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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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Inside good, outside bad



The days have lost their names. I really thought it was Monday but it turns out today is Tuesday. All I know is that it is green outside, that the sun rises high and early, that children play downstairs while I am still asleep. Their sounds are ugly, like jackals fighting over a bone slippery with meat. When I lived on East 1st street, there were handball courts downstairs and I often woke to the reverbing slap of the little ball, children shouting, the light applause, the wounded defeat. But here it is different. It sounds violent, and unkind.

Inside, V is playing with her dolls tiptoeing from room to room. There may be nothing sweeter than an invitation to one of her tea parties, or play dough adventures. 

I think these months of quarantine have sharpened certain notions, cementing them in my thoughts. 

Inside good, outside bad. 




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