Sam went on to describe the camera as “a tool of resistance.” For him, film and image hold revolutionary potential: to document visual language authentically, to centre stories told in the hands, eyes, and expressions of Deaf lives. Sam doesn’t just tell stories - he excavates them from the seemingly mundane, from faces, gestures, and quiet moments we might otherwise overlook. Sam’s arts and community practice is grounded in deep listening - not through sound, but through observation, cultural memory, and visual intimacy. Our conversation focused on peeling back the layers of his work. At its core is a bold and fascinating thesis: that the camera becomes a written form of sign language. “Up until the invention of film,” Sam told me, “there was no authentic or holistic way to document sign languages.”

This perspective isn’t just poetic - it’s political. For Sam film isn’t just a medium but a form that holds a legacy of both erasure and resistance for the Deaf community. His past research has explored how film has historically both excluded and empowered Deaf voices. As a filmmaker himself Sam traces its power back to the silent film era, a time when Deaf audiences were included by default - when stories were shared visually, not aurally. He draws inspiration from figures like George Veditz, who in the early 1900s used silent film to preserve sign languages on screen and to document them as legitimate, expressive languages in their own right.

“The silent era was a golden era for Deaf cinema.” Sam said, reflecting on the unique inclusion of visual storytelling of that time, before sound marginalised the very audiences it had once welcomed, pushing them out of the cinematic conversation.

Today Sam is working to reclaim that space. Not by replicating the past but by disrupting the present. Sam sees revived cinematic resistance in vlog culture, in livestreams, in everyday moments where Deaf and queer people take up space in visual storytelling. “The ability to share information in our own way, in our own perception, that’s what fascinates me,” he says. It’s this belief — that film and image is a cultural archive and a political tool, that grounds Sam’s filmmaking, and from this a broader community arts practise. It’s not just about cinematic aesthetics. It’s about reclaiming space that once belonged to the Deaf community and reimagining it for the future.

At the heart of Sam’s creative drive is also a deep belief in the everyday. His films highlight quiet stories, like a deaf pole dancer, or the hairdresser on his street. “I’m constantly on the hunt for the little stories that make up the fabric of who we are,” he said. “Stories you can see in someone’s hands, their eyes  -  not just their words.”

Sam is generous with his honesty, fierce in his ideas, and hopeful about the potential for collective change within the industry. One of Sam’s current projects, the multi arts performance night ‘Glimpse Into The Glow’, directly followed our discussion and was the backdrop for Sam’s portraits. Whilst a departure for his film work, for me Glimpse Into The Glow’ embodied Sam’s commitment to community and arts through action. It’s a deliberate break from norms for Deaf performance: no fixed seating, no mandated eye contact, no passive spectatorship. “It’s about resisting the idea that access must always follow rigid rules,” he said. “Sometimes, those very rules hold us back from trying something better.”  Instead, it invites audiences to roam freely, explore, leave and return, time and time again over a four-hour period — to experience visual performance with the same fluidity that hearing people might enjoy music in a jazz bar. “I want to create the atmosphere that’s usually reserved for sound, but make it visual,” Sam says. "I hope the audience will take away a bit of the courage that I'm putting in, a bit of the excitement, a bit of realisation that as a community we deserve to be empowered and free to explore our own art, on our own terms"

When asked what his biggest personal challenge is Sam doesn’t talk about funding, access, or even artistic risk. He talks about letting go. “The hardest thing a creative person can do is hand it over. But I fundamentally believe that I cannot succeed unless everyone around me is succeeding, we're uplifting each other.”  As the producer of a large, immersive performance that night, Sam has had to step back, to trust the team, release the technical reins, and let the work unfold. “I’ve done my bit,” he said, “and now I want to experience it as the audience does.” For someone so invested in detail and intention, that surrender is perhaps the bravest act of all, a reminder that courage in art isn’t always about pushing forward. Sometimes, it’s about stepping back and allowing space for others.

I hope that the portraits of Sam below, captured from our time together that evening, reflect layers of warmth, reflection, and of the continual motion that were so much a part of our chat. It’s a visual testament to someone standing strong in their purpose, lifting community as he creates.