At night the Body Cam feels uncomfortably more authoritarian, more of a protective device against the people in my own neighborhood. Am I a fearful white woman walking in a black neighborhood? Am I an undercover cop surveilling the area? Am I a Peeping Tom? It sets me apart when all I want to do at night is blend in. The Body Cam becomes more invasive looking into lit bathrooms, kitchens and living rooms; I feel caught lingering too long. It makes me feel like I am looking for something in nothing; I am spying on the place that I once belonged in. These are the streets I walk everyday, but The Body Cam is a complete stranger. The video is mostly dark, spotted by lit interiors and street lamps, making the walk look more desolate than it actually was. The footage captures a blindness, a distance, and a lack of connection that was felt while shooting. Is this a more pronounced version of what is reflected during the day?
30 Days Being A Civilian Body Camera
I will wear a body camera for the next 30 days, documenting all the time I spend in the public realm. The camera will be dismounted and powered off while in my home, with my family, in other private residences, and in the place where I work. Every night I will post the video unedited to this blog as a document of my experiences as a civilian, as a woman, a mother, a brown body wearing a body camera. I will include a link to texts that I am reading while being recorded. These texts will provide a social and political context for the public space that is being documented, and will have a relation to self surveillance, protest, new technologies, the #BlackLivesMatter movement, and any other subject relating to what it means to be a body on the streets in this present moment.