The notion of the solitary genius has governed the arts since time immemorial. In its whispers, it promises a mind so singular and a vision so transcendent that it renders the artist a figure apart — dissociated from the collective energy that actually makes creation possible. It’s a seductive myth, but it sits uneasily with the reality of how work comes to life. To be in tune with a crew or a creative community is to witness oneself realised through the potential of others; and vice versa. There are few things more transcendent, than the shared realisation of creating something. Film director and writer Zandi Tisani knows this in her bones, and her practice is built on collaboration, on the constellating energy that has refined her point of view and its ongoing nature.
As we both exclaim together in our conversation, how exciting is it to assume one hasn’t created their greatest work yet? Defying the pressure to peak early and resisting the notion of being fully formed too soon, Zandi’s veteran-like career as a director remains amorphous, and expansive enough to include one of her greatest creative processes yet: motherhood.
Zandi arrived at cinema through performance, books, as she refers to herself as a “late bloomer in terms of film,” and that “I came to film from a variety of directions or like kind of a variety of interests that all I suppose seem to converge in film. So in high school I was really into theatre, but actually being more on stage and acting. And I really loved that. I also really loved books and reading.”
Zandi’s decision to study film was the result of research — nudged, in part, by her father’s practical questions over her future; “When I was applying to varsity, I actually wanted to study theatre performance. But my dad just didn’t get it. He was like, ‘I don’t understand what you’re doing every day at school. I’m paying all this money, but what exactly are you doing on a daily basis?’ He made me do a lot of research into other courses, and that’s when I came across film and media production.”
Zandi points out that at the time, the internet still felt like a creative frontier — a place where scripts circulated freely, feeding her curiosity and sharpening her instincts. “At that stage the internet was still a little bit of the wild west,” she recalls. “It wasn’t easy, but you could find so many Hollywood scripts or early versions of scripts online. People would just upload stuff to the internet, and that became my favourite thing to do. I really loved watching additional films outside of the film course at varsity.”
Portrait of Zandi by Andile Buka
This self-directed education laid the foundation for a filmmaker drawn instinctively to character and story — as you’ll note with Zandi’s work, she is less concerned with structure, and more attuned to the emotional and psychological materia of characters, as they archetypically express human nature; “I’m always drawn to more kind of character-driven stories, me personally, than I am really about like plot-driven stories. Characters come to me first before a series of events. The events, for me, come from the people and the choices they make and why.”
When Zandi graduated, the world was in an economic crisis and film jobs were scarce. Rather than wait for the perfect opportunity, she found her way into the industry sideways; through wardrobe departments, casting rooms, and photography gigs. These roles, though peripheral on paper, became her critical learning grounds. “There were a lot of diversions and taking other paths because, you know, the reality was I graduated my undergrad pretty much around the start of that first recession. So I came out into the world and there was no work. I’d also done some photography and so I worked as a freelance photographer doing all kinds of little jobs,wherever I could to earn a little bit of money and then I got a gig as a wardrobe assistant. That’s actually how I got my set experience.”
Set is a sobering experience for anyone with romantic notions of it. As Zandi notes, “Where it became very clear that this idea that I had in my head about a director being this individual auteur who makes the work come to life through force of their own individual will, and so all my understanding around individual creativity was completely blown apart. I became really aware of the collaborative process, and importantly, I became very aware of the fact that film making wasn’t just about me, really.”
For Zandi, collaboration is a revelatory site, intrinsic to creating a film. She believes that everyone on set — from stylists to grips — is a filmmaker in their own right. Breaking the term down to its most elemental form is essential. “Everyone’s just trying to create a space where they can give the best they possibly can,” she explains, “and that the best that they possibly can, and also that everybody in a sense has to be a filmmaker. Even as a stylist, you have to think like a filmmaker. You’re not filmmaking by yourself — you’ve got a bunch of filmmakers on set who are addressing different aspects of cinema.”
Zandi’s critique of the cultural obsession with lone creative geniuses — and how it distorts the reality of how work actually gets made — feels like such a necessary correction. Personally, I’ve long desired this kind of articulation, and it is one of the biggest crises facing the creative industry today (aside from economic pressures, and the commercialisation of just about everything). We see it everywhere, especially in fashion, where the myth of the singular visionary creative director persists, and so many people seem to have forgotten, or perhaps never truly understood, that behind every name is an entire team, a house, a constellation of collaborators. The work is no longer the central, guiding force; rather, it’s the rise of the single individual who becomes the vessel for collective labour, elevated to near-mythic status.
It’s within this acute understanding that Zandi’s directing practice, then, is less about imposing a singular vision and more about holding a space for collective brilliance to emerge. It is also why, years later and into her career, another profound shift entered Zandi’s life: motherhood. Like many women in creative industries, she initially felt the tug between two identities that seemed mutually exclusive. “I think that I became, and at first it felt like this tug of war where it was like you’re either a director or a mom and that these things are mutually exclusive and that they’re fighting one another and that you have to pick one, one over the other. And after a while for me I was just like purely on the basis that I can’t cope with that reality, I’ve got to think of it differently because it’s too, I felt like it was kind of pulling me apart in a way.”
