. It’s making films I’m proud of, that resonate with people, and that allow me to keep creating. Success isn’t one-size-fits-all, and the sooner you figure out what it means for you, the more fulfilling your journey will be.
The Bottom Line
So, am I a professional or an amateur? Honestly, who cares? What matters is that I’m a filmmaker. I’ve stopped trying to fit into someone else’s definitions. Instead, I’ve built a life where I get to tell the stories that mean something to me. If you’re an indie filmmaker trying to find your place in the industry, here’s my advice: position yourself in a way that serves your goals, not someone else’s. Whether you’re an amateur or a professional, what really matters is that you’re doing the work.
Keep creating.
Commentaires