Shaping the Bowl of Life with Parker Schmidt.
Director on crafting electric human experiences in campaigns and carving space for the mundane with the award-winning short Bowl of Life.
This week, I’m honored to welcome Parker Schmidt, an L.A.-based director whose work blends eclectic and intimate narratives that redefine the art of storytelling. Each piece unravels the deepest desires of the human experience: to be held, loved, and pushed to the highest peaks. Known for his electrifying campaigns with Dodge, Cadillac, Lexus, and other brands that challenge human boundaries, Parker also taps into a more intimate side of storytelling with his narrative short Bowl of Life, now premiering on Nowness. The film was selected for the 2024 Young Director’s Award ‘Passion Project’ Shortlist and recently won ‘Best Emerging Filmmaker’ and ‘Best Experimental Film’ at the One Screen Awards.
Rooted in the high-adrenaline world of downhill skateboarding, Parker’s filmmaking journey elevates the everyday across automotive, fashion, and sports. His work includes collaborations with Dodge, Cadillac, Lexus, CHIMI, Nike, Kia, and more. With a path that spans global skateboarding competitions and art and design studies in Berlin, Parker now continues his journey in Los Angeles. Beyond film, his passions for surf, cycling, baking, and pottery infuse each project with rich nuance, pushing boundaries brick by brick.
In this conversation, we’re doing more than just discussing his work: we’re exploring his sensibilities, the ebbs and flows of coming into a defining artistry and evolving it further, and Parker’s love for pottery.
The Produced: Where are you at right now, both artistically and personally? On top of that, what are you bringing into 2025 and leaving behind?
Oof, that’s loaded. I went for a spree of losing pitches last year, four in a row approximately. I then thought to myself: “Maybe I was pouring too much of my heart into each opportunity.” I’m someone who would always push my creativity very hard and very far because if I’m going to do something, I want to go all in. But it can be draining sometimes. Funny enough, I recently shared this sentiment with a buddy of mine, and he broke it down for me:
There’s a difference between showing up with heart and just showing up professionally. What matters is how you strike that delicate balance, so you don’t wear yourself out on one or the other.
I’m in a pitch right now that’s been going through the holidays and into January with an agency I’ve worked with before. It’s a learning experience, especially around politics, social dynamics, and how foreign markets work. While it won’t stand out in my portfolio, I’m showing up to do my best. I’ve learned to be more receptive and recognize when to hold back—if I pushed the creative too far, I could’ve lost the project. It’s about understanding the client’s preferences and giving them a second dose of excitement. Moving forward, I want to be more selective about where I put my heart into the creative and know when to go all in and when to pull back.
I didn’t take on major passion projects last year, so I plan to dive back into it in 2025. Right now, I’m developing a short film that follows a thematic series about different shades of masculinity and attempting to experience its whole spectrum. It’s definitely a bit different than my work in commercial projects, but just thinking about it makes me so excited. I know I’ll get impatient and the urge to start something new, but we’ll see.
I want to latch onto what you mentioned about doing it from the heart while also maintaining a professional standpoint. What did it take for you to get to that place where you could say: “Maybe this isn’t what my artistry desires, but I’m still going to do it?” and pursuing the project with your whole heart? Is there a balance to it?
It’s always a hard lesson to grapple with. You know, losing multiple pitches can make you feel like maybe I’m the problem. But now, I realized that not every project comes to me for my creativity alone, but rather the proof of my creativity, which is the entire spectrum of my artistry. Sometimes, clients aren’t looking for every shade of that spectrum but rather its potential.
I often get approached for projects centred around human experiences, ethos films, or manifestos about the human spirit. While the tone is set, the execution can vary project to project. My ultimate question when approaching any work is: “What can I do to elevate these experiences beyond their everyday conceptualizations?” That can be through visual effects, storytelling or strong art design. Sometimes clients want to explore those possibilities, even if the final product is more restrained. I’ve seen this happen to peers, too. I know it can feel like a waste when creativity isn’t fully utilized but these projects can serve as stepping stones, building trust with agencies, creative teams, or brands for future, more exciting opportunities.
Has this mental switch happened to you recently?
Yeah. I’m currently pitching for a banking client–my second pitch with this agency. Because it’s the second project they’re taking me on, the process is much smoother, and the agency now trusts me to handle large sets and high-end clients despite being younger in my career. Listening closely to what they need without being selfish about injecting my own creative desires has paid off.
