The things they don't tell you at film school...

It's official. Frank Senior and I are dating. I started filming him last week. It commenced with a trip to the Bronx and ended in a bar called Arturo's in Soho which is an institution akin to Pelligrini's and where Frank can occasionally be found singing.

I am quickly discovering that my initial assumptions and ideas about being blind in NYC were quite misguided. Frank is teaching me that being blind is really not a deficit but rather a whole new way of perceiving the world. I have learned that being blind in NYC is actually much more convenient than one would imagine. There are people everywhere all the time to help him if he is lost or needs an arm to cross the road. He explains the intricacies and nuances of feeling the energy of the street, the personality of people through the sound of their voice, the space of a room, the lines on the footpath that keep him on track. I am learning that in fact he feels blessed to be alive and is a person that puts more emphasis and gratitude on what he has, than what he is missing. 

Apart from learning many unexpected things about Frank I am also learning many unexpected things about trying to film a blind guy. These are the things that they don't teach you at film school. They don't teach you that when filming a blind guy not only will you be filming but you will also be trying to ensure that your subject does not get hit by a car as you are trying to film him cross the road. There's dangers for both of us in this precarious situation.  As I chaotically danced around him with my house-sized camera,  behind, in front, to one side and then the other, I ducked as a ball of spit came unexpectedly in my direction. "Oh, shit Frank you nearly got me!" I exclaimed in disinhibited shock. "Oh, dam I thought you were on the other side of me I was sure I was too close to the wall for you to be there".

Yesterday we filmed on the corner of Fifth avenue and 42nd street. This is where Frank's Newstand is located. It was peak hour in the city as I was attempting to film on one of the busier street corners of NYC. As I juggled the tasks of setting up my tripod, dodging a mass of agitated, busy new yorkers desperately trying to get from work to home, and ensuring that Frank was calm, I wondered whether any film scene could justify this level of chaos and stress. I had planted my tripod outside the windows of Zara, this process usually takes five minutes to ensure you have captured the best angle and that the camera is aligned correctly.  As I was about to start shooting, a man from the Zara shop approached yelling at me to move my camera out of the way of his storefront. "Gimme two minutes I pleaded". I set up the shot and gave Frank the okay to walk towards his stand. As my eye finally rested at the viewfinder I gasped as I saw a woman in high heels catapult across the pavement and onto the ground amidst a sea of marching business men. I looked up to see Frank trying to bend his cane back from its disfigured shape. She ran up apologizing, I ran up apologizing and he just stood there calmly, laughing and unfazed  by the chaos around him. She walked off with a face full of humiliation, shame and shock. Can you get angry at a blind guy for tripping you up with his cane? Frank asked me if I got that on camera. "That shit happens all the time man, if you don't put that in the film, you ain't showing the truth! Normally I don't hold my cane so tightly so when I feel someone step into it I give it some slack, but she came at me just as I was gripping onto it, that's why she fell so hard."

We all recovered from the incident, I fixed Frank's cane and we were about to film the last scene of him leaving his newstand. I positioned myself for the shot and waited as he opened the door of the stand which was elevated from the footpath. The door opened and Frank took a step misreading the level of the ground, and dropped to the pavement. David (my zen like crew member from Barcelona)and I looked at each other with absolute embarrassment and pain. Frank got up without flinching, walked over to us laughing and explained that his Pakistani worker had been so nervous that we were filming, he had pushed him out the door and not warned him of the recent changes to the steps of the newstand. I couldn't believe the sequence of events and decided to end the shoot while everyone was still smiling. 

Frank gets his dog next week. I wait in anticipation for the next adventures and challenges that will bring for both of us. 

Blind Dreaming...

Life is full of trials. Sometimes walking through the East Village I feel like the bricks talk to me with their grafittied messages. I am learning alot about documentary film-making and about NYC. A wonderful motivational speaker Randy Palusch (find him on you tube), who since died of pancreatic cancer said in his final lecture: "Experience is what you get when you get what you don't want". In many ways studying film in NYC has been quite an 'experience'. My cinematographer teacher and Academy award winning documentarian stated: "finding a documentary story is like falling in love, when you find it you know it's meant for you". There have been alot of analogies made between making documentaries and finding a partner. They refer to the inital stages of finding your subject as 'dating'. I have most certainly become the dating queen in NYC, in a metaphorical way I mean. I have used all the tricks, I've tried the cold call, the playing hard to get, the 'I'm not so interested anyway', I feel myself regressing into an adolescent version of myself. 

As for my classmates, we have watched each other fall to pieces, rise with ecstasy at a return phone call from a potential subject, turn pale with disappointment as the playback footage is no good, fall into a state of depression at the rejection by a film subject. All the emotions of love playing out daily in the classroom. Joy, Sadness, Disappointment, Hope, Faith, Confusion, Jealousy...a cocktail of life in such a short time. It makes me think alot about the Buddhist idea of non-attachment. The way our moods and emotions are so pinned to external events. The way a face can transform from hopelessness to triumph in a single phone call. 

