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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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a photograph is a cup of water



Writing is at the heart of everything I do, except for taking pictures. Songs, stories, films - they all begin with an empty page and a familiar pen before anything else. They are written. The photograph is something entirely different. It thrives on the absence of words. 

When a camera or two gets tucked into my bag, I am painting a little corner of personal freedom to explore. There is great joy to be found in the oddest places, the undiscovered alleyway. But I must earn it. The idea has to come from someplace both relevant and intimate - that soft, vulnerable underbelly I protect at all costs must be laid bare. I follow a few steadfast rules, but I do not see them as limitations or hurdles. A cup of water needs something to hold it, or it just spills on the floor.

It never fails to amaze me, how a familiar street or an airport, a set of stairs or an elevator can present an opportunity. Faces, abandoned shoes, rain, coins in fountains, children on playgrounds - they all thrive without words. They just need some light, the soft grab of the shutter, a look up, a look down, a look around a corner, or from a car on the way home. The moments present themselves and I just need to be ready for them. A quick kiss in the street, someone in tears in a parking lot, a stray dog. They are all completed when someone else sees them.


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