William Duan in conversation with Van Wang and Marise Alison Phillips, Photography by Vincent Tran

Redefining creativity: William Duan
on reflection and presence

On a grey and freezing June afternoon, William welcomed us into his house on–concidentally–William Street in West Melbourne. The three of us gathered at his kitchen table warmed by tea and his electric heater. William Duan is a filmmaker and producer whose work explores themes of sexuality, identity, and belonging through tender storytelling. His films, such as Tui Na《推拿》offers a glimpse into voices and perspectives that are rarely centered in Australian mainstream cinema. As we conversed, it became clear that William’s approach to filmmaking, and to life, is deeply reflective and personal, emphasising the courage it takes to sit with one’s own thoughts and to create work with a real heartbeat.

Marise: What are three day-to-day actions that bring you a sense of freedom?

William: I’ve been journaling a lot lately. Have you heard of The Artist’s Way? It’s a program Julia Cameron developed in the 80s to help people build a healthier connection with creativity. I finally started it with a group of friends a couple of months ago, and it has had a pretty profound impact on my relationship with creativity.

One of the main tools is called Morning Pages, which is three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing each morning. The idea is to write without pressure. Unlike traditional journaling, where you feel you have to structure your thoughts or write affirmations, Morning Pages let you write anything, even nonsense. Some days, I will just repeat “I have nothing to say” and that still counts. It has been freeing because it gives me a daily space for creation without expectation.

I have also been trying to take more walks. Sometimes I skip the tram and do an hour-long walk instead. It is a small thing, but it really helps me reset when I am not overwhelmed with work. I also had this moment last year where... Sorry, I'm just rambling.

Van: No, I love it.

William: I was trying to cut out technology from my life as much as I could, within reason, of course. But this got me thinking about how much of our lives we spend in motion. We’re constantly walking from one place to another, moving through transit, always in a kind of liminal space. It’s interesting to think that we spend so much time moving toward destinations, but ultimately, everyone ends up at the same terminal point: Death (Laughs). So life really is about the journey, not the destination.

But if that’s the case, why do we frame our lives around the endpoints instead of the process of getting there? Not just for our creative projects, but in our daily routines too. I might be meeting a friend for coffee, but it takes an hour to get there. And yet, that hour, the time in transit, is where most of our lives are actually lived —well at least quantitatively. Emotionally, intellectually, and physically, we are always in a state of transition.

Stills from Tui Na《推拿》(2022), Dir. William Duan

What struck me was how little recollection I have of these liminal moments. I started noticing how I spend that time on the train or walking to work. I’m glued to my phone, watching videos, listening to podcasts, trying to “maximise” every second. And then it hit me: what if I tried just being present in that space, in the liminality itself, instead of constantly rushing or distracting myself?

Van: Yeah, that’s really interesting because so many people would find it awkward on a tram not to have their phone or to be looking at something, and people just can’t seem to be present and feel okay simply waiting.

William: Yes, absolutely. I think there is so much to be said about what our phones represent for us. I think socially, as a society, we've kind of moved to a space where our phones enable our avoidance, another way to fall deeper into that neoliberal individualism that disconnects us from the world and the people around us.

Marise: So much of who we are is our inner world, our thoughts and feelings that no one sees. If you don’t regularly have a dialogue with yourself, how can you know who you truly are, what you want, or what your purpose is? You have to listen to that inner voice.

Van: Do you see your work as a reflection of your inner world?

William: I do have a very interesting relationship with my work. I hate looking at my own work. It's the feeling of “I could’ve done better.” I’ve recently realised I have a pretty toxic relationship with my creativity, which I’m trying to unpack and reframe. I also work on this really slow cycle, like one new piece every five years. And when you think about how many decades you actually get, that’s not much work. I end up putting so much of myself, my ego, into each one, which isn’t very healthy. It’s probably a sign I need to process things in a healthier way. Honestly, the whole act of creating can feel kind of traumatising for me. Putting work out into the world is just really intense.

Marise: Do you feel exposed in some way?

William: Oh yeah. In film it’s obviously made for the audience, but even in the making of it, you’re working with so many people. The whole process is really revealing. And not just for me—for everyone involved, especially the actors.

Read the full conversation in print. ISSUE 02

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