Filmmaker J.J. Anderson is grateful. She was trusted with witnessing deeply personal and vulnerable storytelling from an early age. As a young kid, her parents were committed to their sobriety in a way that included Anderson spending a lot of time at their regular Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, which would influence her approach to the work she does today as a filmmaker. “As a kid, there was definitely the thought that maybe I shouldn’t be listening, that this is a very adult conversation, but I’ve always been a sensitive child, so I can absolutely always recall a sense of gratitude for these people allowing me to be there, and also for the love that they showed me,” she says. “When you are a child of folks going through recovery and battling their addiction, there are moments that you can feel very lost in the process because it requires so much energy. I felt that, perhaps, what felt lost to me was being subsidized by these other folks’ love and validation and care. So, always a sense of gratitude. Always.” With that, she found an approach to storytelling that led her to focus her lens on more joy and less trauma, particularly in telling stories of Black and Brown children and adults, like she’s done in her film “Sacred Soil: The Piney Woods School Story.” Her documentary follows the stories of a group of students and staff at the historically Black boarding school, founded in 1909, which teaches students in the ninth through 12th grades and is one of a handful of remaining Black boarding schools in the country. The 100-minute film has been streaming on Hulu and Disney+ since 2024, and is being screened as part of the Black History Month program at the Oak Park Library from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. Feb. 21. Anderson, 37, who is also co-founder of HRDWRKR, her production company, grew up in various parts of San Diego County and currently lives in Paradise Hills with her grandmother, Martha Williams. She took some time to talk about this film, being inspired by nature and the Black and Brown cultures of San Diego, and the enduring love she has for her community in Paradise Hills. Q: Where did you grow up and how would you describe the relationship to art that you had in your home, with your family? A: I grew up all over San Diego. My parents were not together for the duration of my childhood, so when I was with my mother on the weekdays, I lived in Hillcrest and we eventually moved to Golden Hill toward the end of elementary school. Then, we made our way to Paradise Hills. However, my grandmother, who I also grew up with, watched me a lot because my mother was a single mother. My grandmother, on my father’s side, had two homes in Paradise Hills, so I spent a lot of time with her there. She eventually handed over her second house to my father, which is up the street for from her, and he moved in there. That was toward the end of high school, but I moved around San Diego a lot, which gave me an incredible opportunity to be embedded in these different neighborhoods and engage with the different cultures of San Diego. One thing I really, really enjoyed about Paradise Hills was just the richness of Black and Brown culture, and how we were so intertwined. You can learn about Filipino food, you can hear Spanish anytime you’re walking down the street, you see low riders—for me, that’s the fabric of San Diego. When I really think about the roots of San Diego and what makes it special, what feels comfortable, is Paradise Hills and all the people who make it great. My mother was an activist growing up, and she always had political posters around. Music has always been a huge part of activism, so she had an incredible library of records that we listened to. Looking back, and considering where we are in the state of our world now, music is a huge component to our freedom and our self-expression. In terms of my father and my grandmother, there were always archival photos, archival images. Looking at where I am now in my career as a filmmaker, I can say that archival imagery was probably the first introduction I had to art and wasn’t even aware of it. I’m thinking of these regular photo albums that we all have in our homes, the pictures of our ancestors that are hanging on our walls that we pass by daily. This is art, and it’s art that is relatable to us, and it’s art that reflects us. So much of this has made its way into my work now. That was my core connection to art. What I love about Paradise Hills… Man, I love the food of Paradise Hills. I’m a big fan of Filipino food, so lumpia, sisig, sinigang. Of course, if you hit any corner and go up a little bit, maybe towards National City, you’re going to get some good Mexican food. And I love how walkable it is. I love walking the hills, I love walking the park, I love seeing families congregate with each other, barbecuing, kicking the ball around at the soccer field. That’s really beautiful to me. Paradise Hills, I call it the “’hood-’burbs.” It’s not quite the suburbs, it’s the ‘hood-‘burbs, but it keeps this very old-school, communal vibe where neighbors are still talking to each other. For the most part, the houses are passed down, so people who grew up here kind of stay here, and that’s beautiful. It’s beautiful to see that everyone is growing with one another and becoming adults alongside each other, and then having children alongside each other, and then their children are playing with their children. That’s what community is all about. Q: Your bio says that you spent time at your parents’ Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings as a kid. Are you comfortable sharing what that was like? A: Growing up, both of my parents were in