June 12, 2014 by Sez
I’ve been at Sheffield Documentary a Festival this week and it’s been lovely (and very hard to write during.)
This is not intended as a slight to all the wonderful doc makers I’ve met, but my sleep deprived brain is in a dark side sort of mood.
He decided to tell a story about me, so he followed me everywhere. I’d wake to the wheeze of his zoom, every solitary moment caught by a camera crew. I slept under surveillance
He said knew who I was, knew my story, wanted to share it. I don’t know my story. I never knew I had one. But he filmed and filmed, until he had enough of my rough fleece to dye and spin and weave into a golden fabric.
I’m told my story makes them laugh and cry. I hear it made him millions.
It was never my story anyway.