We sat down for an exclusive interview with Eva Bukovenszki, director of The Cost of Dreaming. This 90 minute independent feature documentary exploring the ambition, sacrifice and inequality behind pursuing a creative career, through the experiences of young artists across disciplines, backgrounds and countries.
The Cost of dreaming premieres physically in Barcelona on October 30, followed by its worldwide online premiere on November 7, with further screenings and events developing through 2026 and 2027.
The documentary was made without a production budget, filmed entirely on a smartphone. At what point did that constraint begin to shape the film creatively rather than simply limit it?
I don’t think the limitations ever completely stopped feeling like limitations. I filmed on an iPhone 15 Pro Max, and although it has a great camera, I still struggled with lighting, inconsistent image quality and, probably most of all, sound. There is only so much you can repair in post-production. Even practical things became challenges: constantly running out of storage, deleting apps before shoots, or filming my own sections without being able to see myself while using the main camera.
But I also started enjoying the challenge of seeing how far I could push such an ordinary object. A phone made filming feel much less intimidating for both me and the participants, and created a more informal environment. I’ve wanted a camera for years, but financially it hasn’t been possible. Ultimately, I didn’t want lack of money to become an excuse not to create.
You feature five creatives across different disciplines alongside a global section built around one shared question. What guided your selection of contributors for both strands of the film?
I never really cared which creative discipline someone belonged to. Whether it was music, filmmaking, acting, painting or anything else, I had two requirements: they had to have that hunger for the dream, and they had to have experienced some kind of struggle pursuing it.
I also didn’t want five versions of the same story. I couldn’t study what I wanted, but never stopped creating; Sara studied filmmaking but is now struggling to enter the industry; João lacked support and couldn’t study his chosen path; Ariadna was encouraged towards a “safer” degree and still wonders what might have happened otherwise; and Elizabeth studied what she loved, but moved across the world and left everything behind to pursue it.
I approached the global section similarly, finding creatives online across different countries and continents to show how one question can produce completely different answers.
You directed, filmed, edited and marketed the project independently. Which of those roles proved the most unexpected challenge?
Surprisingly, editing. I actually expected marketing to be the hardest part, but once I started reaching out to venues, universities and publications, it became much less intimidating than I had imagined.
I’ve been editing since I was around 13 or 14, originally for my own YouTube channel, so I went into this thinking it was probably the part I understood best. I was very wrong. Editing for YouTube or social media is completely different from constructing a 90-minute film and keeping someone engaged throughout it.
Suddenly I was thinking constantly about pacing, viewer retention, avoiding repetitive B-roll, colour grading, audio repair and tiny details I had never considered before. It also made me confront decisions I had made while filming that I couldn’t simply undo in post-production. I’ve essentially been learning how to edit a feature film by editing one.
The film asks who can afford to sustain a creative career long enough to be noticed. How would you answer that question in relation to your own experience making this documentary?
Making this documentary has almost become an answer to that question itself. I started it while finishing my degree and working full-time, including Saturdays. Since then, I’ve lost that job, struggled to find another and experienced periods where simply paying bills and buying groceries has been stressful.
I’m working again now, but with changing shifts and hours of commuting. With the premiere approaching, that has sometimes meant sleeping two or three hours because every available moment goes into the film: answering emails when I wake up, editing or scripting during commutes and breaks, then spending entire days at my laptop when I’m home.
The documentary was originally supposed to be finished months ago, but work and finances repeatedly changed that timeline. So when the film asks who can afford to remain creative long enough to be noticed, for me that isn’t theoretical. Sometimes pursuing the dream means trying to survive long enough to keep pursuing it.
The documentary touches on nepotism, class and the growing influence of AI within creative industries. Which of these themes did you find contributors were most guarded about discussing?
Honestly, none of them were particularly guarded, which I really appreciated. The participants were remarkably open, especially when discussing the education system and how little they felt it prepared them for actually making a living from their art. There was also a lot of honesty around the fact that talent alone often isn’t enough, and that connections and access can play an enormous role in who gets opportunities.
AI ended up occupying less of the final conversation, but that wasn’t because participants were uncomfortable discussing it. Some have been very vocal publicly about their views on AI and creativity; the interviews simply developed more naturally in other directions. In fact, the conversations sometimes went further than I expected. Elizabeth, for example, spoke about art bringing people together and questioned whether that benefits existing systems, which opened a broader discussion about how art can become political through what it expresses or challenges.
Following its Barcelona premiere, the film moves to a worldwide online release. What do you hope audiences take from that wider release that an in-person premiere alone could not offer?
I believe art connects people, and that if you have a voice, however small your platform is, you should use it for something you believe matters. I’ve seen how giving up on something that feels fundamental to who you are can affect your identity and happiness, and I wanted people experiencing that conflict to feel less alone.
Physical screenings are incredibly valuable, but they’re also limited by geography and access. Putting the documentary online means a young artist anywhere can encounter these stories and recognise something of themselves in them.
I also want it to reach people who might not understand why supporting someone’s creative ambitions matters. We celebrate successful strangers while sometimes dismissing our own friends for trying to become those people.
If someone sees that I made this with a phone and no production budget and thinks, “maybe I can start too,” that means something to me. But I don’t want to romanticise the struggle: artists shouldn’t have to exhaust themselves just to create.