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somewhere over the rainbow (and other stories)

  Exactly two years ago I found myself flying through a corner of a rainbow, and landed in Oaxaca, Mexico. It was the last film festival I traveled to, a brutal and sweet experience in the harshest of realities, trying to wrap my arms around the slipperiest industry and failing magnificently. Surrounded by fresh faces and eager eyes I ran from the rooms and into the street time and again, wandering off with the camera in my bag as a companion. I took pictures of a blind man that sang on the same corner every day, of wedding parades, of an old woman waiting to see the dentist.  Literally somewhere over the rainbow, I met the ugliest answers to questions I had been dragging my feet towards for years. Cramming the most delicious food into my mouth, joking at the nightly rooftop cocktail parties, grinning like the Cheshire Cat it was all coming to an end. Actually, it had ended before it even started though - and on the plane back to New York and finally Moscow the bone-crunching undertow
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the fighting back


On some nights we scrape that ugly underbelly, faced with the humble fact that we are capable of anger and vengeance. It was only in a dream, a coat that can be shrugged off in the light of morning, but the weight remains on our shoulders. The imaginary trespass, the harsh words and a voice caught in our throat as we fight back and then that hot smell of revenge, the metallic taste of blood on our lips, the return to our life as wild animals. There is something deeply satisfying and equally humiliating about these moments, the fighting back.

A little voice trickles around, saying "you are better than this" and yet your hands are shaking, as you admit what you have done. Cheeks like a flame runs beneath the skin, the banging of oil drums in your ears, revenge does have a sweet taste until the covers are thrown off, until you look out the window at a strange city and feel as lost and empty and helpless as you did when you were a child.


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