Narcotics Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous. My father would frequently facilitate meetings at his home, and my mother went to the Native American Health Center that was located in North Park for most of her meetings. I started going to these meetings when I was very young. I believe my father got sober around the time I was 4, and my mother got sober when she found out she was pregnant with me, so this was a huge part of my upbringing. It was almost like daycare. Sobriety is a lifetime commitment and you have to work for it every day, so even going through middle school and high school, I was always in these circles. What was so incredible about it were the people that I met and that came into my lives and turned from acquaintances to aunties and uncles. I felt like it was this large, diverse, ragtag, misfit extended family. What they taught me was the power of storytelling and the healing power of storytelling, more specifically. Watching these folks bare their souls and be honest about things that most of us would try to hide, and approach it in a way that was, I think, so gentle, was inspiring for me. It taught me about self-acceptance, about vulnerability, and it also taught me that you can accept despair and sit with it for a moment, but not to stay in it. There’s a sense of humor and a sense of joy that these folks approach their pain with, and that’s guided me in my life and also in my work. Q: Do you see ways that that has shown up in the art that you create now? A: Yeah, of course. I believe it shows up in the same way, a sense of gratitude. I work a lot in the documentary space, but it’s also experimental. I’m constantly trying to meld narrative and documentary and figuring out where reality meets imagination. In that, I am often connecting with strangers, but strangers who look like people I grew up with, who sound like people I grew up with, who have similar stories to people who I grew up with. What I try to do is create space for them to have autonomy over their story. It’s not so much me dictating and pulling, it’s more so collaboration, and that is out of pure gratitude for someone allowing me to take part in their process and to help share their story. Q: Your bio also says, “The witnessing of such vulnerable exchanges inspired her focus on creating loving representations of Black and Brown youth, as well as grown folks of color in the media.” What do you mean by loving representations? What would you say that looks like, exactly? A: I think it’s so interesting that we’re having this conversation at a very specific time, you and I. I say that because of the social and political landscape that we’re all experiencing right now. So much is being revealed to us about the powers that be and the systems-how they work, what the intention is. One of my major gripes with mainstream media is the depiction of Black and Brown people, of anyone who’s not a White male. I think when it comes specifically to Black and Brown folks and our stories, trauma tends to, ultimately, be the focus of our stories. I am not immune to trauma; I believe that we can go through the fire and come out strong, I just don’t believe in signaling to Black and Brown youth that that is the most important thing about them. For me, it’s important to find a balance between joy and resilience, and then the harsh realities. What messages are we sending to our children about who they are and what they can be? That comes through visual approach, through language, through tone. So, when I’m thinking about what I want to share with young kids who come from spaces similar to me or to others, is that you have the right to be vulnerable, you have the right to experience joy, you have the right to be soft. Yes, we all go through difficult times, but our entirety, who we are as a whole is what’s most important. Q: Are there examples of how you’ve done this, or seen this done by other creators? A: I think “Sacred Soil” is a good example of my approach and the loving representation. The work focuses mostly on a group of kids at Piney Woods in Mississippi, and their connection with one another. Piney Woods was established in 1909 by Laurence C. Jones to educate descendants of enslaved folks during the Jim Crow era. It is one of four black boarding schools still standing and they focus on a holistic approach. What I found when I went was, yes, the history is incredible, but what was more incredible for me was how these kids were interacting with one another. So, we worked together for an entire year to showcase their growth-spiritually, mentally, and emotionally-but also their connection and how they were learning from one another. In doing research for this work, I saw a CNN spotlight on Piney Woods School, and for a lot of the segment the kids were being grilled about where they were from, what was the violence like, who did they know who died-it was very trauma focused and that bothered me. It was done a long time ago, so it was a work of its time, but that bothered me and I wanted to respond to that with love and with joy and with honesty, with completion. Q: “Sacred Soil: The Piney Woods School Story,” is your first feature film, which began streaming on Hulu and Disney+ in 2024, about students at the historically Black boarding school in Mississippi. Why did you want to tell this story about the school? A: I wanted to share this story because of the narratives that have been built and created around the South. My grandmother is from North Carolina, in Columbus County, and I grew up going to North Carolina for the summers, so I have these incredible memories of running through corn fields, jumping in lakes, spending time with my cousin at the race