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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 CLARINET

 


The days are a slow rolling rollercoaster. They are so terribly similar,  but for some reason some are up and some are down. On Tuesdays we triumph, hearts full of sweetness, laughter in every room, good wine in our bellies. A few days later, staring into bowls of soup, without any idea what happened today or yesterday as they are exactly the same. We order more groceries that will be delivered to our door. We take long walks on foggy afternoons. We look for the moon behind the clouds. 

Somehow summer came and went, and now the leaves are yellow or just dead on the ground.

I think we just keep running out of fuel. The tank goes empty and we lean against the side of the road until someone comes along to yank us from the ditch. 

Last week I took a small side street, avoiding people as much as possible as I stretched my legs outside of the apartment for the first time in five days. Someone was playing a clarinet. Just scales, nothing fancy. They were a beginner, all squeaks and half starts. But they kept going. I found myself standing in the street listening for a good number of minutes, silently cheering them on. 

It may have been the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. 


 

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