Ep 015: Natalie Keyssar
A SHOT: To start, can you describe the photo that we’re going to talk about?
NATALIE KEYSSAR: It’s a photo of a young dancer helping a younger dancer jump a fence in Caracas, Venezuela.
And when was this taken, and why were you there?
It was the summer of 2019. I’ve been back and forth between New York and Caracas for the past seven years. Tragically, this year I haven’t been in 11 months, which really hurts my heart, but I usually spend several months a year down there working on on-going projects, and a lot of my personal life and friends are down there at this point. I had just gotten back to Caracas. I think it was maybe June, and Caracas had been experiencing — and the whole country of Venezuela had been experiencing — a really, really difficult year. There had been even more political unrest than usual. There had been massive country-wide blackouts. The ongoing economic collapse of the country was in a really bad situation, as it has been sort of falling for years. I was on assignment for Rolling Stone. There had been so much super-dramatic coverage of violence and economic and food insecurity and all of these issues coming out of Venezuela, and I was looking for ways to talk about how the community was trying to recover from all of this tumult and how people were trying to keep things together, despite the fact that it had been such a bad time.
One of the things I had wanted to get into was self-perpetuating community organizing around women and food distribution. And there’s this really amazing NGO that I work with in various capacities when I’m down there. It has a couple different branches, but this one is called Caracas Mi Convive, which translates to, like, “Caracas My Homey.” They do a lot of non-violence outreach. They do a ton of amazing stuff with working with collective trauma from all of the violence there. They also do a lot of recuperating public spaces, where they’ll go into an area that’s super-plagued by violence, and they’ll paint it and establish recreational space and establish places where the community can make a space positive, rather than have it be a place for drug-dealing and violence.
They had just finished turning this public space into a basketball court in this neighborhood that’s called The 100th Floor — the very, very top of one of these barrio communities. It’s like you’re in the sky, and it’s so beautiful. It’s was a really special place. And the way they work, which is something that I love, is that they’re really collaborative with the community. It’s not just this NGO that goes in and does things. They get everybody on board, and the youth from the community paint stuff. So they had food and programming and people giving speeches and people performing, and that’s where these young women came in. They’re this sort of self-organized grassroots dance troupe called Moni Dance, and they’re a group of young women from their late teens to a couple of them are really little, like, 8 or 9. They had come in their matching outfits and their matching braids, and they were doing an inaugural dance performance on the court. So the whole community comes out to watch. The court is, like, in the sky. Everybody’s sort of around it, in these buildings around it.
That was the scene. It was this event, but of course, the image that I stayed with from that day was they had done their dance performance and inaugurated the court, and everybody had hung out and had their snacks, and it was about to be time to go, and we were all… Everybody that didn’t live in the immediate community was starting to walk down the alleyways to get to the Jeeps to go home, and these girls wanted to jump this fence to go on the roof of one of the buildings that had a particularly spectacular angle to take selfies. One of the older dancers was helping the little dancer jump the fence to go take a selfie, and I snapped the moment. To me I see so much symbolism in the image, and I really love it visually, and it’s like, they’re jumping a fence to take a selfie. And it’s not like a bad fence-jumping. There’s no drama happening. It’s totally approved fence-jumping. So it’s this very sort of simple moment.
So what first interested you in Venezuela as an ongoing series?
I went to Venezuela in 2014 when it was really sort of convulsing, about a year after [President Hugo] Chávez died and [Nicolás] Maduro, who was his sort of hand-picked successor, was elected. So I went down there first to document this wave of protests against Maduro and this growing unrest in the country. It’s a story I tell a lot, but I basically went down there: I wanted to shoot these big protests. They were super dramatic. And I did that, and the work got published, and it left me feeling really cold because, like many young photojournalists, I think I have a particular interest in civil unrest and the capacity of people to create change in their countries, and I was really interested in the history politically and socially of Venezuela. When I got there, I fell head over heels in love with the place. I never wanted to leave. It was so beautiful. My eyes were just on fire with everything. It was like, “This is where I want to be. This is where I want to photograph. This is where I wanna make friends. I want to be here.” And then there’s all this unrest going on, and it’s really important, but at night, I was meeting all these people, and there was all this context to why the unrest was happening, and I basically felt like the work that I was making was contributing to images of decontextualized violence that were serving both sides of a political narrative that I didn’t want anything to do with.
