Stories of Resilience: Doran Hickey
From Atlanta to LA, through personal struggles and endless passion, Doran’s journey reveals the power of staying true to one’s voice in an industry that often overlooks those who don’t conform.
When I first posted on Reddit about my Stories of Resilience project, I was hoping to connect with people willing to share their journey and perspectives on the current contraction of LA’s entertainment industry. Doran reached out after seeing my post, expressing an interest in participating and later filling out the form on my website.
As the first participant to sign on, his story has set a powerful tone for what this project can reveal about the resilience and inner strength of those in creative fields. And the humanity we all share.
I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this project. Thank you for reading.
When Doran arrived at our studio loft in the Arts District, it was immediately clear that his story was not just about surviving in this industry.
He had only moved to Los Angeles over a year ago, leaving behind a burgeoning career in Atlanta, where he had built a name for himself as a production designer and prop fabricator. But his journey to LA wasn’t just about career ambition. It was marked by an intense need to escape the heaviness of his experiences in Atlanta, including witnessing the tragic events surrounding Rayshard Brooks’ death, a moment that would shift his trajectory both personally and professionally. “After that, I didn’t want to be outside anymore,” he admitted. “I withdrew, stayed inside, and eventually started to work on my own stories.”
Stories have always been Doran’s refuge. Growing up in a challenging environment, he found solace in storytelling, a form of escapism that allowed him to “make sense of things.”
“When I write,” he explained, “it’s a way to escape from our messed-up world. I can create villains with motives, and heroes who make decisions that make sense. In real life, things happen that don’t make sense, but I have control in storytelling.” For him, creating narratives is not just a job; it’s a way of processing the world, of carving out a space where things align, if only for a moment.
When I write, it’s a way to escape from the messed-up world we live in.
Continuity is an essential part of storytelling, deeply tied to his work as a production designer. “I’m a huge continuity nerd,” he admitted, describing how production design allows him to “tell the story visually without that dialogue.” To him, every element in a scene, from the furniture to the lighting, must speak to the narrative, helping the audience to “deduce things with no dialogue.”
This meticulous attention to detail isn’t just about creating a believable set. It’s also about crafting an environment that conveys the story’s depth and complexity, even in silence.
His move to LA, however, wasn’t as much about running away as it was about finding the right soil for his creative growth. Armed with a handful of animated and live-action pitches, Doran had hoped that LA would offer him a chance to see his ideas bloom. “A producer told me, if you want LA rates, you have to be in LA,” he laughed, recounting the blunt advice that eventually nudged him west.
But LA’s promises of opportunity were tempered by the reality of an industry in decline. The landscape had shifted, becoming narrower, and more challenging for the very creatives who built it. Productions were increasingly outsourced, local jobs were shrinking, and those who worked below the line1, craftsmen, designers, makers, and doers, were hit hardest.
As he shared his perspective on this shift, Doran didn’t hide his frustration: “I know people who are the best Steadicam operators, the best post-production editors, and they’re begging for work. It’s like these skills we’ve developed over decades suddenly don’t matter.”
It’s like these skills we’ve honed over decades suddenly don’t matter.
Doran’s experiences underscore a reality that so many of us in LA’s entertainment industry are grappling with: the collision between art and commerce, the tug-of-war between creative integrity and survival. In a world where streaming platforms dictate content production, where IP has become king, and where safe is prioritized over bold, boundary-pushing storytelling, Doran finds himself at odds with the industry’s direction.
He points to the endless parade of sequels and remakes, the studio-driven obsession with “safe bets,” and laments, “It’s like no one wants to take risks anymore. Everything is about IP2, but IP for what? Battleship? A board game? Where’s the soul in that?”
As we continued our conversation, Doran’s thoughts turned to AI, a topic that weighs heavily on many of us creatives these days. He voiced concerns about the way AI technology is being used, particularly within the entertainment industry, where it threatens to replace the artistry and nuance that human hands bring to the craft.
“AI in medicine or environmental science, that makes sense,” he told me. “But using it to take away jobs in animation or film? That’s offensive.” For Doran, the push to integrate AI into creative fields feels like a move driven purely by cost-cutting, without consideration for the irreplaceable value of human creativity. “You can’t teach a machine the intuition that a cinematographer has, or the choices a storyboard artist makes in the moment to convey an emotion,” he said.