Lo and behold, Zandi’s awareness offered me a seismic shift in my own thinking. As she explains, she chose to reimagine motherhood as a creative act in itself. “I really began to kind of really see, you know, being a mom as a very creative area. Designing or creating someone’s childhood is actually a very dynamic and creative process. And that it’s not just about feeding and clothing, but, like I say, it’s a childhood and you’ve got to imagine what the ideal childhood is that you can provide for your child.”
Rather than hide her motherhood from professional spaces, Zandi folded it into her practice — bringing her baby to set when necessary, allowing her life to be visible. “There’s always this idea that being a mom won’t affect you — that you’ll still be the old you. But that’s just not true. It affects everything. I’m not the old me. I can still do the things I did before, but this is real, it’s happening. If my baby has to be in the background during a meeting, then that’s just what it is.”
Motherhood also altered the way Zandi works — forcing her to make faster, sharper creative decisions and embrace efficiency without losing sensitivity. “Post-motherhood, I just don’t have the time to be that hectic about stuff. I kind of have to arrive at decisions quite quicker and I’ve got a very economic way of communicating those quite efficiently and quite quickly. It’s so strange because that seemed to work better than what I was doing before! But that only came as a result of the reality of just not having as much time and mental space.”
Motherhood in the modern age is still too often forced to contort itself around spaces that were never designed with women — let alone mothers — in mind. Creative industries, in particular, have long upheld models of productivity that prize uninterrupted availability and the myth of the “total” worker, leaving little room for caregiving to exist visibly. If we’re serious about reshaping culture more equitably, we need to build more woman-centred and mother-centred spaces in our studios, sets, and creative institutions — places that recognise care as a creative force rather than an obstacle. Zandi exemplifies how this is possible, and happening, by her sheer commitment to the full dynamism of her expression in her roles; as mother, maker and so on.
I ask Zandi about how commercial work has been her training ground, and a space to keep her creative instincts sharp. As we often discuss on CEC, commercial work is critical – and it was Nox Mafu who reminded us of the essential importance of mass culture. Zandi notes that as a film-maker, “I always had this anxiety and I suppose in a way I still do about commercials taking away from my more serious work or not having the time to do the kind of the work that I’m more passionate about because of commercials. But one thing I will say about commercials, what I appreciate about it in my own career, in my own life, is that it’s just made me match fit, as far being on set is. I can get so much done in a short amount of time, purely from my commercial training.”
Zandi embraces commercial filmmaking as a part of pop culture with its own cultural significance, that “you can’t deny the importance and the impact that popular culture has on the broader culture. Pop culture and mass culture are extremely valuable. I think being able to recognise and celebrate that is important.”
Of her favourite works, Zandi points to her own films, which reveal the same synthesis of character, perspective, and socio-political sensitivity that underpins her broader worldview. Heroes, one of her first shorts, fictionalised her family’s move into a white neighbourhood during the 1980s — told from the perspective of the white families preparing for their arrival. “Heroes came from my family history, who were the first black family to move onto our street when I was growing up… I kind of had this idea to make a film from their perspective. And so the film is a fictionalisation of that preamble told from the perspective of this white guy whose father was like a former military guy, and he inherits this home and inherits his dad’s position as the leader of the community watch.” In putting herself into the shoes of the “other side,” as Zandi terms it, shei sought to subvert the usual lens of representation by exploring power, discomfort, and perception from a deliberately uncomfortable angle. This is the kind of artistic courage character of an auteur, if you ask me.
One of Zandi’s proudest works is Ixhala; a vessel through which Zandi could examine the unease that lingers beneath questions of identity and representation. Working within the framework of a Wikimedia brief, she turned outward to the historical archive, and then centred on a Black femme figure navigating the film industry. Rather than presenting this tension didactically, Ixhala moves with pace and precision, layering the personal with the historical. “I think I was able to reference some of my own experiences on film — still exploring identity, but from a different angle,” she explains. “I wouldn’t say it was entirely personal, but it was definitely closer to who I am and my lived reality. Visually, I’m really proud of that piece. What I saw in my head is, for once, pretty much how it ended up on screen — and that very rarely happens.”
Finally, Zandi reflects on time as a creative resource. Again, her perspective offers me mental nourishment (and chillness); pushing back against the pressure to “peak” early, Zandi frames her trajectory as one that deepens with age. “The most exciting thing for me about being creative and getting older — and getting older as a woman as well — is that we’re not athletes,” she muses. “We don’t have to peak at 23. You don’t have to do the best thing you’ve ever done by the time your body starts to age. Of course our bodies change, but it’s not the same way. In a lot of creative careers, the work you really want to do often only comes out in your 40s and 50s.”
Zandi is a creative for whom ideas and experiences gather over time — connected through collaboration, sharpened by lived experience, and illuminated by a deep respect for character, community, and the collective act of making. For her, every detour, pause, or dance accumulates meaning. “None of it is useless, none of it goes to waste.” And I am all the more encouraging for her wisdom, too.
Written by Holly Beaton
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