I felt like I totally failed and decided to commit to trying to understand Venezuela — because, as an outsider, I didn’t understand anything, and I had learned so much in the first month I was there and still knew that I was totally ignorant, and seven years later I feel even more ignorant — and really commit to showing the context and starting to talk about why this is happening and investigating the history and the daily life and the individuals that are affected by all this, to try to, I think for me, wanting to be there, wanting to study it and makes sense of it, and also, to kind of undo the harm that I felt it causes when you present decontextualized violence. Which I really think is a responsibility that documentary photographers, we all have to grapple with.
So what’s your setup for when you’re taking a photo like this?
I am usually shooting with a big hunk of Canon 5D-something and a Speedlite with a 50 or a 35mm lens. And that’s it.
How do you prepare for a day like this? How much do you plan? What are you thinking about maybe before you leave the house with your camera?
There’s many different ways that we work. If I’m doing a portrait shoot, then I almost think about it far more than when I’m working on documentary work. Because, like, I need to show up. I need to be there. I have no idea what I’m going to see. I need to be present, and my batteries need to be charged, and I need to not have recently dropped my camera on its face. And I need to be ready to react to whatever I see. This day was sort of glorious for me because it was essentially a research day. It wasn’t even ultimately part of what I published because I ended up spending a month with another community and doing a story that was completely focused on that. So it was just this day of meeting people and hanging out and seeing what was beautiful, which was such a treat.
Did anything about this scene here surprise you?
This picture surprised me honestly because so much of my work is about this historic moment and this person with this incredible long backstory and this really poignant thing that was happening. And this was about gesture and style and admiring these young women and just thinking that they were super cool and seeing their grace as they were doing an incredibly quotidian thing like jumping a fence. And it was a lucky shot that I captured it in a way that I felt like the composition was really cool. I remember this was a time when the US border was in particularly bad shape, as it has been for years now, but I was thinking so much about fences and the symbolism of fences and borders and separation and all this stuff. I did not premeditate this connection in my head. But I was thinking a lot about it afterward, like the sort of symbolism of young women jumping fences and people jumping fences and what that means. I felt like it was a really lucky shot. It’s one of my favorites, but so many other images in this series were of this important thing that happened, and this was this kind of magical moment that I happened to catch.
I think one of the interesting things about your work is that there’s a decisiveness about which single image is going to convey the narrative you want to convey for a scene. And then you move on to another facet of the story. In a way, it’s kind of like having chapters or paragraphs in a book. What specifically about this image felt like a chapter or paragraph in the story that you wanted to be telling?
In this way, I went up this hill to this community thinking about starting to get into talking about resilience and talking about people carrying each other and talking about people overcoming obstacles together in this moment. One of the things that I fall in love with in Venezuela over and over again is the way that culture and the sense of generosity between people and the way that people are so communal in the way they treat people. People help each other so much. And they do it beautifully. They do it with style, no matter how hard it is. And somehow all that stuff came together for me in this one image. There’s a theme of carrying and holding and gesture that I think of a lot symbolically in my work. Sometime in my head I associate hands with people’s agency, People’s human power, you see it in their hands. When I think about editing, I’m very draconian about I never want to repeat myself if I’m telling a story, especially with something like this that I’ve been working on for seven years. I’ve shot a million of the same scene. I can’t even think about how many times I’ve shot different protests. I almost want everything to be its own totem.
Do you find it difficult to be like, “This is the one”?
Absolutely. I’m terrible. In the short term on deadline, I’m a nightmare because I’m like, “Well, but if you put this together with this, it could be really important.” And I do all of the things I tell my students not to do. And I get attached to things, and I can’t separate myself. But with time, which is why working long-form is so important to me, I let it sit for a while, and the attachments fade away, and I go back to it, and I put it on context with this very long-term body of work. It’s almost like I’m making music. Does this note fit in the piece that I’m composing? And is it discordant, or does it flow? But also, am I repeating myself? That’s sort of how I like to think about it. I actually love to just pop up the slide show and just run it while I’m listening to music, and I feel like it’s almost like when something’s out of wack, I can hear it. There’s a sound off, if that makes sense.
In this image, how concerned are you with the caption that’s going to be accompanying it? And how actively are you going about reporting information that isn’t necessarily what we will see in the image?
