Leveling Up: The Journey From Independent Artist to High-End Sports Filmmaker

Introduction: The Power of the Climb

Every filmmaker has a starting point. Mine didn’t begin with expensive cameras, polished rigs, or a well-funded crew—it began with a cheap camera, shaky footage, and a burning desire to tell stories that mattered. What started as raw ambition has since grown into a journey of transformation, fueled by persistence, trial and error, and an unwavering belief in the power of sports storytelling.

Today, as I step behind professional rigs, steady cameras glide through sidelines, and cinematic lighting captures both sweat and soul, I see more clearly than ever: filmmaking isn’t about the tools you have. It’s about the heart you bring to the craft and the willingness to level up—again and again.

This is the story of that climb: from independent artist with bare-bones gear to a high-end sports filmmaker, crafting long-form stories that honor athletes, programs, and the legacy of the game.

The Humble Beginnings

The early days of filmmaking were anything but glamorous. I started with cheap, second-hand gear, often bought on a shoestring budget or borrowed whenever possible. The equipment was limited, but in those limits, I found freedom. Every project forced me to be resourceful. Every shaky shot taught me what stability meant. Every low-quality lens reminded me that storytelling mattered more than technical perfection.

I remember shooting local games where the audio cracked, the colors felt dull, and the edit took me weeks longer than expected. Yet, even in those flaws, there was progress. Those early films weren’t polished, but they were filled with heart. And for the teams and players I worked with, that heart was enough. They didn’t care about Hollywood-grade perfection; they cared that someone believed their story was worth telling.

Learning to See the Story

Sports are more than scores and highlights—they’re about resilience, identity, and legacy. Early on, I realized that if I wanted to become more than a cameraman, I had to become a storyteller. That meant asking questions others overlooked:

• What does this game mean to the community?

• What is this player fighting for off the field?

• What’s the story that will still matter ten years from now?

With every interview I conducted, I began to unlock something deeper. A lineman talking about carrying his family’s name on the field. A coach describing how the locker room felt like his second home. A mother wiping tears as she shared how football gave her son purpose.

These weren’t just details—they were the essence of filmmaking. Capturing them required patience, listening, and empathy. The camera became a bridge between everyday moments and something larger: legacy.

The First “Level Up” – Modifying What I Had

As my skill set grew, my gear became the bottleneck. I couldn’t afford the expensive rigs professionals used, so I hacked together solutions. I modified stabilizers, added weights to balance cheaper Steadicam knockoffs, and repurposed lighting kits that weren’t meant for film.

It wasn’t ideal, but it worked. More importantly, it forced me to master fundamentals. If I wanted a smooth tracking shot, I had to practice until the movement felt like second nature—no gear could compensate for lack of skill.

Those makeshift solutions gave me confidence. They taught me that leveling up isn’t always about buying the next piece of equipment; it’s about squeezing every drop of possibility out of what you already have.

Discovering the Steadicam

Every filmmaker has that one breakthrough moment. For me, it was the Steadicam. The first time I strapped one on, I realized how much potential it held for sports storytelling. Suddenly, I could glide across the sidelines, follow a player’s sprint, or move seamlessly through a huddle without distracting from the action.

At first, I was clumsy. Shots were crooked, my arms ached, and I questioned whether I had taken on more than I could handle. But with time, practice, and countless hours spent studying movement, the Steadicam became an extension of my body.

What once felt impossible became instinct. It wasn’t about showing off flashy movements—it was about immersing viewers in the heartbeat of the game. Done right, the camera didn’t just record action; it felt like action.

This was the next level. And it wouldn’t be the last.

Lighting the Story

As my confidence grew on the field, I began to ask myself: How do I bring that same emotion into interviews? That question led me to lighting.

Sports are dramatic by nature, but interviews required a different kind of storytelling. I didn’t want flat, lifeless shots; I wanted depth, texture, and emotion. So I experimented. I tested softboxes, played with shadows, and set up lights at different angles until I found what matched the tone of the story.

When a coach talked about loss, I used low, moody lighting that captured his solemn reflection. When a player described triumph, I used brighter, more open light to mirror his energy.

It was exhausting. More often than not, my setups felt wrong, and I had to tear everything down and start again. But slowly, I learned. And when I saw how a simple shift in light could change the entire mood of a story, I realized that filmmaking wasn’t just about capturing—it was about sculpting.

Long-Form Storytelling

Highlight reels are great for hype, but they’re fleeting. I wanted something deeper. That’s when I embraced long-form documentary storytelling.

Instead of a three-minute clip that captured touchdowns, I wanted to craft episodes that captured culture. I wanted to show not just the game, but the lives wrapped around it. Long-form storytelling became my way of giving athletes, coaches, and communities something more permanent—something that could outlast the season, the year, even the career.

The transition wasn’t easy. Long-form required more planning, more interviews, more editing hours, and more vision. But it also brought more reward. It turned my work from “content” into “legacy.”

The Struggle of the Climb

The journey has been exhausting. There have been nights when I questioned whether it was worth it, mornings when I woke up unsure how I’d find the resources to keep going. The budgets were small. The hours were long. The sacrifices were real.

But in those moments, faith carried me. This calling wasn’t something I stumbled into—it was something I felt God had placed on my life. I wasn’t just filming games. I was serving stories, honoring voices that deserved to be heard.

That perspective made the struggle meaningful. Every late night, every broken piece of gear, every setback was part of something bigger than me.

Leveling Up Again

Now, as I step into high-end rigs, professional lighting kits, and cinematic workflows, I see each level for what it is: not an endpoint, but another step.

I don’t measure success by the price tag of my gear. I measure it by the impact of the stories I tell. And yet, the better I become with my tools, the better I can serve those stories. That’s what leveling up is about—not chasing prestige, but chasing excellence.

From independent artist with duct-taped gear to filmmaker trusted with legacy projects, the climb continues. And with every project, every program, and every athlete, I’m reminded that this isn’t just a career. It’s a calling.

Conclusion: Persistence, Not Resources

The journey from independent artist to high-end sports filmmaker isn’t about shortcuts or lucky breaks. It’s about persistence, humility, and relentless growth. It’s about starting with what you have, learning through failure, and daring to believe that the next level is always within reach.

At kendallprojects, that’s what we stand for. We believe every story deserves cinematic care, no matter the budget. We believe athletes and programs deserve to see their journeys preserved with dignity and creativity. And we believe that growth—real growth—comes not from what you buy, but from how deeply you commit to the story.

This is our journey. This is our calling. And we’re just getting started.