On my way home from school I built up the courage to enter a psychic shop and ask if they would be interested in taking part in a documentary film.  I hoped the lady wouldn't tell me something that I didn't care to know. The middle-age lady psychic was sitting bored in her chair as I entered her decadent 'office'. Her face brightened with excitement at a prospective client. "I am wondering whether you would be interested in taking part in a documentary film about psychics in NYC? It would involve an interview and the filming of one of your readings?" I asked innocently. She looked at me with a completely genuine face and replied that she charges between nine-hundred and one thousand dollars to be interviewed. I thanked her politely and quickly made a run for it before she could glean anything about my next few months left in NYC. I'd prefer to live in hope than be disheartened with bad news. It would have been helpful if she could have at least given me a clue about where to go to find a film subject. 

I decided it was time to reacquaint myself with an old friend. Frank Senior and I met at his newstand on 5th avenue and 42nd street when the air was still balmy in NYC. Our meeting had resulted from a random, 'cold email', from one end of the world to another. I had sent an email to a blind association in NYC enquiring whether anyone would be interested in taking part in a documentary film. Frank responded with enthusiasm and when I arrived in NYC we met for a drink and a chat. 

Frank grew up in the Harlem projects and was blind from birth, a result of a premature labour and hypoxia to the optic nerve. We met on the corner of the street where he was standing with his reflective ray bans and white stick. "Are you Frank?" I wanted to confirm that he was actually blind.  "Yeh, that's me", he responded in a baritone voice. "Do ya mind if I just hold your arm here it's a hellova lot easier than this stick!". Before we'd even started a conversation I found myself leading a blind man, intimately arm in arm down fifth avenue in search of a place to drink.

I learned alot about Frank and our 'date' went quite well. I learned about the recent death of his german shepard guide dog of six years, the benefits and disadvantages of the stick, how to survive in the subway as a blind man and what it means to be blind and black in NYC. He said if someone offered him a million bucks or his sight he would take the million bucks. "This is who I am now, if you'd asked me that when I was 30 I would have answered differently". Frank invited me to a jazz club downtown where he was making a guest appearance that night. We walked from 42nd to 12th st in the West village, my arm tensely hooked into his as I tried my best to be a good guide. A real case of the blind leading the blind in NYC. In some ways it's like calling an 'ex' but I'm hoping Frank might be interested in being my new 'boyfriend'.

 

To Psychic or not to Psychic

One of the first things I noticed when I arrived in New York were the Psychic shops. The Psychic shops in New York vary from ramshackle dens with toothless pregnant Romanians yelling out desperately to give you a five dollar reading, to up market palatial suites complete with designer couches, candelabra and half hour readings for two hundred dollars. The phenomenon of psychics is not dissimilar to the phenomenon of Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts. They are just as popular and seem to attract a similar crowd.  

My three points of confusion regarding psychics in New York are a) how do these people pay their rent and b) are there really that many disempowered, confused people in this city to warrant the success of so many psychics and c) how can they all be right about your the future.  

On arrival to New York I thought about making a documentary about this psychic phenomenon. I could go and visit a handful and compare the readings they give me. The only problem with that would be a) my Jewish superstitious tendencies would not let me step foot into one of their shops lest they point the evil eye in my direction and b) the size of the camera I am supposed to use is not exactly conducive to the hidden camera technique required. So I abandoned the idea long ago...

However, as I walked through the East Village yesterday recovering from the flu and from the recent realisation that my potential film subject, Evelyn (the Sierra Leone refugee), had stopped returning my calls, I passed a Psychic and had a serious moment of temptation. 

Feeling like I was back at square one, no documentary subject and New York winter around the corner, I started to empathise with the disenfranchised and disempowered clientele who visit their psychics regularly. I'll stick to psychotherapists, I thought and kept walking passed the ominous sign.

I headed to the De La Vega Museum which is a hobbit like enclave of graffiti art made by James de La Vega, an East Harlemite artist who set up shop in the East Village. His art is a testament to the spirit of human Hope...His catch phrase is BECOME YOUR DREAM, which you can notice painted on random objects throughout parts of the city.

He is a quiet, alluring character who interacts minimally with his customers. Generally he can be found at the museum smoking his Cuban cigars, despite the no smoking sign at the front. A clear statement of his indifference and superiority to authority. Depending on his mood he will be engaging or sarcastic. 

A young naive looking woman came into the shop and started asking him some innocent questions. "Is de la vega still alive?" 

"No, he died four years ago."

"Oh, that's a shame"

"Was de la vega Jewish," in response to some stickers stating 'jews only.'

"Yeh" De La vega answered with such spontaneity.

The conversation continued between this sweet young girl and De La Vega, who likes to amuse himself with such humour. 

There was thumping reggaeton music blaring out of the speakers.

"I like this music what is it?"

"It's Julio Iglesias", he wrote the name down for her.

"Thanks for your help, what's your name?"

He stammered as he tried to quickly find a name for himself.."Geoffrey"

"Thanks for your help Geoffrey".

She walked out and he turned around with a blurt of laughter. 

"I love fantasy, sometimes it's just more fun than reality". I could certainly agree with him on that.

