one fire festvial
Stories were never meant to be watched – they were meant to be lived, carried, and returned to the fire
A Festival That Burns Beyond the Screen
We live in a world drowning in stories but starving for meaning. Flickering screens deliver endless content, but where do these stories go? Who holds them? Who takes responsibility for them? Stories were never meant to be consumed and discarded. They were meant to be held, carried, and cycled back into the land, into the people, into the future.
This is the purpose of the One Fire Festival – to return story to its rightful place, to take it from the digital and back into the fire, into the bodies of those who listen, into the soil, the breath, the heartbeat of all things.
For 56 continuous hours, the fire will burn. Unwavering. Unbroken. A gathering of creators, elders, dreamers, and seekers, coming together in a space where storytelling is not a performance but a ceremony – a process of relation, responsibility, and reciprocity.
This is not a film festival in the way people understand them now – where you show up, watch some things, shake some hands, and leave. No, this is about what happens when the stories leave the screen and enter the fire. When they settle into the land itself, when they shift something inside you that refuses to let you walk away unchanged.
This is the turnaround point.
what makes one fire different
A return to story. a return to relation.
It starts with fire. It always has. Before the screens, before the stages, before the written word, there was fire – where knowledge was passed, where law was spoken, where the old ones sat in the glow and shaped the world with story. That fire never went out. It has burned through time, through memory, through generations of telling and retelling, carried by those who knew how to tend it. But something happened. The stories were pulled from the fire and placed in cold storage. Archived, extracted, turned into something to be consumed instead of something to be lived.
But stories don’t survive that way. They don’t live in isolation. They need breath, voice, land. They need relation. And so, One Fire Film Festival is not just a festival. It is a gathering place, a return, a convergence of all those who know that storytelling is not a product but a process, a ceremony, a responsibility.
For 56 continuous hours, the fire will burn, unwavering and unbroken. It will carry the echoes of those who came before and the voices of those who carry the stories now. Films, music, live storytelling, and ceremony will move through the days and nights, following the natural rhythms of time, guiding us through deep listening, deep witnessing, and deep remembering.
what makes one fire different
Story as Ceremony, Not Just Entertainment
This is not a festival where you come, watch, clap politely, and leave. This is immersion, a way of being with story. Films are not just projected; they are held in relation to the land they come from, the language they carry, the people who tend them. There is no red carpet, no VIP section, no industry jargon that keeps people out. The fire does not belong to any one—it belongs to the stories. And the stories belong to all of us.
Throughout the festival, panels and discussions unfold as conversations, not lectures. Knowledge keepers, filmmakers, artists, and community voices sit together—not as experts, but as holders of different fragments of truth, piecing them together with those who come to listen. The audience is not passive. You are part of the weave, part of the fire, part of the process of remembering.
And it’s not just about the stories on the screen. The festival itself moves like a story, flows like a songline. Music rises with the sunrise, carrying the voices of the land. The smell of food, grown and prepared on Country, ties us to place through taste and nourishment. Live storytelling takes shape around the fire at night, the old ways of speaking and listening rekindled as voices rise into the sky and mix with the stars.
what makes one fire different
Story as Ceremony, Not Just Entertainment
The One Fire Film Festival is not bound by time or tradition—it moves through both, weaving the past and future into the present. Films carry their own timelines—some speaking to the dreamers, the ones who watch under the midnight sky. Others calling the seekers, those who greet the first light of dawn with ceremony. Others still, unfolding at dusk, guiding hearts ready to remember.
But this is not just for those who already know. This fire is for everyone. For those searching. For those who feel something missing but don’t yet have the words for it. For those ready to listen, ready to witness, ready to gather around the fire and step into something much older than themselves.
And after the festival, the fire does not go out. Because stories, when received properly, ignite something that does not fade. The work that is seen, heard, and felt here does not end when the credits roll—it is carried into the world, rippling outward, lighting embers in places where the fire had grown cold.
Because this is not just a festival; it is a movement. It is a call to remember that story is not content—it is responsibility. It is an act of reciprocity. It is something we tend, something we carry, something we pass forward, intact, alive, and burning bright for those yet to come.
A Festival That Burns Beyond the Screen
The fire burned for 56 hours straight. Smoke curled into the night sky, carrying songs, stories, and echoes of laughter, mingling with the stars above. Beneath it, a gathering unlike any other unfolded—a convergence of storytellers, wisdom keepers, artists, filmmakers, and seekers, all drawn together by one undeniable truth: stories are not just entertainment; they are medicine.
