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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 shape of things to come



I ordered a white horse mask. It arrived a week later, smelling of fresh latex as it slid over my head and blocked out my field of view. I could only see through its mouth, wandering the apartment already knocking into the old walls. V saw me first and her jaw dropped. 
"I want a pony!" She announced and tried to yank it off of me.
"I guess it is more of a pony." I said, my voice muffled iside.
N's mouth twisted.
"Look at the ears." She explained. "It's a mule not a horse." 
I shuffled to a mirror and tried to see myself. 
I pulled the mask off, staring at it.
She was right of course.

Why did I buy it? Well, you will have to wait on that story. It is a good one, I promise. 

It hangs in the living room on a mic stand now, staring at everything.
It sees the shape of things to come. It is me, and not me. It is that part of myself I do not recognize when I hear it. It speaks such familiar words, like home and train, like drunk and afternoon. It makes good sounds, hollow and big, gentle and tender, broken and messy. 

It is the shape of things to come.




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