The Sound a Soul Makes

Using the universal language of music and dance, The Sound a Soul Makes brings to life the emotional journey of a miscarriage by imagining a world where the child and parents get to meet and fall in love, if only for a short time.

Writer / Director: Karl Stelter
Producers: Karl Stelter, Visual Medium

Dancers
Ariana Daub as “Bee”
Natalie Ischovich as “Mom”
Micah Moch as “Dad”

Choreography: Arian Russell

Beach Unit
Cinematographer: Luc Delamare
Production Assistants: Stephen Snavely, Chris Russell, Lenneal McKudu

Black Void Unit
Cinematographer: Nathaniel Regier
Key Grip: Pedro Bringas
Gaffer: Seth Fuller
GE Swing: Nick Sandoval
Production Stills: JJ House

Post-Production
Editor: Karl Stelter
Composer: Christy Marshall
Color: Luc Delamare
Mastering: Steve Shebby
Live Players: Simone Vitucci (Cello), Brandon Encinas (Viola), Nicole Garcia (Violin)
Sound Design: Ridgeline Sound
VFX Supervisor: Eduard Karamshuk
Compositing Artists: Dmytro Shykylov, Kirill Potras

Special Thanks
My wife Rachel Stelter for trusting and believing in me to tell this story.

An extremely intimate story, this film was based on a poem I wrote the day my wife unexpectedly had a miscarriage with our first child. But the film is not just about remembering loss – it is about remembering love too.

And on a broader level: it’s also meant to be a conversational piece that provides some catharsis for those who have experienced this loss, and to remove some of the stigma about miscarriage. It is a part of creating life, and just as we publicly grieve those who lived in this world with us – we should not feel ashamed to grieve those whose journey was cut short.

For more thoughts or behind-the-scenes, you can check out our Seed&Spark page here, and read the originating poem below.

“THE GLASS WALL”

We waited at the Glass Wall.
Searching through the shifting darkness
until we found you
shaping our imaginations.

We waited at the Glass Wall.
Barriers melting as our hearts raced together
through time
for the first time.

We waited at the Glass Wall.
But you couldn’t say hello.
Your silence.

Our silence.

Unwillingly etched in time.