Epilogue

 

When I first read Giorgia Cattaneo’s script for I Don’t Know What’s Going On, I knew immediately that I wanted to be part of it. She had written something honest– unwinding yet thought-provoking– about the emotional chaos that follows college graduation. I Don't Know What's Going On is an ode to young adulthood and managing feelings of confusion,  uncertainty, and pressure from the outside world.

 

The story follows a young woman— an aspiring writer— caught in a post-graduation haze, where everything feels uncertain. She visits her friends, each of whom is an artist who offers some form of comfort or advice, while her college advisor nags her about finding a “real job,” insisting that her dreams are too unrealistic. 

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Giorgia sent me her script in mid-March (2025), asking me to join the project as an art director and production designer. The weekend of her scheduled production, I was already booked for another set of mine, filming a reshoot scene for my short film In The Keys of Madness (click here to read more), but I didn’t just admire her story– I related to it, and couldn't pass the opportunity. 

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As the Art Director and Production Designer, my main focus was to create spaces that reflected the personalities of the protagonist and her friends — each a sanctuary of creative expression, freedom, ambition, and an inspiring kind of nonchalance. These friends, in many ways, serve as anchors for the main character. My role was to give each of them a world of their own — rooms that not only felt lived-in, but alive with their artistic spirit.

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One of my favorite sets to build was Ashley’s room. Ashley is a painter, relaxed and easygoing, with a warmth that makes people feel safe. Her space needed to reflect that — so I filled it with canvases, scattered paint brushes, a digital camera, and a bong by her nightstand that added to her laid-back vibe. The scene in Ashley's room ends in a foggy, dream state, with the room filling up with smoke as she and the protagonist share a moment of reflection. We used incense to create that look. It was visually beautiful — though staying in a closed, small room for hours with intense incense smoke was its own challenge. 

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Dylan’s room was another highlight of my work. Dylan is an indie musician — quirky, thoughtful, and a bit awkward. The script emphasized his admiration for Bob Dylan, so I leaned into that when designing his space. What's interesting is that we built his entire bedroom inside a warehouse office space. We brought in rugs, layered lighting, records, and props to build an authentic indie-boy bedroom from scratch. Watching it come together — from cold, gray utility to something full of warmth and identity — reminded me why I love this kind of work. That transformation was satisfying.

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This film taught me how much weight production design holds — how the positioning of a single object can say as much as a line of dialogue. I deepened my understanding of shaping emotion through space. I paid more attention to angles, how props framed characters, how color and clutter could reflect mood. And more than anything, I learned to support a director’s vision while also bringing in my own instincts and voice.

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By the end of the project, I felt more confident not only as a designer, but as a storyteller. One who speaks not through words, but through the world that surrounds the words. That’s what production design is to me: making the invisible visible.