Very, very concerned. That’s a huge responsibility, and I think that honestly it’s a responsibility that, if you’re working in the documentary world, that’s as serious if not more serious as all of what we do in terms of getting permission, all the other stuff. The context of how the image is presented is everything. I work with people for years at a time. With these particular young women, I got several of their phone numbers. We kept in touch. I saw them a few more times, but there was real burner-phone-to-no-phone problems. My main contacts in the group, eventually the phone lines just went dead. As I often do in Venezuela, I always circle back to all my contacts and check in with people over the years. I’ll find these women again. I’m pretty confident, hopefully, if they haven’t migrated like 5 million of their fellow citizens through the crisis. But I lost them before I was able to do long sit-down interviews with them. I had photographed them in a couple other situations where they were performing. This particular caption is pretty simple. But the idea of an image being taken out of context and the words that accompany it being manipulated, which is something that honestly happens so much or, like, people who weren’t there writing the caption or something getting politicized… North Americans are understanding more and more how minute a commentary could have really strong consequences. So yeah, I will go to the mat about every syllable of my captions always.
In thinking about working as a photojournalist, I would assume there are a lot of instances where you just have to get a photo because you’re there and a photo needs to be made at that point. Do you ever feel like it’s okay for you to take a photo and not necessarily understand what’s happening in it?
I certainly did this earlier in my career. When I was starting out in photography, I was taught that sort of culture of you get your photo. You get your photo, hell or high water. That never felt right. I don’t think I did it much, but I’m sure I’m guilty of that in some instances. Basically, no. I’m trying to think because I don’t want to be like, “I don’t do that,” because ethically I’m against it, when you say that. I mean, maybe in certain contexts. If an image is just aesthetic and it’s not being presented in a documentary context then, like, do your street photography. It’s not hurting anybody. I think it’s chill. In terms of the responsibility of a documentary photographer, yeah, you have to know what’s going on because what are you going to say about that image? And especially if you’re working on anything that’s even remotely important, which I would argue other people are inherently important… So maybe if there’s nothing at all prejudicial going on and it’s just pretty light, I’m not stressed out about that. But if there’s anything of consequence happening or could be something of consequence happening to the people involved in the image, you really need to figure that out.
Do you think about how these subjects are regarding you when you’re shooting?
Yeah, I always assume they’re regarding me as the freak-show. I’m always popping up with my camera like, “Hi! Let me get all in your face.” Yeah, I think about it a lot. I’m constantly concerned about making people comfortable. There are some really great photographers — I mean “great” in the sense of people who are capturing incredible aesthetics out there in the documentary space — and I see the way they work. You see them in the field. And they always get their shot. They were just where they need to be. Like, they’re not stressing about the weird looks that they’re getting. That is a super power, but I would argue that it’s ethically problematic. It’s something that I really believe. If a photojournalist always gets their shot, they probably need to have their ethics revised because if you’re working gently with a community that you’re photographing, if you’re looking eye to eye with somebody when something terrible just happened, which in photojournalism is a lot, then there’s gonna be moments when at the decisive moment, you put your camera down because that’s the human thing to do. I’m not saying you always do that. Sometimes you absolutely shoot because something terrible just happened, and it just got documented. But it’s really important to be concerned about how you’re perceived. And I die of anxiety about it and just never want to make anybody uncomfortable or step on people’s toes. Which is a contradiction because being a photographer in someone’s space inherently makes people uncomfortable, so it’s a big responsibility to figure out how to mitigate that.
Do you feel that your journalistic instincts come naturally, or do you think that it’s something that you have to push yourself into?