The One Fire Film Festival was not just an event—it was an experience, an immersion, a homecoming. Set on sacred Country, where the land itself held the stories being told, this was not a festival where people came to consume. It was a place to witness, to listen, and to feel the weight of truth spoken by the fire.
For three days and nights, stories did not just live on screens—they moved through ceremony, through music, through shared meals prepared by local hands, through the land that cradled each footstep. It was storytelling the way it was meant to be: woven through the senses, rooted in place, guided by those who carry the knowledge of their ancestors.
legacy of one fire
From sunrise screenings in the cool hush of morning to midnight circles where voices carried through the dark, every film, every series, every panel held something deeper—a pulse, a heartbeat, a calling. This was not about passive observation but active participation in the great web of connection.
The festival featured a powerful selection of films, series, and shorts from Indigenous storytellers and allies around the world. Each work was a songline in its own right—a map to memory, resistance, survival, and hope.
The stories we tell are not just reflections of the past; they are instructions for the future. We don’t just watch them, we walk them.
Discussions did not happen in sterile conference halls but on Country, under trees that have witnessed thousands of years of storytelling, on the soil where ancestors still speak. First Nations speakers, alongside allies dedicated to truth-telling, took part in panel discussions that challenged, inspired, and called people into responsibility.
Through every conversation, the fire burned—a reminder that the work does not end when the festival does.
This is more than a competition. This is an act of storytelling in right relation. A fire that continues to burn.
Competition Details
The One Fire Film Festival is not bound by time or tradition—it moves through both, weaving the past and future into the present. Films carry their own timelines—some speaking to the dreamers, the ones who watch under the midnight sky. Others calling the seekers, those who greet the first light of dawn with ceremony. Others still, unfolding at dusk, guiding hearts ready to remember.
But this is not just for those who already know. This fire is for everyone. For those searching. For those who feel something missing but don’t yet have the words for it. For those ready to listen, ready to witness, ready to gather around the fire and step into something much older than themselves.
And after the festival, the fire does not go out. Because stories, when received properly, ignite something that does not fade. The work that is seen, heard, and felt here does not end when the credits roll—it is carried into the world, rippling outward, lighting embers in places where the fire had grown cold.
Because this is not just a festival; it is a movement. It is a call to remember that story is not content—it is responsibility. It is an act of reciprocity. It is something we tend, something we carry, something we pass forward, intact, alive, and burning bright for those yet to come.
The One Fire Film Festival was not just a space for watching—it was a space for being. Between screenings, people gathered for music that moved through the air like spirit, for workshops that pulled them into the hands-on rhythms of craft, language, and tradition.
Locally prepared food was more than sustenance—it was a direct connection to the land, a taste of Country itself, a sharing of the stories embedded in every grain, every root, every flame-seared meal.
Everywhere you turned, the festival asked something of you—not to simply attend, but to engage, to offer something of yourself.
“The fire doesn’t burn for us alone. It burns for those who came before, those who are yet to come. Our job is to keep it going.”
– Dig Jones
As the final embers faded, it was clear: One Fire was not a moment in time. It was a shift in the way storytelling is done, the way film is experienced, the way cultural narratives are honored.
This was not about films being slotted into neat schedules and played on anonymous screens. This was about storytelling being returned to where it belongs—to the fire, to the land, to the people who hold its knowledge, to a living space where story and audience are in relation.
This is not a festival that will disappear after the tents come down and the screens go dark. It is a movement that will continue to ripple outward, carried by those who sat by the fire and felt its warmth.
The world has enough noise. What it needs now are the right stories, told in the right way, in the right place. One Fire is that place.
And the fire is still burning.
The One Fire Film Festival is not bound by time or tradition—it moves through both, weaving the past and future into the present. Films carry their own timelines—some speaking to the dreamers, the ones who watch under the midnight sky. Others calling the seekers, those who greet the first light of dawn with ceremony. Others still, unfolding at dusk, guiding hearts ready to remember.
But this is not just for those who already know. This fire is for everyone. For those searching. For those who feel something missing but don’t yet have the words for it. For those ready to listen, ready to witness, ready to gather around the fire and step into something much older than themselves.
And after the festival, the fire does not go out. Because stories, when received properly, ignite something that does not fade. The work that is seen, heard, and felt here does not end when the credits roll—it is carried into the world, rippling outward, lighting embers in places where the fire had grown cold.
Because this is not just a festival; it is a movement. It is a call to remember that story is not content—it is responsibility. It is an act of reciprocity. It is something we tend, something we carry, something we pass forward, intact, alive, and burning bright for those yet to come.
The fire is lit. The stories are waiting. Come sit with us.
