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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 ...
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false hope



In the middle of the night, I yanked myself from the bed and scribbled on a piece of paper "False hope is the dog waiting for his master" then surrendered to the cold underside of my pillow. In the morning, I deciphered the crooked jumble of words, piecing them together. This was not the result of a dream, or a message whispered in my ear. I think it was keeping me awake, and putting it on paper was some kind of release - permission to sleep. 

Are we swollen with hope these days? I have to say yes. A desperate, greedy hope. A plea. A finger jabbing the air saying "I don't deserve this." 

As cities and countries begin their retreat from lockdown, I feel a cold draft even though all of the windows are closed. I think this is not even act one, but still part of the setup. We are just getting started, yet people are sucking in air to let out that long awaited sigh of relief. I don't specifically mean the virus. This conversation is much larger than that. 

The aftershock is worse than the earthquake.  

There is a seachange in progress, tectonic plates shifting  - not from the depths of the earth but in the rotting fabric of culture. The thing is, I see the rot winning.  
  
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