As the afternoon turned to evening I met some interesting characters who gathered at the "Become Your Dream" monument. Roger, an older Jewish man who is a self proclaimed ex-drug addict turned comic and Alistair who is a vivacious guy who pushes the boundaries of self expression and gets flown around the world for fashion shows. Alistair had just arrived to the museum from Church with an evangelical glow to his hair, inspired by the group mantras and chanting. Roger's cynicism provided a touch of salt to the upsettingly optimistic banter. He has started making art in reaction to De La Vega's hopeful mottos. He has a T-shirt that states " If you don't become your dream, ask de la vega for a refund..." 

Tears for Obama in Harlem...

There was a palpable mix of anticipation, excitement and fear that permeated the streets of New York yesterday. From six in the morning there were record breaking queues at the voting booths. People were coming out to vote like never before. As I walked down the Avenue of the Americas it was impossible to ignore the significance of the day. I listened to snippets of sidewalk conversation: A woman walking her dogs and bidding farewell to a friend: "See you tomorrow on the other side of history". Two black dishevelled homeless men selling Obama paraphernalia. The shops were emptied of their iconic Obama stock, the election was hours away. 

I felt privileged to be in America for this unique moment in time. I headed to Harlem to witness the night unfold. Standing on the corner of 125th st and Adam Clayton Powell, I stood with thousands of hopeful African-Americans as we watched the individual states progressively announce their results.  

The crowd erupted in unison with screaming, dancing and tears. Barak Obama elected 44th president of the United States of America. I turned around to see an old black lady fall to the ground convulsing with emotion. People yelling out to Jesus with gratitude. " O-BA-MA, yes -we- can! O-BA-MA, yes- we- did!". 

Music started blaring out of the speakers "ain't no stopping us now- we're on the move..."a funky 70's tune by Mcfadden and Whitehead was the celebratory anthem. The crowd starting grooving and singing euphorically "aint no stopping us nowwww we're on the move...we're on the move..."

It felt like a New Years Eve celebration combined with the emotion of a birth. People gathered in groups to dance and chant "Yes we did! Yes We did!". Making music with pots and pans, banging against traffic light poles, honking car horns in the rhythm of the iconic chant " Yes we can! honk-honk-honk" . 

The whole street was pulsating to the three beat rhythm YES-WE-CAN- O-Ba-Ma. People danced on their cars, hung out of bus windows and were surging with excitement and relief. The police were everywhere and frustrated to be working on such an exciting night. A black woman ran up to a policeman and embraced him with excitement. He smiled and reciprocated with a hug. Black rastafarian men high-fived middle aged white men. It was humanity at its best, there was a euphoric sense of unity, regardless of age, gender, nationality or race. 

Having lived for the past eight years with the the childish and uninspired figure of George Bush looming over the world, it is a welcoming yet unfamiliar sensation to be inspired by an American President who captures one's spirit and hopes so magically. He has a unique capacity to sear through to the universal hopes and dreams of the individual and inspire each person to move towards their own potential and make a difference in the world. After watching his acceptance speech a few times over I was forced to think about what I am doing in my life to better the world. As the bright Autumn leaves fall off the trees in Manhattan and the rain starts to wash away the elation of the day, I leave the rapturous memories of election night in Harlem and wonder how the words and ideas of Barak Obama will develop into a reality.. 

Treasure and Trash in the East Village

I followed up on Evelyn and her daughter whom I met at the food hand out in Thompkins Square Park. She agreed to meet me at her refuge housing. Evelyn arrived in NYC seven months ago after fleeing with her two children from Texus, where she lived with her husband who rescued her from the refugee camps of West Africa only to imprison her in the reality of an abusive relationship. Being the only black woman in a white neighbourhood in Texus was an immense set back, especially when the police came by and believed her husbands' lies leaving her in the hands of her abuser. She stayed in Texus as life was finally comfortable, she lived in a large house, plasma televisions and even a maid. Things deteriorated. She was scared for her life but did not know her rights and did not want to leave her children. Finally, one night she met a female police woman who took an interest in her circumstance and helped her get to NYC. 

Evelyn fled Sierra Leone in 1992 when the war broke out. She has a story that is so familiar to us- african corruption, civil war, rebel groups, rape, displacement -yet seldom do we meet an individual who personalises this reality....millions displaced, thousands raped. What do these figures actually mean? To meet Evelyn is to meet the reality of these numbers.  

I entered her housing refuge and to my surprise discovered a modern, clean, spacious apartment. Apart from the basic furniture, a laminex table and a few single beds in the living room there where large boxes and shipping containers stacked precariously towards the ceiling. They were labelled with thick texta- Africa. Evelyn explained to me that on garbage nights she spends the evenings searching the garbage bags for clothes for her, her children and to send back to children in Africa. "It's amazing what you can find in the trash in this city". 

From the grungy East Village to the wealthy Upper East Side Evelyn searches through the trash and states that New York is like a paradise. From coats to televisions, jewelry to shoes, she is both delighted and repulsed by the opportunity and waste that can be found amidst New York trash. She laughed as she tried on the new coat she found on the Upper East Side: "You see if I went out in this people would think I was rich!". 

In a country that is crumbling amidst an economic crisis, Evelyn is finding opportunity in the least likely places....