I would not be an artist were it not for the experience of seeing Weekend by Jean Luc Godard. I was a student at the University of Virginia, floundering, not sure which way to go. Afraid that my choice of majors – urban design – would lead me into a life behind a desk tinkering with zoning and environmental impact studies while the world was spiraling into the abyss. Or so it seemed to me at 19 years of age.

I enrolled in a history of cinema class and we were assigned to watch Weekend, which was showing in a campus film series. The professor told us to watch it twice. So, I went with a friend to an afternoon screening, came out dazed and bewildered, and then we talked about the film over dinner. What the hell had I just seen?!

The second time around, the film began to cohere while my sense of equilibrium was shattered, and I have never fully recovered. Weekend’s kaleidescopic amalgam of image, music, dialogue, politics, poetics, and satire changed my view of everything. I left UVA the following year with my camera and guitar, and have never looked back.

Jean Luc Godard, dead at 91.