Both. I’m really, really curious. Like, I love meting new people, and I love learning. I try to work on stuff that I’m naturally obsessed with. I like to be in spaces around people that I admire, that I like, that I’m worried about. That really engages me, and I think that makes a lot of the work come naturally. This image is an example of that. My work sort of exists in this space between (it’s a crappy term, but) hard news. I love covering breaking news, and I’m interested in the effects of and the human capacity to do terrible things and what those moments look like. A lot of my work concerns violence and just really difficult situations. The other half of my work is very much about culture and dance and youth and resilience and women and all of these other things. My background is in fine-art painting, so there’s part of me that’s always been obsessed with aesthetics. In a certain way, going to look at an anti-violence initiative and chasing around the beautiful young dancers who are doing all this amazing choreography… Like, of course. That felt super natural to me, and it felt like my sweet spot, and I was so excited to meet these young women and find out why they’re doing this. There are other parts that are a struggle. I always have to grab myself by the collar and throw myself out of the car when I know that I need to. ask people questions about stuff that hurts, even though my experience tells me that a lot of people genuinely, if approached respectfully and if given time, want to share their story and that there’s a huge value in sharing painful moments or having atrocities documented. But yeah, you know, there’s moment when you know that you need to document history, and something terrible has happening, and you want to help, and there’s nothing you can do. I feel like I have very conflicting instincts about that kind of thing. I do really believe in the power of documentation to a point, but then I also think that sometimes we overvalue that and make excuses for ourselves to do things that are not acceptable. There’s a very fine line between creating a document for essentially human-rights purposes as a journalist and making art on the worst day of somebody’s life.
Do you consider that you’re making art with this?
I hesitate a little bit because I feel like I’m doing a lot of things at once. I studied art and chose not to go into straight art-making, which is what I thought I would do. But yeah, I do. I hope in a certain way, good modern documentary photography is an extension of social realism and these art movements that I definitely think are art.
So when we were figuring out an image that we were gonna select, you had a couple options that were more quiet moments within maybe a more chaotic scene. But you mentioned that this one was kind of a heightened moment in a much less dynamic situation. So what do you like about as you wrote to me “evoking drama where there actually was no real drama”?
First of all, it’s a relief. I’m very used to working in high-drama scenarios. When you’re in a really complicated situation or there’s a lot going on, you’re a little bit more limited because all you can do is react, and you’re reacting really fast, whereas this scene, we’re at the top of the barrio overlooking Caracas, and the light was beautiful, and the people are beautiful. It was very striking. But it wasn’t fast-paced. There was nothing super crazy. That gives you time to chase these young dancers down the stairway, alleyway and start rotating around and photographing them as they’re jumping the fence and do these things that if you have to get your shot of whatever scene is happening that you’re supposed to document, you don’t get to go off on tangents. As all photographers know, the tangents are so often what’s really special.
You’d mentioned that his image plays with people’s perceptions of what’s actually happening here. But how do you feel about that, that someone could look at this and not understand it and perceive it in the context of jumping a fence, jumping a border, that kind of thing?
I think a lot of great art is a little bit mysterious, right? I feel like this image, it evokes a lot of questions from people. I remember when I first put it on my Instagram, I got a lot of people being like, “What is happening?” And I like that curiosity. I don’t think it leads you to a conclusion that’s misleading. But I think it’s engaging in terms of these young women, what they’re doing, the gestures. Who is reaching out off the side? What are they jumping? What’s behind them? There’s all this stuff that makes you wonder, and just because of the sort of accidents of the lines in the image, it’s dynamic. It draws you around. I do enjoy that mystery. And I also like in the context of doing work about a country that’s so often depicted in terms of its worst moments and its worst situations, it’s a joy to have a lighter picture that’s just sort of a daily scene, just a moment of daily beauty. That’s really important to me. A lot of people were asking me, “Are they coming over, or?” Like, they’re going away from you in this image, right? But a lot of people think that they’re coming back over the fence. The way that the young girl is curled up, people were like, “Is she okay?” Like, “Yeah, she’s great.” It’s nice also honestly in my profession to, when people are like, “What’s going on here?” to be like, “Everything’s chill. We’re good.” That’s sort of a relief.
Playing on that idea of relief, is it ever difficult for you to focus on something normal rather than chase spectacle?
Yeah, totally. I think about that a lot. Obviously, I don’t want to say that I chase spectacle. I’m like, “Well, it’s more than that. It’s complicated.” But yeah, I work in a lot of super-crazy, visually dynamic situations. But I guess also yes and no because also my best work and my favorite work and the stuff that you see in the stories that I publish tends to be centered around a spectacle, but not getting stuck there. I don’t want to reduce things like civil unrest to a spectacle because it’s much more than that but centered around a very visual, action-packed… Or also around something like dance. I can photograph dancers forever. And I do and never get sick of it. But then I always like to go home with the dancers or learn about the daily life of the people affected by whatever breaking-news situation, stay way after the drama is over, go back to places when there’s nothing crazy happening, after a lot of the journalists have gone home. It’s that context, right? Getting back to why I went to Venezuela in the first place is that balance between drama and quiet — if you’re going to look at a super-complicated situation, also spending time in quiet situations around it so that you’re creating that understanding.