We all want to make the most of every opportunity, but sometimes it’s about showing up, working with great people, and learning from every experience. Even if a project doesn’t fulfill you creatively or end up in your portfolio, you gain invaluable lessons about social dynamics and politics and working with new teams. For this shoot, I’m bringing one of my favourite photographers and close DP friends. It’s going to be a fun experience, and every time, you carry those lessons into your next project.
I want to talk about your most recent campaign for Dodge, No Matter. How did you come to conceptualizing it, especially with the use of archival materials and fusing it with something as modern as this new car model? I mean, it’s pure electric.
No Matter was a project I did for Dodge and their electric car, the Dodge Charger. I started with deep research on the car, the brand, and how people perceive Dodge overall. What I found was a strong sub-niche of devoted Dodge fans, many of whom are spread throughout the Midwest in the US. Another interesting intersection is that many Dodge enthusiasts have roots in American drag racing culture. So, introducing an electric car to a brand with such rich historical ties to that culture sparked concerns that Dodge was losing its historical spirit by going electric.
And funny enough, the exhaust on the car is actually one big speaker because it’s an electric car. It doesn’t make noise on its own, but it's a huge muscle car, so the speaker mimics that iconic sound. It was pretty comical on set, being in this warehouse as they flicked through different audio options for the speaker. It’s massive—like if you’ve ever heard a loud soundbox speaker at the beach, it’s that kind of slap-you-in-the-face loud. And so I decide to play with that.
What stood out to me was the human element behind it. Even though they aimed to stay ahead of the times, they also knew they had to satisfy their core demographic, which are the main buyers who are deeply tied to the muscle car legacy, while still appealing to people with high aspirations for progress. I thought that balance was reflected in their choice of talent and approach for this project.
Tell me more about the narrator and talent for No Matter and how you fused the script with the strikingly evocative visuals we see on screen.
The project’s talent–Joe Crillo–is a former NASA programmer who was involved in Mars rover software development. He was so excited about both the car and reminiscing about his time at NASA, which inspired me to showcase my admiration for history while fusing it with Dodge’s enduring legacy. Many outdoor brands lean on nostalgia because it’s reliable and resonates with audiences, and I totally saw a unique symmetry between Crillo’s NASA background and Dodge’s evolution. So in this project, you can hear Crillo, as a spoken word artist, paint this incredible picture about the features of this car and how it’s going to transform.
What do you see in the intersection of Dodge’s legacy and Crillo’s story with NASA, and the historic rocket launches of the US at large?
Dodge caters to its old-school muscle car fans while pushing with groundbreaking technology. This is the only muscle car brand exploring electric vehicles in this way. Rocket launches were once unimaginable but then achieved and cascaded another significant history for the United States. I saw this through a line connecting NASA and Dodge’s technological advancements.
If time had allowed, I would have explored modern space programs like Blue Origin and Virgin Galactic. Researching is something I love—diving into new topics is exciting, and NASA’s old archives of lessons and launch films provided incredible resources. Even when I can’t push ideas as far as I’d like within a project’s constraints, I keep those inspirations in my back pocket, ready to explore them fully when the right opportunity comes.
When it comes to your automobile campaigns with Dodge, Lexus and Cadillac to name a few, how do you tap into the feeling of the drive itself to create visuals that really resonate?
I think it all comes down to what my eye is naturally drawn too. It’s why I get hired for these projects as there’s a tone you discover by doing more work and refining what appeals to you. One of my earliest projects, a surf film for Corona Beer and a web film with an old Formula 1 racer, opened my eyes to elements I loved exploring.
Since then, it’s like turning knobs. Sometimes I turn too much, sometimes not enough, but you just turn and turn until you find the right balance. Those subtle adjustments define your style and make your work recognizable. I think standing out means doing things a little offbeat–just weird enough to induce a palpable experience for the audience but still accessible to a larger crowd.
You’re a professional skater with a love for surfing and gravel biking—sports all about speed and movement. Do you find that love for fast, fluid motion shows up in your work too?
