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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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this is the world



After more than four months inside, I took a walk with E on a Tuesday afternoon. We took every precaution, and made out way along an overgrown path. Even beneath a mask, the green of the trees seeps in. The smell of the muddy water that runs in a stream, with ducks nowhere to be found. The ground scrapes beneath our feet - a foreign noise. It starts to rain a little, but we do not stop. Here is a gate, and a half-built building standing like a hollow giant with one worklight that blinks inside, dangling from a wire. 

Men are in a garden, speaking in low voices. This is the world, and what we have been missing. Weeds growing, bridges being built and the distant hum of traffic. The drops are getting bigger, too many to walk between. We head back, as if we have left a pot on the stove bubbling away. Yes, this is outside  - so much like we remembered it but at the same time, unrecognizable.  
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