Dates
Open for submissions: [Start Date]
• Submission deadline: [End Date]
• Judging period: [Dates]
• Winners announced: [Date]
Custodian Award
Grand Prize
$10,000 Grant
To fund a storytelling project, photographic journey, or initiative that continues the work of sharing the untold stories of the world.
Feature Exhibition – The winning work will be the centerpiece of the One Fire Festival, displayed in a touring exhibition across multiple countries.
Published & Featured – The winning images will be published across the VA Network, featured in our digital and print publications, and shared globally.
Guardians of Story
Category Winners
$3,000 Prize
To support their ongoing work as a visual storyteller.
Exhibition Inclusion – Their work displayed at the One Fire Festival and online in the VA Network’s Story Archive.
Featured Spot in VA Network Media – A dedicated showcase of their story and process.
The Firekeeper’s Choice
People’s Choice Award
$5,000 Prize – Awarded to the photographer whose image ignites the most engagement and connection, as chosen by the global community.
All Finalists Receive:
A Place in the Exhibition & Print Sale – Every finalist’s work will be part of the One Fire Exhibition, with prints sold to raise funds for Indigenous-led community projects.
Revenue Share from Print Sales – 33.3% goes to the photographer, 33.3% supports community initiatives where the images were taken, and 33.3% funds land conservation efforts.
Global Recognition – Featured on the VA Network’s platforms, ensuring their work reaches audiences worldwide.
Guardians of the Fire
Categories
Our competition spans several categories, each designed to capture a different facet of the rich, diverse, and enduring connection between people, culture, and the land. Each category offers a unique opportunity to showcase your vision and bring to light the stories that need to be heard.
The Faces of Fire
Portraits of people who embody wisdom, resilience, and change-makers who are keeping traditions and futures alive.
Portraits of Place
Not just landscapes, but land as a living entity. Places with story, places that hold memory, places that speak.
Tradition in Motion
Capturing the hands that weave, carve, hunt, dance – expressions of knowledge passed through generations.
Elements of Life
Water, earth, fire, air – photographs that capture the elements as more than resources, but as kin, as spirits, as forces that shape all things.
Threads of Connection
The relationships that bind us, the gestures of care, the unspoken bonds between people, place, and time.
Giving Back
Impact
All proceeds from the competition go towards supporting Indigenous photography programs, funding community-led storytelling projects, and restoring lands through conservation partnerships. Winning images will be exhibited in a traveling gallery, amplifying the voices and perspectives that need to be seen and heard.
Projects
33.3% to grassroots community projects, ensuring these stories are living, breathing acts of survival and resilience.
Peoples
33.3% to the people and places behind the images, honoring their role as the true keepers of these stories.
Places
33.3% to conservation and land protection initiatives, ensuring the places that hold these memories remain for the generations yet to come.
legacy of one fire
The One Fire Festival isn’t just a weekend; it’s a movement that ripples outward. It’s a reminder of the power of stories to heal, to guide, and to transform. It’s a gathering that lights a fire within each person, a flame that continues to burn long after the festival ends.
Because at the core of it all is the truth that Dig once shared: “The fire isn’t for us. It’s for everyone. To remind them. To bring them back. To keep it going.”
The One Fire Festival is that fire, alive and burning. A space where the world’s most critical stories are told, and where every attendee becomes a custodian of their flame.
The One Fire Film Festival is not bound by time or tradition—it moves through both, weaving the past and future into the present. Films carry their own timelines—some speaking to the dreamers, the ones who watch under the midnight sky. Others calling the seekers, those who greet the first light of dawn with ceremony. Others still, unfolding at dusk, guiding hearts ready to remember.
But this is not just for those who already know. This fire is for everyone. For those searching. For those who feel something missing but don’t yet have the words for it. For those ready to listen, ready to witness, ready to gather around the fire and step into something much older than themselves.
And after the festival, the fire does not go out. Because stories, when received properly, ignite something that does not fade. The work that is seen, heard, and felt here does not end when the credits roll—it is carried into the world, rippling outward, lighting embers in places where the fire had grown cold.
Because this is not just a festival; it is a movement. It is a call to remember that story is not content—it is responsibility. It is an act of reciprocity. It is something we tend, something we carry, something we pass forward, intact, alive, and burning bright for those yet to come.
Guardians of the Fire
Major Partners
For those who walk beside us, carrying the weight of shared vision and responsibility. These partners provide core funding, infrastructure, and strategic support, ensuring the VA Network thrives and expands. They are woven into the very foundation of this work, shaping the stories that are told and the impact that is made.