And also I think our industry pushes us toward speaking loudly.
Absolutely. And speaking loudly when we couldn’t possibly have time to know what we’re talking about, which is a real problem. But I think at least in the documentary-photography industry, I see that starting to change. I think my generation and the generations coming after me have sort of had it with that. And that’s pretty exciting.
Let’s talk about some specific details in this photo. You’ve shot this image looking up at your subjects. What do you think the lower perspective adds to this photo?
Well, they look kind of like they’re taking off into the sky, which I love, because that was one of things I just loved about the place. It is up in the sky, and we’re talking about a super-economically disadvantaged community, so I think it’s so important to show empowered images and beautiful images from these barrios, which for so many years had just been depicted in a terrible way. That action of her carrying her upwards is amplified by the fact that I’m down. I like to shoot women in the sky. It feels great.
How important is the human embrace in this image, the carrying part of it?
It’s everything. It’s like the lines and the tenderness and the strength, all of that coming at once. This project is largely about the strength and resilience of Venezuelan women amid incredible difficulty. This whole project is a love story and a statement of admiration for people that have taught me so much. I can’t even express how many lessons I’ve learned. And I think a lot of this work is sort of an homage to these women, and I like the way that strength, delicacy, agileness, care, grace all goes together in that embrace.
There’s also what looks like another child’s hand reaching in just out of frame. What dynamic does that detail create alongside the main subject of this image?
It adds a little bit of mystery because you’re like, “Who’s that? What’s happening?” And this is another dancer from the troupe reaching out to help if she needs it, which she doesn’t. She’s got this because she’s a boss. One of the dynamics that I’ve seen over and over again in Venezuela is these groups of women really support each other. You see that there’s another hand reaching out. And that’s also my experience in this place. Whenever I get in trouble there, there are people that wanna help.
The fence has a big hole in it. Do you think that adds anything to how we’re perceiving this photo?
I never thought about the hole in the fence truthfully. People are using old materials that have seen better days in these communities so often in building up what they can. But yeah, now that you mention it, it tells you something, right? Like, it’s not such a formidable barrier. This is not a high-security situation, for sure.
What effect does letting the setting fall into a haze have on this photo? It looks like you’ve popped a flash with the shadow against her leg, but you’re not necessarily exposing for the background to come into detail.
There was an actual haze that day in the sky, so it’s authentic. It’s really how it felt. It’s bright even when it’s overcast. Caracas is always bright. And again, I think it just sort of adds to the mystery, like this is just this really weird moment when you don’t know what’s going on, you don’t know where they’re going to. I think that’s a big part of the mystery of the image. People are like, “Jumping a fence to what? Where are you coming from, and where are you going?” And there’s that sense of destination and journey that’s evoked by this image, which of course is funny because the destination is selfie. The destination is selfie in a really, really beautiful place because they’re feeling accomplished because they just did this great thing to contribute to their community and show off their talent. But it can just read as them sort of rising up into a cloud.
So you’ve been working on this project for a number of years. Where do you think that we can see that this photo is from 2019 rather than when you first started in 2014?
Oh, man, because most of the pictures from 2014 were bad. For starters, they were kind of basic. I mean, in 2014, I was a much more traditional documentary photographer. I was shooting vertical, 35mm, no flash — well, was starting to figure that out a little bit but not good. In 2014, I never would have been here, not known how to get here, wouldn’t have spoken Spanish enough. Back when I started this work, it was much more newsy, and it was much more interested in what you gravitate to in Venezuela when you’ve recently arrived and are scraping the first layer before you… You know, there are so many more layers of what’s happening, and I started gravitating toward what really interests me. And then visually, everything I used to shoot was wide and messy, lucky in a different way.
How do you think you’ve changed to what you wanna be shooting now? Is it just more skill?
I certainly have more technical skill in terms of what I want my pictures to look like and the ability to control light and understand the compositions that interest me. I also feel a lot safer in being comfortable with myself as an artists and what my voice, I want it to sound like, and I’m okay with using it loud. There was a lot of types of imagery that I was interested in or gravitated to that I didn’t quite know how to make successfully or that I didn’t know if I was allowed to make. With time, you figure out how to make the images that you wanna make consistently and develop, like, “Okay, if I’m working on this, if someone’s commissioned me or if I’ve gotten some grant support, it’s because they want my voice,” which I now know what it is. I don’t think myself in 2014 might have even caught this picture. You learn how to see, for yourself, and not for what other people’s pictures make you think your work is supposed to look like.
