by loeyteaDocumentarian
I used to be a documentarian. I thought I would spend my life producing programs and broadcasting stories. But life doesn’t always follow the script we write. For years, I worked as an assistant director, camera in hand, moving from one scene to another. Environment, travel, everyday life—the subjects varied, but the essence remained the same. Go somewhere, see something, record it. Filming and editing were often exhausting, but the joy that followed made it worthwhile. Travel and documentation became my routine, stitching frames together to shape a story.
To me, making documentaries was about watching quietly—approaching a subject as an observer, a recorder. You don’t interfere; you follow the flow. And somewhere along the way, people and places reveal their true nature. Those scattered moments naturally form a narrative, and what was once unfamiliar becomes clear. Understanding always comes through observation.
Interviews played a crucial role in that process. It’s more than just filming someone talking on camera. Countless questions and conversations build the foundation of every meaningful interview. And the secret to a good interview? Good questions. You can’t draw out someone’s story without a deep understanding of the subject. This is especially true when speaking with experts. If you can’t show enough insight within a short conversation, you won’t get an honest, thoughtful answer in return.
Equally important was the act of going there—physically stepping into the space where stories unfolded. A good video follows the natural movement of the human eye: seeing something from afar, then leaning in for a closer look. When that rhythm flows seamlessly, viewers stop noticing the camera and focus entirely on the story. Good footage takes effort. You climb higher, travel farther, and search longer. The quality of the final cut reflects how much you moved, how much you were willing to chase the story.
Even with the same camera, every person captures a different image. Some shoot with raw energy; others lean toward delicate detail. But in the end, a good video comes from time and patience. Like a car—functional with its engine and seats but truly complete when design elevates it. A documentary becomes whole when polished visuals and thoughtful sound design meet the heart of the story. Without authenticity, the aesthetics mean nothing.
After years of chasing stories, I found myself questioning it all. The thrill of broadcasting a finished program was undeniable, but once the credits rolled, my name faded into the screen, and the cycle began again. It felt like pushing the same stone uphill, endlessly.
It was around that time I traveled to Greece. While filming a travel piece, I was invited by the tourism board to cover a food exhibition. There, I met people whose lives revolved around food. Their work was unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar. Planning, traveling, sourcing, and presenting something thoughtfully crafted—the structure felt like documentary-making, just in a different form.
I decided to leave broadcasting. After my final program as a director, I stepped away. I wanted to create something that didn’t vanish the moment it aired—something tangible.
That led me to the food industry. I joined an international food brand, searching for raw ingredients and collaborating with producers. From fresh produce to processed goods, I traveled to farms and factories around the world—fruit orchards in California, nut farms in Chile, and processing plants in Australia. The most captivating part? Unlike a broadcast, this work left behind something you could hold. Like building a house—once it’s finished, it stands. It doesn’t dissolve into air when the screen turns black.
That’s how LOEYTEA was born. I approached it like any other project: researching, traveling, discovering. I visited tea origins, met producers, and listened to their stories. Slowly, a narrative formed. When I finally turned that story into a product and placed it into people’s hands, they welcomed it—not just as a product, but as a piece of something real and thoughtful.
Now, I build LOEYTEA the way I made documentaries. No embellishment. No exaggeration. Just the quiet gaze of an observer. To document, to preserve the essence, to add what belongs and remove what doesn’t. Every tin of tea is shaped by that process—a product, yes, but also a record of the journey it took to exist.
I will spend my life completing this project—one chapter at a time, building something that endures. I am still an observer, a recorder.
– David, Founder