Tarnation
I don't know where to begin this post. I just learned that my friend Luis passed away on Friday. I went to school with him last year in San Francisco. He lived there with his twin brother, Victor. I met them about a year ago and wish I could have spent more time with them. A year ago I went on a spontaneous roadtrip with a bunch of photographers from my school who I didn't really know. Amanda, Anastasiia, Irwin, Brittany, Victor and Luis. Luis was one of 12 brothers and sisters who moved here from Mexico. We drove to LA and after sleeping in parking lots for nights, his parents welcomed all 7 of us into their home, made us coffee and breakfast and pan dulce in the morning. All I could do was smile and say "gracias por todo". They were working on a little zine with black and white film and we ended up forming a close artistic community. I miss them so much. I just don't even know what to say. Because tomorrow I'm going to school to scan film from last year, and I'll have to confront that one-inch rectangle of silver halide molecules forming the image of his face, and I wish I had made more pictures of him. I wish I hadn't been looking elsewhere for beautiful things. I can't imagine what Victor is going through without his other half. It kills me that I'm not over there right now.
There are a million thoughts in my head right now, but for some reason I started thinking about this film called Tarnation, by Jonathan Caouette. The film was created by Caouette from over 20 years of hundreds of hours of old family videos and recordings to tell the story of his life and his relationship with his mentally ill mother Renee. It was initially made for a total budget of $218.32, using free iMovie software on a Mac. This is the first scene from the film, which opens with the song "Naked as we came" by Iron & Wine. There's something really visceral about the song. I can't put my finger on it, but that's what I'm feeling right now. The movie is a beautiful piece of art. I encourage you all to watch it if you have the time.
How do you compartmentalize something like this?
1 comments:
It's strange when someone you know dies. I rack my brain to no end, and imagine how it must feel for the people who loved them most. Sometimes I get lost in that quiet.
My friend's mom died in September, and I felt hollow, and I tried to imagine what my friend and her family were feeling. When I went back home for the funeral, my friend and I took some walks. She said she was just trying to find a way to figure things out in her head. She said her head was full and empty at the same time.
I guess a lot of it comes from knowing that they're not coming back and that they've left their family and friends and anyone they've known, and those are the people who I'm sad for. And although that person is gone, sometimes it's nice to think that they've found peace.
I don't mean for this to be trite or for it to seem empty, I guess it's just that sometimes you need someone else to say something too. I'm so sorry for your loss, and I hope Luis's family finds peace of mind.
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