MAURA COTTER

MAURA COTTER IS SEEING THINGS DIFFERENTLY

FILM / INTERVIEWED BY LAUX | AUGUST 2026

IMAGERY VIA
MAURA COTTER

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I pulled the Four of Cups when I was thinking of you.

The Four of Cups represents reflection, contemplation, and learning to see the world in a new way. Traditionally, it’s a card of quiet introspection rather than action. It reminds us that some of life’s greatest shifts happen not because the world changes, but because the way we see it does.

Its highest expression is presence, gratitude, emotional clarity, and recognizing beauty in the ordinary.

Its shadow side is apathy, emotional withdrawal, taking things for granted, or overlooking unexpected opportunities.

Can you tell me about a moment when you started seeing the world differently?

The first thing that comes to mind is when I studied abroad in Mexico. I decided to stay for an entire year instead of just a semester. By then, I had already started my journey in activism. I was involved with the Campus Anti-War Network, considered myself pretty radical, and was already questioning a lot about the government.

But living in Mexico completely changed my perspective. Very few Americans studied abroad there, so most of my friends came from Europe, Australia, or Mexico. I had one older gay friend from Portland, but everyone else came from completely different backgrounds.

Meeting people from all over the world made me realize what I now think of as one of the biggest lies we grow up believing: That America is the greatest country in the world. It’s almost embarrassing for me to admit now because I already considered myself politically radical, yet I had still absorbed that belief. There are so many incredible things about this country. The landscapes. The creativity. The music. The art. There are so many beautiful things here.

But there are also countries doing many things far better than we are. Whether it’s healthcare, workers’ rights, women’s rights, or simply how people experience everyday life, I realized we’d been taught to see America through a very narrow lens.

That experience opened another question for me: What other things had I accepted simply because I’d been taught them since childhood? We recite the Pledge of Allegiance as kids. We grow up surrounded by this constant message that America is exceptional. It wasn’t until I lived somewhere else and heard other people’s stories that I realized how deeply that idea had been planted inside me.

That year completely changed how I understood the world.

I’d love to know what kind of kid you were growing up.

I was always performing.

I didn’t come from a family of artists. My dad was a police officer. My mom was a nurse. My aunt and uncle were lawyers. But creatively, I always had this performer energy. Even before I discovered musical theater in second grade, I loved taking photographs. My aunt always had those disposable cameras, and I’d spend hours asking her to photograph me posing around her house, dressing up in different outfits and creating little characters. Looking back now, I think creativity was just always looking for a way out.

My childhood still feels very alive in my memory.

What was little Maura imagining?

A couple memories come to mind immediately.

One was my collection of stuffed animals. I used to line them all up on my bed and pretend I was their teacher. I had this giant world atlas filled with photographs from different countries.

I’ve always had a nomadic heart. Even though I didn’t travel much as a kid, I loved imagining different places. Before I could even read, I’d flip through the atlas and “teach” all of my stuffed animals about the countries by describing the photographs.

Another memory is my best friend growing up. Her parents were artists. They met in college studying acting. Her dad became a drama teacher, and her mom created a children’s music program called Music Garden. Their house felt completely different from mine. I spent a lot of time there. One year, for Halloween, we decided to dress up as Miracle Max and Valerie from The Princess Bride. We made everything ourselves. We cut fabric, sewed our own costumes, and her dad even helped us sculpt prosthetic noses. I remember leaving my own classroom so I could celebrate Halloween with her class instead because I wanted us to stay together. My teacher wasn’t very happy about it.

Who made you feel seen when you were young?

My Aunt Peggy.

She’s always been like my second mom. My parents had a pretty tumultuous relationship growing up, and my mom carried a lot of anger. She’s come so far since then, but as a kid there was a lot of rage in our house. Whenever things became overwhelming, I’d run away to my Aunt Peggy’s house. She never had children of her own, and I always felt incredibly safe with her. She was constantly encouraging my creativity. She was the one taking all those photographs of me. She was always willing to play along with whatever imaginative world I wanted to create. When I think about becoming a mother myself, and how I sing Rowan to sleep now, I realize Aunt Peggy was the person who did that for me. She had these little songs she’d always sing. One of them was: “Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy...”

Those memories have stayed with me.

Now that you’re a mother yourself... after spending time with your mom recently, do you find yourself seeing her differently now that you’ve become a parent?

Definitely. I’ve been thinking about my mom in a completely different way.