Definitely. Sports, especially skateboarding and surfing, really anchor me. There’s something surreal about those human experiences that pulls you out of the constant buzz in your brain, like speeding down hills or riding a wave. I chase that feeling in every project, whether it’s a commercial, branded piece, or short film. Each project has its own tone, and you learn to push boundaries a little more each time. And of course, my collaborators, from pre-production to post-production, are fundamental to that process. They are my safety net and help elevate the visual world we’re building together, so I definitely owe much of my growth in artistry to them.
I’ve also learned to yield to the waters and my fascination with speed. As much as I want to crank that knob and have it be full-on, in-your-face, there's also something to be said for a more subdued approach, where the reverberation effects take over. It’s about finding the balance between pushing things to the extreme and toning it down, where the visual design can still make an impact without being too overpowering. Once you've nailed down the repetition across different projects and understood these mechanisms, it helps you cut through the fog or that creative block much faster.
Speed and electric storytelling aren't the only elements that have shaped your defining, artful style. Bowl of Life, a narrative short—on the surface about pottery, but with undercurrents of the human experience—sits at the opposite end of that spectrum. But first, how did you fall in love with pottery?
I went to film school in Germany, and I remember the environment being pretty intense, so I needed an outlet to unwind. I came across a ceramicist named Florian Gadsby online, and he just has the prettiest ceramics showcased in beautifully shot videos. Each one was cinematic, soothing, and calming, and that’s what drew me into the craft. But it wouldn’t have been for another two years that I started doing it consistently. When I moved to LA, I visited a few studios trying to find the right fit and came across this space called Still Life. That’s where we shot the pottery scenes for Bowl of Life. The folks there are just so gracious, which makes me fall in love with its community more.
What is it about the space that you love?
It really attracts people from all walks of life. Literally every part of life. You meet so many kinds of people. Whenever I go there, sometimes between freelance gigs, and at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday, it’d be me and two retired folks—one was a Michelin-star pastry chef, and the other did importing and exporting of furniture. You’d wonder, what do these people have to say? Some love to talk, while others are just in their own world.
I really appreciate activities that pull you away from your phone or laptop. I mean, you could still have your phone right there while you’re on the wheel, but I can’t be distracted when I’m doing pottery. If I am, my work just doesn’t come out well. But that’s why I love doing it, especially during times of the year when things are calm and there’s no rush.
Are you the person who talks a lot or one that zones out when doing pottery?
I’m locked in.
In what ways have this space and pottery shaped your sensibilities of the world and your every-day life?
I think it’s made me more appreciative of and interested in other people’s crafts. Even if it’s something I know nothing about, like knitting, crocheting, or designing, I’m always blown away by the amount of labor, hours, love, and dedication that goes into it. Starting something completely new at this point in my life has also given me a refreshing, recurring reminder to be more empathetic to other people’s processes—whether they’re pursuing a craft, a career, or just doing something for leisure. Even something as seemingly simple as crafting, pottery, reminds me that there’s no end product or specific use.
It’s so important to make room for yourself and experience things that don’t necessarily have a tangible end result.
Why is that?
It’s that time when you can really turn off, or when you meet people outside your circle. This is especially applicable in the film world, where we often end up talking to the same people and saying the same things. It’s a reminder of how much bigger the world is when you connect with people who have no idea what you do, and vice versa. I’ve got plenty of friends who dive deep into things that truly make them happy—scrapbooking, planting, making coffee, cooking, to name a few. It’s not about the transaction or impressing others; it’s just something good that you ‘selfishly’ do for yourself in the best way. Having something that’s solely for you, even if it’s not something you share with others, can be incredibly special.
How did you approach the visual style and tone for Bowl of Life, and how did your collaboration with your cinematographer influence the way the project came together?
For this project, I got to have Jenna Huskisson as my cinematographer and she is just phenomenal. Jenna is incredible at personifying such mundane things or finding the emotion in nearly every subject–she can make you cry from a scene of a chair. Her recent film, Mudpuppy, has evoked a similar tone and it stood out to me how delicately she can go about finding humour, mundanity and nuances in these objects all at once. It just makes so much sense to work with her on Bowl of Life.