So in the way that you’ve edited this series of images online, this photo appears first. Why’s that?
It gets back to being this symbolic encapsulation of so much of what I want to say, that it’s empowered, it’s beautiful, it’s, as an opener, bringing you into this world. One of the things that I think about a ton in terms of being a foreigner and an outsider working in Venezuela is that it’s not mine. And I’m never going to be able to understand it. And I’m never going to be able to ethically speak on it with the authority that someone from there can. One of the things I’ve cultivated with this work is a sense of questioning and a sense of guiding people through my learning process without trying to take strident positions on anything. This image, as an opener, it’s sort of opening a lot of questions, so it’s sort of opening the theme, looking at women, looking at daily life. There’s definitely some earmarks of a country that’s going through a hard time, but it’s subtle. I don’t want to start with bad news. I want to start with the youth and the future and the culture and all the things that I admire.
How does this image play into that concept that you’ve mentioned of oversimplified narratives?
I hope that it does the opposite. It’s part of the reason why I edited the entire project the way I have where you’re getting glimpses of these different things, and it’s not linear and simple because I don’t think there is a linear, simple story that I can tell about this place. What I can show you is this crazy journey that I’m taking, trying to learn from different people and putting together my understanding as an outsider who loves and cares but is never gonna understand this experience, trying to be this sort of permanent, humble student. This image, I hope it’s a little bit surprising, a little bit confusing, it makes you kind of be like, “Okay, wait, what are we getting into here? What are we talking about?” evokes that sense of questioning that I’m hoping to bring people through. Simplified narratives draw oversimplified conclusions, and real life is really messy, and I want the narrative to be messy.
The title of this series is “Make Me a Little Miracle.” How does that apply to this photo?
“Make me a little miracle,” it’s a lyric from a salsa song that’s dedicated to the Venezuelan woman. It’s called “María Lionza,” and the hook is “Make me a little miracle,” basically. So I think it’s appropriate in the sense that it’s about music and dance and culture. You know, in a very sort of starry-eyed way, hiking up to this mountaintop, where this place that has been so plague by violence is now bright and colorful and full of beautiful young dancers giving a performance that they made up themselves, they choreographed themselves, with the support of the community… The boombox didn’t work right, and it failed, and they were really upset, and one of the little girls started almost crying, and then the whole community started clapping for them and encouraged them, and they fixed the technical difficulties, and they did their performance, and just seeing moments like that, that is a miracle. That’s my experience when I’m working in this place: Despite how difficult everything is, making the littlest victory happen is miraculous.
What have you learned that’s given you the instinct to take this photo specifically?
When things are up in the air, snap now; think about it later. Like, literally. Stuff that’s moving fast, I’m always like, “What’s happening over there?” and immediately wanna shoot. When I was in this scene, there was a million other really interesting people there and things happening. A lot of people who work in places like Venezuela, they wanna go straight to the gangsters and get their picture. I’m not knocking that. That work is super important, too. But I knew as soon as I walked onto that scene, which had many different interesting types of people, that these women in their beautiful braids and their carefully done, homemade matching outfits with their matching tube socks and their awesome choreography and their dope metal-y soundtrack, this is who I wanted to stick myself to. That instinct of just knowing what you’re interested in and not maybe being distracted by the bigger news or the bigger catch or whatever is really important.
What’s something unrelated to photography that’s been feeding you creatively lately?
I’ve been listening to endless podcasts. I’ve been listening to one called the Hidden Brain, which I’m really into, which is about the neurology behind our behaviors in a sort of current-events context. Which is sort of amazing because human behavior seems pretty impenetrable and unknowable these days, and it’s nice to hear somebody puzzling that out.
I don’t know if this inspires me, but physical activity keeps me sane. Like, running until I’m gonna die is the thing that I think is keeping me a functioning person and artist.
Interviewed on February 2, 2021.
(This transcript has been edited for brevity.)
Links:
Natalie Keyssar
”Make Me a Little Miracle (Hazme Un Milagrito)”