track, and riding quads; it was just such a huge part of my self expression and it gave me a sense of freedom that I wasn’t able to obtain growing up in San Diego. I love San Diego with all of my heart, but growing up in a place that is 5% Black, and then being able to go to North Carolina where everybody’s Black and everyone is showing you love, and no one is questioning who you are and your identity and how you speak, it was just pure love when I went out there. What I found as I continued to grow, and also going to Tuskegee University, that only extended that love. Shifting from San Diego High School to Tuskegee University in Alabama where there are so many different types of Black folks and now I’m learning about the layers of Blackness. Now, I’m learning about the languages, the dialects, I’m learning about the customs, that there’s so much diversity in Blackness that you cannot put it in a box. What I found when I was coming into adulthood, especially moving to Los Angeles, was there was such a negative stigma around the South that was really heartbreaking for me. Mind you, I do understand the complicated and violent history, but there’s so much beauty there, as well. So, I wanted to highlight what was beautiful, and what was joyful, and what was progress, in the South. To give people something else to cling to, to give people another idea of what’s possible out there. For me, Piney Woods represents all of that. I,’s in Rankin County, which is a very conservative and racist county, so the idea that there is a group of Black children who are sitting on 2,000 acres and learning and pushing the needle forward in the heart of Mississippi, is just incredible to me. It’s just incredible, it’s revolutionary just in its existence. I really wanted to show that. Q: What inspires you in your storytelling? A: I am inspired by all of the kids that I grew up with, kids like me, whose parents have similar struggles, whose parents weren’t afforded the opportunities to get sober, whose parents weren’t always home. What that gave us was a strong bond, and it gave us these incredible imaginations because we didn’t always have access to what we wanted or what we needed. It was us creating worlds for each other to live in, and have fun in, and be safe in. I continue to be inspired by that to this day. Every time I create something, I sit and I think about building forts with the kids I grew up with. I think about putting our little money together and getting a bounce house for each other. I think about us in high school, chipping in and skipping classes, to drive to the beach and just sitting there and listening to music and laughing. We were so innovative because we had to be, but it gave us hope. So, I think about them and I think about our journey together, and I think about our adventures together all the time. I’m also just always inspired by San Diego’s Black and Brown culture. The murals on low riders. Low riders are, to me, so fascinating because they’re like these moving art pieces that people invest in to bring vibrancy to their neighborhoods. They’re not cheap, so it’s this moving, bouncing thing that kind of hops up and down the streets of our neighborhoods and blasts music, and it brings us joy in this little concrete jungle. I’m inspired by nature, always. Growing up with the ocean was a huge thing; it was something I could always run to, always depend on. It was free. I love beach culture, I love the hippies of beach culture. Just people walking around being their authentic selves and eating tacos by the ocean. Mostly, I’m very inspired by Southern nature-cypress trees, lakes, the ecosystem that nature creates, trees that bend and blow in the wind but rarely fall over. Egrets that fly and bring messages of good fortune and change. So yeah, I would say I’m inspired by the kids that I grew up with and our adventures, and very much inspired by the Black and Brown culture of San Diego, and very much inspired by nature. Q: What is the best advice you’ve ever received? A: The best advice I’ve ever received was from Haile Gerima, an incredible filmmaker. His advice was to vomit—when you’re creating something, don’t think about it too much, don’t dig too deep into it, just vomit everything you have within you onto the page and see where it goes. That advice, I carry it, not just in my art and work, but also in life. Q: What is one thing people would be surprised to find out about you? A: Perhaps that I speak a little German. I did a year abroad in Germany in high school during my junior year. Q: Please describe your ideal San Diego weekend. A: On Saturday, I’m waking up, I’ll go to 6 Grados coffee shop on Reo (Drive) in Paradise Hills. Get myself a little coffee and a muffin, make my way over to Sunset Cliffs in OB (Ocean Beach), and I’ll sit there for a minute in my 1981 El Camino. There’s a trail along the cliffs that I love to do, I think it’s about two miles, so I’ll do that and then come back to sit and look at the water for a little bit. Make my way through Balboa Park, just driving through it. I love the architecture. Stop off at Chicano Park, perhaps at Fish Guts for shrimp tacos, then head home, take a little nappy nap. Before the sun sets, I’ll go sit at Sweetwater Regional Park. There’s a  little manmade lake out there that I love to sit at. If I’m lucky, there will be some horses walking by. On Sunday, I’m a homebody; I just love to kick it at the house and read, do whatever cleaning I need to do, and if any family members or friends are up for it, go grab a quick meal in Bonita somewhere and call it a night. To suggest a notable San Diegan for the One-on-One series, contact Lisa Deaderick at [email protected]. ...read more read less