I think that’s one of the biggest objectives for a director when they bring in a DP—to set them up in a situation that’s already beautiful so they can succeed, rather than struggling to make something gorgeous. It’s about putting them in a space where they can get inspired and generate ideas. Unless there’s specific blocking or scripting to work out, the biggest win is when the DP gets excited about a location or character, or even the concept of the project before they’ve even stepped into it. Especially in this case, Jenna and I are our own clients. We wanted to make sure every situation had some kind of feeling to it—whether it was fun, whimsical, heavy, dreary, or sweet. It was just so, so much fun.
Each bowl in Bowl of Life bears witness to a different story, hence a distinct human experience. Could you expand on this idea of bowls as metaphors for lives, each holding a different journey?
Bowls are usually just everyday, functional objects we take for granted. Like so many things we have around the house, we assume their purpose, use them, and don’t give them much thought. But I believe every object has a backstory with its own origin and life, and takes on a new life when it’s in our home. It’s like the narrator says in the film: “A bowl crafted by flesh and blood, forged by your hands, the vessel for life you’ve always carried with you.” When Jenna and I were refining the idea, we knew we wanted to feature different characters, each with a bowl that would witness a range of emotions, life-changing moments, and the subtle nuances of everyday life.
Poetic. For the film, you take such a mundane object and transform it into a profound narrative about human experience. Is there another object or thing that’s been on your mind that you’d love to explore and link to the human experience in a similar way in future projects?
There’s a project in development that centres around a children's book author. It is grounded in narrative, but there are other ideas I've been exploring, especially in the commercial space. I come from a creative family involved in architecture, interior design, and motion projects, so I’m naturally to objects in the design world. I’ve thought about exploring works around chairs, tableware, or lighting design. One designer that I love Boris Acket, a Dutch light designer known for his stunning installations. Down the line, I’d love to create something inspired by his work–perhaps something along the line of exploring the range of human physicality like dance that links to his designs.I think it's important to pull inspiration from outside the traditional film world. My friends and I often fanboy over Ackett’s designs and integrate his aesthetic into our work. Sometimes it’s those offbeat influences that really push creative boundaries, keeping the work fresh and continually evolving.
How has your artistry evolved over time?
Rhythm and pace are huge for me, so I’ve always made them a priority while experimenting with different forms of art to hone my craft. Over time, I’ve picked up tools that help me feel more confident with these beats and how to prepare for them. Storyboarding can get overwhelming with so much to plan and so many different ideas from everyone on the team, but I’ve learned that the key to grounding everything is pacing the project right.
You mentioned the prep process involving different creatives with their own perspectives. How do you balance your vision with the unpredictable nature of collaboration?
I bring editors into pre-production sometimes to see if the storyboard and script will cut the way we expect it to. They help me identify what might work or what we might need to add. It’s about preparing, being patient, and allowing the time to do it right.
Ultimately, it comes down to knowing the strengths of the editors you work with. The same goes with other collaborators on the team. For example, some editors are great at things I hadn't thought of, and it's been inspiring to see them add layers I didn't anticipate. So, while I plan everything for success, I also make sure the editor’s style aligns with the tone of the project. Sometimes a commercial editor isn’t right for a narrative-driven piece, and vice versa. It’s about understanding the unique strengths each collaborator brings—from emotional cutting in narratives to post-treatment in commercials. That’s why it’s so important to surround myself with creatives who bring a spectrum of talents.
Parker, thank you so much for being here. This has been such a rich and fruitful conversation. Before we wrap up, what really makes you hopeful
Seeing people who takes risks and chances everyday, especially when they have the tenacity to stick with what they do. I think it’s a big part of our scene–the ones who prosper are the ones who stay in the game the longest. When I see people not give up, even when they don’t get their way or aren’t set up for success, but still achieve greatness, it’s inspiring. Those are the people who keep pushing, finding opportunities no matter what life throws at them.
It’s incredible to hear stories about people who weren’t given the best circumstances–not the right team, time or money–and they still create something utterly beautiful. It’s those people who, no matter what, always find a way through.
How do you remind yourself of these things?
There’s this saying I always remind myself of: there’s always someone doing more with less. When things feel impossible, I remember that someone out there is making it happen in worse circumstances. That thought refreshes me and reminds me to be grateful for where I’m at. I’m especially grateful for the people around me—sounding boards and sources of reassurance—who help me find confidence and trust that what I’m doing is the right thing.
Stay in Touch with Parker Schmidt
Instagram: @parker.schmidt | Website: parkerinfocus.com