The Chair Company follows Ron, who investigates a conspiracy after an embarrassing incident at work.
How did you get started in cinematography?
I grew up a big film lover. I watched movies constantly, and I grew up in Los Angeles. I was also a serious athlete for a long time, but I blew out my knee in school and realized how fragile bodies are. Sports weren’t going to be my future.
Being in LA exposed me to different creative pathways, and I realized I could actually make a career out of movies. I knew I wanted to be a cinematographer, so I was homeschooled for a while and started making projects. I loved cameras and the technical side, but especially the way the technical and emotional aspects mix together. That really spoke to me.
I was shooting other people’s films, making my own experimental films—it just felt very clear.
That’s amazing. Where did you go to college?
I went to school on the East Coast. I left the Valley and went as far away as I could.
That’s something a lot of us do. How did you get involved with The Chair Company?
It came through fairly normal routes. Andy DeYoung, who directed the pilot, and I had been trying to work together for almost a decade. We were mutual fans of each other, but the timing never lined up.
When the show was coming to New York, I think he thought of me and put my name forward. I pitched on it and made a deck. I was already a huge fan of Tim and Zach’s comedy, so it wasn’t hard to want the job. I went after it pretty hard.
When did you officially start working on the show?
We shot the pilot in summer 2024. The series was shot this spring into summer, and it came out the same year, which was a fast turnaround. I signed on around May or June.
I had just had a baby, so the pilot was my first big job back. It was incredibly supportive. I was still pumping, still breastfeeding, and that can be really hard as a DP because you can’t just step away.
Everyone was very chill about it. I had this kind of cape I’d turn around and I’d pump at the monitor between setups. The crew would help store the milk and send it to the freezer. Looking back, it feels a little insane that I did that, but it was such a welcoming set.
That should honestly be a documentary in itself.
It really should. But I was very grateful—it made it possible for me to do my job.
One thing I noticed about the show is that unlike many comedies, it doesn’t return to the same spaces over and over. There are constantly new locations and characters. How did you approach filming that while still making it feel cohesive?
The show moves very fast. There’s no slowing down. A lot of shows today feel like they stretch narratives without much happening, but The Chair Company just keeps going. That meant a ton of location work, which was a challenge but also really exciting. We weren’t on stage very much—almost everything was on location—so every day brought something new.
Our approach to lighting and camera was very speed- and efficiency-oriented while still maintaining the tone. My crew made that possible. There was no time to mess around.
How big was your crew?
Roughly around 30 people, give or take. Two cameras, a solid grip, and electric department. We were well supported, which made the pace possible.
Tim Robinson is so animated and expressive. Did that influence how you approached the camera work?
Tim is going to be Tim—it’s a fully realized character. For the show to work, you had to be emotionally invested in Ron’s journey. My theory of the show was really privileging Ron’s perspective—emotionally, physically, and in how information is revealed. The scripts are very precise. There’s very little improvisation. The emotional arc is clearly built into the writing. Ron is risking his family, his job, his safety, all in service of this obsession.
From a cinematography standpoint, we wanted to stay emotionally connected to him and move with him. Tim and Zach know exactly what they’re making, which made collaboration really easy. You could trust that they had the big picture.
Did you shoot chronologically?
Yes—chronologically in terms of the script.
As the sole cinematographer, how did that level of trust from Tim and Zach impact you—especially as a woman in cinematography?
Working from the pilot through the entire series was incredibly fulfilling. TV can be difficult because it’s big, fast, and complicated—it’s like building a machine that has to keep running. A movie feels more concentrated.
What made this special was how creatively pure it felt. I loved every script we got. Tim and Zach trusted Andy and me, and also trusted the other director, Aaron Schimberg. That trust allowed us to really visualize what they’d written. My goal as a cinematographer is always to give showrunners what they need so that when they get to the edit room, they can make the show they want to make.
Who influenced the visual style of the show?
Andy and I referenced a lot of 70s and 80s thrillers—Michael Mann, Alan Pakula. We’re big film lovers, and our references were deep. We were always focused on pace and matching Ron’s journey. I was excited to go darker and play more. I studied experimental film, so discovery is a big part of my process. We tried things—some worked, some didn’t—but that playfulness freed us up creatively.
What’s next for you?
I’m in post on a film I shot right before the show called Remarkably Bright Creatures. It’s a Netflix movie based on a popular book—a real warm hug of a film. I’m also attached to a couple of other projects that are figuring out timelines. And we’re doing season two of The Chair Company, which I’ll be back for.
What advice would you give to women who want to get into cinematography?
The business is tough, and there are real constraints placed on women. As you go deeper into your career, you start to see rooms you’re not invited into. Men often get second chances that women don’t.
I don’t know what makes someone hireable. I know incredibly talented people who aren’t working much, and some very difficult people who work constantly.
What I do know is this: you never know when your opportunity will come. You just have to keep making work that feels honest to your voice. We need more diverse perspectives to reflect the complexity of human experience.
It’s hard. You’ll have great years and years that make you feel terrible. If this is something you truly need to do, you’ll know. And you have to keep going.
That’s one of the best answers I’ve ever gotten. Thank you so much.