She lost her mother when she was three years old. Her mom died during childbirth while having their eighth child. The baby died too. My mom was only three. My uncle was two. They would stand at the front door crying because they couldn’t understand why their mother wasn’t coming home. My grandfather was a raging alcoholic and now they had no mother to shield them. I think about that little girl all the time now. She’s never really recovered from losing her mom. She still mourns her every day.

Being a parent myself has made me understand that grief in a way I couldn’t before. While we were visiting Chicago, something happened that also helped me understand my mom better. My dad has never been great with time. He’s probably autistic, although he’s never been diagnosed, and he’ll often say he’s coming somewhere and then show up an hour or two late without responding to anyone. It’s always driven my mom crazy. This trip was the first time I truly experienced what that feels like myself. He was supposed to pick us up. We accidentally left Rowan’s car seat in his car after the airport. I wasn’t worried because I knew he was picking us up the next day.

At 12:18 he texted that he was going to take a shower. I figured he’d be a little late. Instead, he was over an hour late. I called him several times. He didn’t answer. I could even see on Find My that he was still sitting at home. I became so frustrated. Then suddenly I understood. This is what my mom has been living with for decades.

I finally experienced the same feeling she’d always described.At the same time, something else has changed since Rowan was born. Both of my parents used to confide in me about their relationship. I often felt caught in the middle of their marriage. Since becoming a mom, my mom has almost completely stopped involving me in their conflicts. She’s made a real effort to let me simply be a parent instead of trying to parent them. That means so much to me.

Looking back, I realize I spent much of my childhood emotionally taking care of my parents. Both of them experienced tremendous loss. My mom lost her mother. My dad lost both of his parents and his youngest sister in a car accident shortly after my older sister was born. They each carried enormous grief. As a child, I naturally stepped into trying to care for them. Now they’re finally allowing me to focus on caring for my own child instead.

That feels like a huge shift.

One thing I’ve always admired about your work is how experimental it is. You’re such a tactile filmmaker. We’re both filmmakers, but our work couldn’t be more different. I’ve always been fascinated by your creative lens.

I think I’ve always loved weird things. I’ve always been drawn to visual art. Experimental filmmaking gives me permission to play. I get to explore color. Sound. Texture. Patterns. There’s so much freedom in it.

I’m sorry to interrupt, but something just clicked for me while you were talking. You’ve been a rule breaker your whole life. You became an activist. You questioned systems. You traveled. You learned the rules......and then broke them. I almost feel like experimental filmmaking is another version of that.

I think you’re right. I’ve always felt like part of my purpose is to think outside the box. When I was younger, that looked like activism in the streets. Now it looks different. Now it’s donating money to organizations. Trying to help in different ways. As Rowan gets older, I want him to experience those things too. I want him to understand that caring about other people matters. I don’t necessarily need to express that only through protests anymore. I hope my artwork can become another way of carrying those ideas into the world.

When people watch your films... what part of you are they getting to know?

They’re definitely getting to know my silly side. I love comedy. I love playfulness. I love making people laugh. But they’re also getting to know how deeply I love beauty. Nature is probably the biggest influence on my work. I care deeply about animals. Plants. All of our non-human neighbors. So many people experience nature as background scenery.

For me, it’s the opposite. The trees. The birds. The plants. They’re the main characters.We live near Golden Gate Park, and I love walking through the Panhandle. Sometimes I’ll stop and think about how long those trees have been there. They’ve watched generations of people come and go. They’ve seen the city constantly change around them. Their lives unfold on an entirely different timescale than ours. That perspective fascinates me. California’s landscapes inspire me every single day.

What story do you still feel called to tell?

I think right now... the world feels incredibly heavy. There’s so much anger. So much cruelty. So much darkness. Especially in this country. Because of that, I want my work to become a beacon of love. I want to continue creating things that remind people to care for one another. To love one another. To raise kind children, even during difficult moments in history. That’s where I hope my work continues to grow.

Lately I’ve been dreaming about making films with Rowan. I have a Super 8 camera, and I keep imagining taking him into Golden Gate Park. Filming him in nature. Playing. Growing. Discovering the world. Those are the kinds of stories calling to me now. They’re quieter. More intimate.

But they feel incredibly important.

What do you hope your future self thanks you for?

I hope she thanks me for living a full life. A life filled with friendship. Love. Exploration. Adventure. I hope she thanks me for choosing to surround myself with people I love and for trying to be a warrior of light in this world.