He described the meticulous, hands-on work of production design and prop fabrication, the unpredictable challenges, and the unique solutions that arise on set. “You could be asked to create a rig for a skateboard shot or design a hand-held setup with a bicycle light. That’s not something AI can just ‘learn’ to do. It’s human ingenuity.”
Doran’s concerns echoed the fears of many in the industry: that AI, if left unchecked, could render entire swaths of creative professions obsolete, not by enhancing the work but by hollowing it out. “The irony,” he said with a hint of frustration, “is that creatives have been struggling enough in this industry, and now they’re being replaced in the very field they helped build.”
Our conversation meandered into the power of representation, a topic close to Doran’s heart as someone who grew up in poverty, raised by a single gay mother. “I’m from the margins. I’ve been told my whole life that I’m not supposed to be here,” he reflected. Yet this marginalization has been a source of fuel, propelling him to tell stories that don’t fit the mold. His eyes light up when he talks about one of his animated projects, a quirky, bold series about a BDSM leather family and their dog. “They love it,” he says, grinning, “but they’re scared of it. It’s too real, too raw, and that makes people uncomfortable.”
Doran is unflinchingly honest about the toll that LA’s industry downturn has taken on his spirit. But despite the odds, he’s not ready to give up. Instead, he’s finding new ways to carve out a space for his voice. He’s sending messages to people he admires, reaching out, cold-emailing, putting himself out there in ways that once would have felt too bold, even desperate.
“A year ago, I wouldn’t have dared to do that,” he admitted, “but now? Now, I just go for it. Desperation can be a powerful motivator.”
And in this newfound audacity, Doran has found a surprising source of community. Through reaching out, he’s connected with people like Emmy-winning visual effects supervisor Adam Howard, who has shared both his wisdom and his struggles to find work.
“Here’s this guy who’s won several Emmys, and he’s offering to take dog portraits for a few bucks. It’s insane, but it’s also kind of comforting. It reminds me I’m not alone in this.”
As our conversation wound down, I asked Doran what keeps him going, what keeps him showing up despite the setbacks, the rejection, and the closed doors. He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged with a quiet determination. “I guess I’ve just spent my whole life being told I can’t do things. And every time, I’ve done them anyway. I’m still here because I believe that, eventually, the right people will see my work and say, ‘Yes, we want this. We need this.’”
I’m still here because I believe that, eventually, the right people will see my work and say, ‘Yes, we want this. We need this.’
There’s a lesson in Doran’s story for all of us who feel the strain of the industry’s current contraction, for those of us who have watched friends and colleagues step away from the careers they once loved. It’s a story of resilience, not in the glamorous, Hollywood sense, but in a way that feels authentic, messy, and deeply human.
In a world that often rewards conformity, Doran is a reminder of the power of defiance, of the quiet strength that comes from sticking to one’s vision, even when the world seems set on silencing it.
Perhaps, in these moments of hardship, it’s that resilience, the simple act of continuing to create, reaching out, and sharing stories that feel too real and raw, that might just be our saving grace.
As Doran shared, quoting an old proverb he loves, “If only the beautiful birds sing, the forest would be quiet.”
So sing your song, even if the world isn’t quite ready to listen.
🖤
If only the beautiful birds sing, the forest would be quiet.
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If you found Doran’s story compelling, please consider sharing this piece with others. I’m actively seeking more voices willing to share their journey, struggles, and triumphs within the creative fields surrounding this industry. Reach out via my website if you, or anyone you know, might be interested in joining this project.
And subscribe to this newsletter for more Stories of Resilience coming soon.
“Below the line” refers to the crew members and technical staff who work in roles like camera, lighting, sound, editing, and art direction. These are typically hands-on positions involved in the physical creation of the film, as opposed to “above the line” roles, such as directors, producers, writers, and lead actors, who are generally involved in the creative decision-making and planning. “Below the line” workers often face more instability in their careers, especially during industry slowdowns, due to the project-based nature of their work.
In the film industry, “IP” (intellectual property) refers to existing stories, characters, and concepts that have established popularity and recognition, like books, comics, classic films, or franchises. Studios prioritize IP because it’s seen as a safer financial investment; audiences are more likely to watch something they already know and love. This trend has led to an increase in sequels, reboots, and adaptations, as studios often favor these “safe bets” over original stories with unknown elements.
Loved this article. These are very challenging times not just in the creative industry but also in the world in general. Greed and lack of humanity have been shaping the future in so many ways and in essential aspects it does not look rosy. Hang on… keep reaching out and writing these beautiful essays! ❤️